This would not fly as a story to take to workshop.
If I were to write a short story to read for
—damned to be referred as the mind behind Fight Club forever, in his writing workshop, it must be fiction and if I didn’t want to waste his time, the rules of Minismalism according to Gordon Lish and Tom Spanbauder should be known and applied.To abide with the rules of minimalist storytelling, I cannot include a simple coincidence to solve a plot or character problem.
If I brought in a story where some wild coincidence happened out of nowhere to make the story work, I would be called out for cheating. For not properly adding the element into the storyline before it could serve a purpose in the story.
It has happened before. More than I’d like to admit.
Long story short, reality accepts coincidences, and life can be read through Jung’s synchonicities—random events which cannot be logically be explained, but which can and do represent something meaningful in one’s life at that moment.
Fiction does not get to be unbelievable. Solutions cannot just appear out the ether.
But this happened to me, so I don’t have to craft an acceptable explanation for why I postponed my departure from Seattle for a week.
I had until March 5th to turn in the keys to my landlord. And I would then get straight to the road. Start the trip right away.
Almost everything was finalized. Every location-dependent errand. Every one who mattered had heard my very loose plans of traveling the country indefinitely, up to a few months, to explore the literature that is tied to real locations in the country.
But one story I had not been able to bring to a full cycle.
For months, I had Chuck’s copy of the brazilian portuguese translation of Consider This, which I translated. And, for many reasons, he wasn’t available to meet me. So I waited.
Holding that book in my hand was the climax of the almost three years since the idea came to me. A lot of it was waiting. Patiently and agonizingly waiting. For e-mails. For negotiations. For offers. For greenlights. For revisions. For launching. For receiving my physical copy in the mail.
I thought that would be it. An incomplete story. Another one, oh well. Such is life. Some stories are just… unfinished.
I didn’t write the book, but the work of putting it into my native languge was deeply personal to me. And the weight of responsability does not rest light on my shoulders.
Not only the project was put into great hands, it came out spectacular. Every design and tactile detail was crafted to bring Chuck’s energy into such an important part of his work, now will reach some new writers who don’t speak english.
It’s also an honor to be, in my own home country, the voice of my best teacher.
To complete the last chapter of this story, I really wanted to meet Chuck to personally deliver him his copy. Maybe snap a picture with him. A nice period to this part of my story, the part of my life in the west coast which must end. At least for now.
And because this is not minimalist fiction, I can just tell you: I really did just hear a strange voice in my head that I should stall in Seattle for another week. And so I decided to go with it.
I messaged some good friends of mine and they were very happy to host me during that time, until March 12th.
And there I went, after I turned in the keys and weeped as I drove away from the place where I had lived for seven years. The Space Needle shrunk in the rear mirror before I could wipe my tears.
And I kid you not…
Once I was already settled in my dear firends’ guest room, I got the news that Chuck would be hosting a reading night, and you can guess when that would be, right?
Yup, last wednesday, March 12th.
I could not have planned for a better start to my trip.
Next, why don’t we get you a really cool abandoned church?
Goodbye, for now!
Cris