Candace Coulombe's Flash Fabulism

In the sixth in a series of posts on 2013 short story collections entered for The Story Prize, Candace Leigh Coulombe, author of Secret Breakfast (Egg & Ink), discusses why she likes to think of her stories as fables.

You call your stories fables. What distinguishes a fable from a short story?
A fable is generally defined as a short story that illustrates a moral lesson, usually populated with woodland animals, mythical creatures, or anthropomorphized inanimate objects. While I don’t aim to have a pithy maxim or tidy bow at the end of each of my tales, I do prefer stories in which something actually has to happen; that is, some transformation must occur. And, in which the reader along with the characters is propelled to an unexpected yet inevitable conclusion.

In Secret Breakfast, half the tales are “fantastic.” These fourteen fables span the adventures of selkies, saints, lycanthropes, superheroes, and even a Ford Thunderbird. The other fourteen fables are “domestic,” spanning the adventures of mere humans, but still from a fabulist’s perspective.

Traditionally, whether as poetry or prose, there is a cadence to fables. I appreciate lyrical language and, to me, the assonance and sibilance are as important as the lesson. The fable also has a rich oral tradition. It’s a delicate balance between writing very short fiction in which every word is purposeful and writing the kind of story you can tell. There’s something enduring about a fable that’s romantic, though not sentimental.

What made you want to become a writer? 
I’ve always been a voracious reader. I’m particularly drawn to the short form: O. Henry, Dorothy Parker, Saki, Flannery O’Connor, and F. Scott Fitzgerald’s short stories. These tales are so set in the manners and morals of their times, and yet universal in matters of the heart.

While I might enjoy reading an existentialist like Camus or Kerouac, or a hard crime writer like Cain or Hammett, their tales show the universe disordered, mercy spare, and violence random. As a writer, I feel more kinship with Flannery O’Connor and Alfred Hitchcock – both Catholics. Her stories and his television program – while dark – are guided by grace. As O’Connor said, “I write the way I do because (not though) I am a Catholic.”

Though I do write a few allegories, most stories don’t reflect religious themes. For me, though, Catholicism inevitably informs my worldview. Each story ends in the way only it can.

What stories inspire you? 
There are a few I could read over and over again: “The Offshore Pirate” by F. Scott Fitzgerald, “Teddy” by J.D. Salinger, and “Big Blonde” by Dorothy Parker. I also am drawn to the obituaries in The New York Times. So many fascinating true stories which don’t come to light until years after! Writing engaging fiction requires a commitment to the truth. It’s the truth in the details which allows the writer to craft a compelling lie. So, whether I’m writing about the gold rush or espionage or automats or chicken farms, I’m inspired by historical articles, photographs, and art that reflect the language and tone of the time and place.

Do you find writing flash fiction and short-short forms challenging?
My stories are each 1,000 to 2,500 words, or sometimes even fewer. I believe in the fierce economy of words and I endeavor craft rich stories which deserve a second or third read. I believe a very short form is a very good match for my very capricious nature. The wonderful thing about writing many very short stories is the ability to live vicariously through different eras and locales – to live in them so completely while writing and then to, with great caprice, abandon them just as completely to discover another that’s new.

As our daily lives become busier and more complex, short stories become even more readable, relevant, and valuable. I appreciate the opportunity to provide a complete story experience in just a few short pages. There’s a great satisfaction in reading a story beginning to end in as little as a coffee break. It’s very different than picking a novel, even the best one, up and down and up again. So, whether it’s through a smartphone app, PC, or my preferred dog-eared paperback (swollen and ruffled from being dropped in the tub), there is no better time for the short story than right now.

Candace Leigh Coulombe on Pirates, Context Clues, and Green Fairies

In the eighth in a series of posts on 2010 short story collections entered for The Story Prize, Candace Leigh Coulombe, author of Second Grace, answers a few questions about how her self-published collection of stories came about.

Describe one of the stories in your collection.
Without getting overly sentimental, it’s hard to pick one! But, “The Gulf of Aden” has a soft spot in my heart. It’s the story most recently written, so it still feels new. I think of it as “The Pirate Story,” which would have perhaps been a better name. I had read a newspaper article about the precautions some cruise lines were taking when sailing through the Gulf of Aden, and I wondered what would happen if they didn’t take any. In the story, a woman with newly acquired and fleeting wealth joins jaded upper-class passengers for a cruise through the troubled waters of the title. The ensuing adventure is not how she imagined the good life to be, but it gives the others good cocktail anecdotes for the cruises to come.

This is how it begins…

"Sugar was freckling in the sun. Even after two weeks at sea, she still didn’t resemble her bronzed shipmates. They were uniformly tanned, drawn taut, bleached, waxed, capped, and shellacked. Their bodies made unnatural angles as their linen shirts and dresses billowed in the breeze. Sugar wore the requisite oversized sunglasses of their class. With her name, she could be one of them. Cricket, Tinsley, Muffy, Sugar. It was either a socialite’s name or a stripper’s. You just had to take the context clues. She had never been able to live up to one or down to the other until recently. "

Like many of the stories in Second Grace, “The Gulf of Aden” speaks to class aspiration. Culture, socio-economics, and gender play roles in my characters’ opportunities and desires to have a second chance. The stories cross genres: horror, historical fiction, romance, suspense, drama, comedy, fantasy, and even political satire. But, they’re told in the only aching, and hopefully literary, way I know how to tell them. And, they’re each 2,500 words or much less.

What is your writing process like? 
I wish I was one of those writers who couldn’t wait to get cracking every morning. Usually, I’m not as fond of writing as I am fond of having written. When I have an idea, I try to work out the potential problems before even sitting down. There are the practical matters, such as story length, location, object, and genre; there’s the theme; and there’s the inspiration. I really appreciate having a “green fairy” in the form of a painting, song, or poem to thread through the tale. I hope that I write a pleasurable read which, upon further reading or reflection, unravels deeper meaning. I love the challenge of communicating complex themes in lush language, despite the fierce economy of words. That being said, I’ll write a story over two days, give or take. Thanks to modern computers, I edit as I go, and once I’m done, I’m done. I’m sure it’s an anathema to English teachers everywhere, but I read it through for grammar and continuity, and that’s about it.

What book made you want to become a writer? 
A desire to create my own endings made me want to be a writer. Fitzgerald’s Flappers and Philosophers made me want to write short stories.

What kind of research, if any, do you do?
The telling is in the details. I research books and news accounts and such to inform my sense of regionalism and sense of era. With historical fiction, I aim for accuracy even when the narrative veers quite fantastical. I particularly like using archives of The New Yorker and The New York Times.

Describe a technique you've learned from other narrative or non-narrative forms of expression.
I like to cook. I don’t know that I’m particularly gifted at it. But, I like putting on a flowered apron and doing my best impression of domesticity. What food has taught me about fiction is that everything must be purposeful. I want a riot of color and scent and flavor. Nothing should wasted, nothing forgotten. A good story should be a sensory experience, like a good dish. And a good collection, a meal – everything thoughtfully, lovingly prepared.