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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.

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“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…”

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I’m a WHAT Kind of Writer!  Romance? – Part 3

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Related Series Posts :

I’m a WHAT Kind of Writer!  Romance? – Part 1 – Intro

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

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Happy Fourth of July! 😉

Celebration

my wife has still not been cleared to go out beyond the house yet since her knee replacement, but we watched the upper reaches of the fireworks above the trees west of us toward the lake where it’s safest to play with fire, it was nice

it’s been a month now, and she was able to walk out using her cane, quite an accomplishment

and for me, i’ve today released my first fiction since about 1981, also quite a feat 😉

below is my first of four running chapter samples from my new novella

The Old American Artist, a Love Story

“The Old American Artist, a Love Story” is, as my wife said on finishing reading it a few days ago, exceptionally satisfying, especially how it ends

sure, she’s on my side, but she’s tough, remember? 😉

my previous two posts talk a little more about this new work, and i’ll have more to say in the following three chapter samples later this week

for now, i’ll leave with the beginning of my book description on the various online stores it’s available on :

Short Blurb

Sample, Chapter One

(1st of four, one presented each day)

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Arturo, the “American Arturo” as some villagers affectionately called him, could feel the scratch of his beard, even being just a week old.  Maybe now, in my sixties, he thought, my days are like weeks now.  One running to the other.  Is this what timelessness was?  he wondered.  He hoped not.

Squinting his eyes to shut out his thoughts, he followed the dusty curling rolling road that trailed into the distance from what his children called his “escape.”

This part of the upper Mediterranean, reminded him of the weather in Austin.  Blended with Galveston.  Hot.  Humid.  But not as crowded.  Not as hot.  Arturo was glad he had taken a break from the bustle of Texas.  And the cold of Vermont.

Here, these stretches of sandy beaches barely crawled with a few children, families of the many fishermen living nearby.  Yet a half hour winding walk, up along the dusty road, a small artist town, split between the Italians, French, and Spaniards, opened as a unique playground and portal to the world’s world of art.  It would be good, thought Arturo, to see how to bring the children and grandchildren to such a place.

Squinting into the distance, to where the road spun off a path to his house, Arturo shrugged off thoughts of art and families.  The small loping moped in the distance said the mailman, always early in the morning, had passed by, and his thoughts were on seeing if the red flag was up on his mail box.  It was not.

Relaxing his eyes into the distance, and imagining her arrival, his eyes smiled at the thought of Rosetta.

“Half Irish, half French,” she had told him, when she had finally agreed to have lunch with him.

“Rosetta,” Arturo had repeated, and she had laughed throwing out her sound, tilting back her head, as if drinking her own enjoyment.

“What’s so funny?” he grinned, curious.

“You, Arturo, you are a funny boy.”

Grinning wider, “Boy?” he replied.  “I have children and will be thirty soon.”

“But Arturo, you’re only a boy, barely nearly thirty.”

At least that’s what she had told him.  Only a boy? he thought again.  But he could tell she liked the idea, or something about it, and he liked her, so it suit him fine.

He took a small breath into the awkward pause.

“So you have children too?” he asked, assuming he was on safe, gender friendly ground.

But she had looked away with a moment’s glance at him, gone from their lunch and in her own private thoughts.  When she returned to look at him, she said simply,  “No.  Not with me,” and laid her napkin down.

Thinking back for a moment, Arturo remembered feeling it best not to answer with words right then, or say that his own children were with their mother.  His heart was too intrigued with the woman sitting before him, swelling his creative mind with ideas and impulses he only barely felt, like the first rays of the sun which a large cloud has just begun to expose.

He would not intrude he had decided.  Not yet.

He let his thick-lashed eyes soften and round, the same way he let himself into the life of one of his paintings.  Especially those he began to feel connected to.

Colors and textures.

Shapes that softly glow.

A wholeness in one glance.

Rosetta.

No letter had come.  But also no call.

She would be home for his show that night then.

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happy fourth of july! to everyone, and what it means and can mean for any one of us 😉

namaste – con dios – god be with you

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