Pictured, “The Old American Artist, a Love Story“
A romance and an artist’s story, how could it not be a love story?
We all love a story that shows how a loving pair, meeting obstacles in life, overcome that challenge, and resolve to love each other. But what happens during the “lived happily ever after” part? What are the details, what might the process be, achieving and living that post-crisis life?
This arc, from boy meets girl, boy loses girl, boy regains girl, morphs, in this first of three books, in the trilogy Triptych, into that fuller story of life, and love.
“a beginner’s view: the intent of this blog is to incrementally build a body of thought that works toward integrating various topics, yoga, fitness, and the arts – it’s a process…”
I’m a WHAT Kind of Writer! Romance? – Part 5
Related Series Posts :
I’m a WHAT Kind of Writer! Romance? – Part 2 - “2 Shorts, a Poem, & a Sampler (fiction)”
I’m a WHAT Kind of Writer! Romance? – Part 3 - Chapter 1, “The Old American Artist, a Love Story”
I’m a WHAT Kind of Writer! Romance? – Part 4 - Chapter 2, “The Old American Artist, a Love Story”
I’m a WHAT Kind of Writer! Romance? – Part 5 - Chapter 3, “The Old American Artist, a Love Story”
I’m a WHAT Kind of Writer? Romance? – Part 6 - Chapter 4, “The Old American Artist, a Love Story”
I’m a WHAT Kind of Writer? Romance? – Part 7 – Yoga, Sports, and Writing
Intro, Why Copying Exactly From Life is Unnecessary
on the one hand, how can anything anyone creates not have some elements of that person’s life? ie, thoughts, convictions, hopes, life experiences, etc?
on the other, writing fiction that would best be labeled autobiography, is not for me
many many things in my work, including in my new novella, is based on memories of things and people i’ve experienced and known -
but, i don’t have to copy the person or event to make it meaningful for me in a work of fiction
copying the event or person would actually feel inhibiting
i want to be able to embellish, exaggerate, minimize, spotlight, and generalize, in any way i want to create an enjoyable read for someone (i feel and paint in the same manner in regard to my art work)
What Part Is Important for Me to Copy from Real Life
what i have discovered, or realized, is that if a person or event has made enough of an impact on me to want to fictionalize in a story, or dramatize in a poem, and i am not specifically saying that the event or person is someone i am clearly identifying, ie, a parent poem to my dad or mom, a poem to my wife, then what is important for me, is to extract the deepest essence of that person’s or event’s impact on me -
real life : i might be walking down the street and come across an emergency, say, a kid falls out of a tree as i walk by, a la a scene in “Groundhog Day” and i go to help and (unlike “Groundhog Day”) some adult rushes out and curses me out for helping what he or she is now calling a good for nothing kid best left to rot on the pavement
real life adult in above scene : short, bald (oh, that might be me ) and moving quickly for being so overweight
fiction : i’m riding a bike down a dirt path in a public park and a large but old dog falls out from a tree onto the path, i hesitate, wondering if the dog is safe to go help, and the dog’s owner appears, cursing me for not helping, and the dog for being stupid and not minding
fiction adult in above scene : thin, mid-height, limps
the issues of shock and confusion over being expected to react as if i had a script on a tv show, and blaming the boy or dog beyond concern for injuries and needing help, are what are important to me in this very made up scenario -
it wasn’t hard to invent differing actors in the scene to play a similar script -
changing the elements in reality to fiction, i can add or diminish the degree of pathos, or even add humor, if i wanted to be inventive enough and it feels right
for folk who write a lot, the example above is old stuff, but i hope potential readers and new writers may see some of my own creative process, and thus encourage them to try their own flavor of fictional or poetic work, with elements of their own lives
In This Novella
much like arturo, the male protagonist in “the old american artist, a love story,” i feel a need to ground myself in the world i experience to create work that is satisfying for me -
the most important part of that experience, for my fiction and poetry, is my internal world -
that’s the scaffolding and framework that rebuilds a new life…
in fiction and maybe, even in real life
yesterday i mentioned a writer i like to follow for info on his interesting experiments in epublishing, and for his creative work style -
today i’d like to list another source i also look at regularly when they post, even if it’s a few days to even a week after i get the email notification, the article’s tab staying nicely in view on my browser til time and timing permit
the first acronym is for Readers Guide to ePublishing, and the latter is for Writers Guide to ePublishing
though i mostly follow wg2e, i’m finding rg2e interesting for what shows up, especially in the field of romantic fiction, but many others writing areas are embraced, including poetry
wg2e, Writers Guide to ePublishing, has a large group of participating active writers sharing sales info plus marketing and formatting techniques
many of the contributors are trying things i had never thought or heard of, kindle bubble parties on the kindle fire, getting set up and using the kindleboards, and ho-down book release parties set in locations featured or similar to that in the book being promoted
i would highly recommend at least a look there’s much more!
immediately below is my third sample, chapter three, from my new novella
i hope you enjoy the four chapter sequence, thank you much
Sample, Chapter Three
(3rd of four, one presented each day)
Arturo savored the syllables softly and and said it again slowly.
“Rosetta…like the rosetta stone.” His voice sounded the words with the weight of light precious rocks, then quickly added, “not the language company, but the….”
“Yes,” Rosetta glanced quickly to Arturo, then back to her meal. It was their second lunch date. And there was no need to hurry both hungers. “A lot of people tell me that.”
Arturo, at the tender turning age of twenty-nine, half impetuous, half matured, paused, but still rushed inside himself to find his reply. Though they had just met that week, he liked the glint and glimmer in her eye. He feared losing momentum. As with his art, he feared letting his paint dry when it still needed blending, most especially when the image in his mind fit the feeling in his heart. The solution, he had often found, was to press on. Dab the canvas.
Nope, he thought, too little. He could see it in her eyes, the dash of disappointment. “You know,” he pressed again, crossing his feet, leaning forward, squeezing his thoughts out, “it’s because people see you as special.” Yes! he thought, he saw a glint of approval.
But she wanted more.
“How’s the rosetta stone special? What’s so special about it?” She seemed to wish she had more food to cut, or something to butter. But all was about eaten now. The bits left were getting cold. “I mean, I’ve heard of the rosetta stone, I just don’t know why it’s so important. No one’s been able to tell me for sure,” and her fork clattered to the nearly empty plate drawing quick looks from the table nearby and both Arturo and Rosetta burst out laughing.
Arturo leaned forward a few more inches, closing off their conversation from those around them, and Rosetta smiled, grateful for his touch of awareness.
“I really don’t know,” and Arturo’s smile spread as Rosetta’s eyes widened, surprised. “Maybe we can explore that together. Go to the library.”
The breath between them was very still.
“Galveston has a real old library that’s kinda fun to use,” he said quietly.
“We have an old one in Vermont where I grew up too.”
Their breath stirred.
“Vermont? Is that north of Dallas?”
Rosetta hesitated. “Well, yes, it’s actually a state….”
Arturo burst out laughing, again drawing looks from the quiet couple nearby.
Lowering his voice, he said, “I’m just kidding. I know where Vermont is. On a map anyways,” and grinned.
“You do? Really? A lot of people here in Texas never heard of it.”
A sad thought passed through Arturo. Even now, in the early 80s, nearly the end of the twentieth century, he knew this was true. Many people still knew little beyond where they lived, including himself, he thought. Setting his eyes with serious softness on hers, he smiled a tiny smile, and knowing he knew her, said, “I believe you.”
Their awkwardness, he sensed, had eased, each with tiny smiles, like a great painting begun.
best wishes in your reading adventures
namaste´ – con dios – god by with you
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