As I come to the end of releasing the first seven chapters of this book, I think, There it is. I wrote this, liking all those stories of expat writers in the 1920s and 30s of the last century in Paris being geniuses together. Thought I’d do the same thing, except not. Just one guy, who may or may not be a genius, alone, determined, full of temperament, getting on with the art making. Throw in a commercial writer friend, a woman (a cat, a baby), see what happens. This book happened.
This week’s extract from Brussegem, a snug hell, following on from last week’s. You will find chapters 6 and 7 in a .pdf file format below, but here’s how Chapter 6 begins:
It was a few days later, while Brussegem was putting the final, exact touches on his latest canvas, when he heard a car come crunching up the gravel of his driveway, the slamming of its door, then the hard knocking at his main entrance—all this smack in the middle of his working afternoon, when all sensible people, and his few acquaintances, knew he was to be left strictly in peace with no interruptions, no matter what the death and destruction. He went to answer the door.
“Who the h—”
Veronica Weise gave him a kiss to close his mouth, patted his cheek, smiled, came in, and took off her coat, tossing it on the sofa. She strode about the room, looking at his painting, looking out the rear window, avoiding his eyes.
“Hello! I’m here! Returned to the scene of the crime. Guess what happened? My husband kicked me out! Just like that!” She fiddled with her bracelet. “Who would’ve ever thought that you would be the last straw! That’s what he called you. You, he said, are one lover too many—out. As if I’ve had dozens.”
She put down the candle holder she was toying with and turned to him, throwing up her arms.
“I don’t know why I’m here, but here I am!” she said brightly, and went into his arms. But his arms remained inert by his sides. He stared at her.
Click below to read on:
Brussegem, a snug hell – Part Three – 6 & 7
See the short video on this book:
Click here to view video.
Last audio clip on this goes up next Sunday/Monday. Thanks for looking. –Vincent
Posts Tagged ‘expat artist’
This week’s novel extract, following on from last week’s. You will find chapters 4 and 5 in a pdf file below, but here’s how this section begins (foretaste…)
A further word about Brussegem. As time performed its main function–that is, as it passed—becoming, day-by-day, a week, two weeks, more—this solitary painter, stuck in the sticks, developed a carnal need for a simple, unburdening sexual affair. It had little to do with love. At sixty‑two, Brussegem had a love‑empty lifetime to look back upon, and be philosophical about. In his life, there was little need, desire, or want for the tedious daily demands of kisses, devotion, and intolerable everyday companionship that love implied. Had he been impotent, he might have had a fine, uneventful, untroubling artistic life for the rest of his whatever. Unfortunately, in this respect he was still robust. Other reliefs were unacceptable, such as dreamy, sneaky nocturnal pollutions—they were only semi‑pleasurable, undependable in occurrence, and rather annoying in their sudden sticky surprise to be sufficiently gratifying. The other private solution, masturbation, was out; he had never bothered to acquire this skill during adolescence and saw no reason why he should begin to perfect the belittling act now. Finally, being far too proud to take an occasional bus into Brussels to spend his lust on a blasé prostitute, he instead resolved to make a few contacts out in the world in order to find a place his penis could call home.
Yates’ party was thus convenient.
Yates’ party turned out to be fifty or more people, mainly American‑British cliques with bits and pieces of broken Belgian accents dispersed within the humming murmurs; they stood around with glasses in their hands, being subdued and semi‑attentive to light conversation. Brussegem observed them with their glinting sociable smiles as they talked shop and sipped liquor.
Cigarette smoke was thick in the air; someone spilt a drink on the carpet and laughed; the initially subdued, polite talk gained in volume, becoming more of a constant, unpleasant din of strident voices scrambled together, as dense as the smoke. Pre-recorded music came constantly from somewhere.
Brussegem was increasingly displeased; the gathering was swiftly reminding him why he usually avoided such things. Every six months or so he would attend one of these social affairs, as the reality of them dimmed in his mind, simply to recall how horrible the experience was. Such gatherings replenished his aversion. It was much like witnessing another imperfect sunset, the world just did not work the way he wished. The earth, parties and all, should have been a quiet, un-agitated, reposeful place, a place built for musing and art, much like his atelier. Yet, here he found himself, much like any other silly smiling fool, attending a semi‑happy gathering, when he could be painting, or sitting cozily, thinking, in his slippers at home.
He nearly departed straightway, yet he remained, his overpowering sexual appetite required it. He took a silent moment to curse the needs of his sexual equipment.
Click below read on, read all of chapter 4 and 5:
Brussegem,a snug hell – Part Two – chapter 4 & 5
Audio clip of next chapter Sunday/Monday coming up… Thanks, Vincent
Welcome to my ongoing launch of my newest love novel about an artist and art and one determined, dreamy woman, “Brussegem, a snug hell’.
Every Sunday/Monday I’m posting a podcast of the beginning chapters of the novel for those out there who like to hear a good tale unravel into their ear. …read by the author….
The very first chapter was posted last week and can be found here: CLICK HERE FOR FIRST CHAPTER PODCAST.
For the following chapter–toady’s brand new chapter–click below:
Podcast – Brussegem, PART ONE, 2
This coming Wednesday I’ll be launching my wowie-zowie promo video (low on promo, high on hello, this is what I’ve just done). Look for it, because I’ll be looking for you to look at it…
Smiley faces all around and thanks for reading, and maybe, if you made time and want pleasure, for listening. — Vincent
Oh–a P.S. moment:
CLICK HERE FOR MORE INFO ON THIS NOVEL.