the story behind the story
On mining your memories and stumbling upon inspiration
A few weeks ago, my short story was featured on the homepage of the online literary journal Discretionary Love. This outlet publishes stories that center around the theme of love, and I’m honored to be a part of their collective.
My story “The End of Champs-Élysées” starts in the aftermath of a breakup, but beyond heartbreak, I also wanted to explore the protagonist’s growing awareness of self-love and by the end, hopefulness for her future.
Here’s a preview of the opening:
Kate wakes up bleary eyed and startled as lights flick on, a harsh glow from overhead. For a moment, she forgets where she is, why he isn’t by her side. There’s a tray with breakfast on it in front of her. A packaged croissant, orange juice and Starbucks coffee. She rips a corner off the tender pastry that tastes like cardboard in her mouth. The flight attendant takes her tray away before she’s finished, and the pilot’s voice crackles through the intercom: “We have begun our descent into Charles de Gaulle.”
When the customs officer asks the purpose of her visit, Kate replies, “A holiday,” but the words taste bitter on her tongue. He stamps her passport, and she’s off to catch a train, then the metro. Through the dark green arches of the Metropolitan, she emerges into the beautiful chaos of Paris. People tucked into peacoats and wrapped in scarves dot the sidewalks, and she feels like she’s caught in a rip current as they swish past her with studied, deliberate purpose. What is she doing here? She wonders again why she’s come here alone as she breathes in cigarette smoke mixed with European nonchalance, the distinct mood of Paris circling her in a hazy cloud.
The Story Behind the Story
Much of this story was inspired by my time living and teaching in France the year after I graduated from college. From the moody details of wintry Paris to the aloneness I felt traveling by myself, many details of this piece were mined from memories. In this story, I wanted to exacerbate that sense of being an observer of a place, rather than an active participant in it.
I worked on a few different versions of this story and it kept getting very complimentary rejections from magazines, but it wasn’t quite hitting the mark for publication. One literary magazine said they loved it, but the plot needed development. They suggested the protagonist have a “meaningful interaction with a stranger” in Paris. That was where the artist came in. The inspiration for his character emerged from the very back of my mind, deep in my memories from that year in France.
One weekend during that year abroad, I took a solo trip to Paris, which was just an hour-long train ride from the small town where I lived. I booked space in a hostel in the Montmartre, an artsy neighborhood of the 18th arrondissement known for its cobblestone streets, hilltop Basilica of the Sacré-Cœur with sweeping views of the city, and as a mecca for artists.
I was exploring Montmartre for the first time that weekend, poking around the Basilica and the winding streets nearby when I came upon Place du Tertre, a square full of artists and painters. As I was milling about, one of the artists approached me and asked if he could draw my picture. Why not, I thought, so I said yes and stood there for fifteen minutes or so while he sketched. I don’t think it occurred to me that by asking me if he could sketch me, he was asking if I would buy the picture. On that cold, windy day, the area wasn’t as buzzing as usual, and I couldn’t see how these transactions played out.
When he showed me his list of prices after he was finished sketching - sixty euros that I definitely had not budgeted for impromptu street artwork - I said I didn’t have the money. Luckily, this guy was very nice and the encounter didn’t turn awkward. He asked what I could pay and accepted the ten euros I had on me for the outline.
He was a talented artist, and the sketch was really lovely. Honest, and understated. In the mysterious way of art, it captured the lonely beauty of that time in my life. Looking at it, I saw the insecurity in my eyes, but also an openness and quiet bravery. I had taken a huge leap to live in a foreign country by myself. I felt a lot of anxiety and uncertainty at being twenty-two and lacking a sense of purpose and direction, but I was trying, little by little, to figure it out.
Somehow, the sketch and my interaction with this artist were still lingering in my subconscious. Before I knew it, they worked their way into this short story. The funny thing is, I wasn’t thinking about this memory of the artist on a conscious level. It wasn’t until after I had written the scene and finished the story that I saw the parallels and understood the event from my past it was calling back to.
I kind of love it when that happens.
I hope you enjoyed this ‘story behind the story.’ It’s interesting to think how certain memories, especially those from formative times in our lives, show up in our work and art in unexpected ways.
When I find the sketch, which I’m fairly sure is in my old bedroom at my parents’ house, I’ll share it here!
Next week, I’m headed back to France with my husband. We’re going someplace special. To one of my favorite places I visited that year abroad, maybe even one of my favorite places ever. I’m hoping to write about it in some way, and I look forward to sharing highlights in this space.
Gorgeous! Enjoy the trip!