On Writing & Storytelling: If it’s Monday, it Must be ‘Revision Day’….

It’s late evening here in Lithia, Florida, on Monday, June 5, 2023. As I write this, the sun is still above the western horizon; it will set, however, in less than an hour, and soon, night will fall.

After I revised the scene where Jim and Marty first started practicing their duet for the Spring Concert by removing the lyrics and just alluding to them, I spent some time rewriting an earlier scene from Chapter Seven. I didn’t try to totally rewrite it; I just changed the beginning – which was an explanation into how South Miami High’s choral groups didn’t have too many chances to shine in front of their fellow Cobras during the school years, especially compared to the home or away games played by their peers in the athletics program – to a more engaging discussion about solos at the Winter (or Christmas) Concert.

To Solo or Not to Solo

10:30 AM – Third Period (Mixed Chorus I) 

“So, Jim,” Bruce Holtzman whispered to me as we sat in our usual seats in the bass-baritone section of the chorus practice room. We were in the back of the crescent-shaped dais, strategically placed between the basses and the tenors. “Are you going to sing a solo at the Christmas concert? I know you’ve been saying you don’t want to, but you still have a few days to practice – if you change your mind, that is.”

“I don’t think so,” I muttered back as quietly and firmly as possible. Class was still in session, and even though Mrs. Quincy was easygoing and not as strict as some of the other teachers at South Miami High School, she still expected us to focus on learning our songs for the concert and behaving like mature young adults. Not like “a bunch of undisciplined hooligans,” as she once put it.

“But it’s an easy way to get extra credit,” Bruce persisted. “I don’t get it. You’ve been a Singing Cobra for what? Nearly a year now? And we only get a few chances to shine per semester, you know.”

“Bruce,” I said, trying to keep my voice low and calm so as not to draw attention. “I don’t mind singing in a group, as part of a larger unit. Singing a solo? That’s another story altogether.”

“Why? What’s the difference?”

“I don’t know,” I confessed. “Safety in numbers, maybe? I’m perfectly happy to sing the songs in the program and let others who want to sing a solo strut their stuff. I get nauseous at the thought of going on stage and singing all by myself in front of everyone in the auditorium.”

“Why, Jim,” Bruce exclaimed with a surprised, puzzled tone, “don’t tell me you still get stage fright.”

“Hey,” I snapped, “pipe down, man. Do you want us to get in trouble with Mrs. Quincy? I’m not doing a solo. End of story.”

“Okay, okay,” Bruce said in a placating tone. “But that extra credit sure will look good on your transcripts come next year. Especially if you want to get a scholarship.”

I sighed. I knew that singing a solo would look good on my transcripts and boost my GPA, but I didn’t care about being the salutatorian or the valedictorian of the Class of 1983. I already had enough on my plate with my AP classes, a writing gig on the yearbook staff – a consolation for the lack of a school paper that year – and the usual social dramas of junior year.

My stance on solos was clear. No way. No how. End of story.

Overall, I revised two different sections of the manuscript, but because I finished doing that not too long ago, I can’t do any “newer” writing for Chapter Nine until either tomorrow or the day after. Still, it was a productive Monday, given the circumstances.