On Writing & Storytelling: A Quick Update on Chapter 11, Scene One of ‘Reunion: Coda’

Late Afternoon/Early Evening, Thursday, August 3, 2023, Lithia, Florida

Despite another late start to the novel-writing segment of my workday (I didn’t begin writing till just past 1:30 PM), today was a productive day as far as Reunion: Coda is concerned. While I did not finish Scene One in Chapter 11 – I just ran out of “Novelist’s Mojo” and had to quit writing so I would not be tempted to rush and just write anything just to get to the endpoint – I got enough done so that I can complete the scene tomorrow.

According to the Word Count function on Microsoft Word, I added 1,691 words to what I wrote between Monday and yesterday. I took a couple of rest breaks and even had a snack during the time I dedicated to the manuscript. Even taking that into account, I think I wrote for nearly four hours; I stopped “writing for the novel” a few minutes after 5:45, and the breaks I took probably subtracted less than 10 minutes from that chunk of time.

“She’s nice,” I finally replied. “She likes ‘Somewhere’ – that’s the number we’re doing – a lot. And when Mrs. Quincy or Marva aren’t available to play the piano accompaniment, she plays it herself.”
Bruce’s eyes went wide, and he let out a soft whistle of admiration. “Wow. I didn’t know that about her,” he said.
“Neither did I, at least not before we started singing together. She’s really good; almost as good at the keyboard as Marva or Mrs. Q.”

ROUGH DRAFT OF REUNION: CODA

As I’ve said before, Chapter 11, Scene One is an expanded look at an event I mentioned in Reunion: A Story’s Scenes from a Long Goodbye. If you have read that novella – the first half of what is now the Reunion Duology – you’ll probably recognize that bit of the story, which is one of the few instances that is drawn directly from my real-life experiences as a senior during my last months at South Miami High School. (Obviously, if you haven’t read Reunion, the scene in question won’t leave you with a feeling of déjà vu, but if you have, then you’ll see why I decided to give it such a prominent place in my first novel.)

If you want a preview of what you can expect in this bit of Reunion: Coda, read on. For context, readers who own Reunion: A Story are encouraged to read Scenes from a Long Goodbye to orient themselves if they have not read the novella recently. And since I am bound to edit this stuff anyway before I publish the finished book, keep in mind that this is not the final definitive version of the scene.

“So, how is it going with your practice sessions for your duet with Marty?” Bruce Holtzman asked in a quiet voice as we sat at our usual places in the bass-baritone section of the chorus practice room, waiting for Mrs. Quincy to enter the room and take attendance so we could start practicing our numbers for the Spring Concert, now less than six weeks away.

“Fine,” I said. “We don’t practice every day – Marty has quite a few other afterschool activities, and I sometimes have to work on story assignments for The Serpent’s Tale. We still have at least two issues to do this semester. And, of course, we had to study for midterms, so…”

“Yeah, but how’s it going?” Bruce persisted. “You don’t talk about Marty much, or how you guys get along.”

I looked at Bruce, wondering why he was so curious about my practice sessions with Marty. Maybe he suspected that I, like so many other guys in school, had at least a passing crush on her. After all, she was one of the most attractive girls in the Class of 1983, in the same rare level of hotness as Anne Saroyan, the captain of the cheerleading squad, and Cece Strider, the reigning Homecoming Queen. But in my friend’s expression, there was no hint of salacious curiosity or envy – just honest curiosity.

“She’s nice,” I finally replied. “She likes ‘Somewhere’ – that’s the number we’re doing – a lot. And when Mrs. Quincy or Marva aren’t available to play the piano accompaniment, she plays it herself.”

Bruce’s eyes went wide, and he let out a soft whistle of admiration. “Wow. I didn’t know that about her,” he said.

“Neither did I, at least not before we started singing together. She’s really good; almost as good at the keyboard as Marva or Mrs. Q.”

Bruce was about to say something else, but before he could utter one more word, the sound of the practice room door swinging open, followed by the entrance of our chorus teacher, made him clam up.

I don’t claim to be clairvoyant, nor was I as well versed in reading body language then as I am now, but as soon as I saw Mrs. Quincy walking through the door with a grave expression on her face, I had an odd feeling that something was amiss somehow. And, judging by the way all of the conversations in the chorus practice room gave way to a sudden, uneasy silence, so did the other 30 members of our ensemble.

“Ladies. Gentlemen,” Mrs. Quincy said in an unusually hesitant and subdued manner as she placed a large white shopping bag on top of the bench behind the black Kawai piano at the center of the practice room. “Your attention, please – I have an important announcement to make.”

Uh-oh, I thought. This doesn’t sound good….

Mrs. Quincy looked around the room, smiling gently as she did, but I noticed that her blue-gray eyes were dark and didn’t have their usual joyful spark. She gazed at us for a moment, as if she were trying to commit everyone’s faces to memory. Then, choosing her words with quiet determination, she spoke again.

“First, let me say that you, my dear young men and women, are among the best, most talented singers I have had the pleasure to teach in my 30 years as an educator. I’m honored to be in your presence, and I’m grateful to have been a member of South Miami High’s music department over the past 12 years.”

This really doesn’t sound good, I thought sourly as I sat at my usual place between the bass and tenor sections.

“Second,” Mrs. Quincy continued, “I have been offered – and I have accepted – a job offer from The Julliard School as their new choral director.”

A murmur, full of unease and surprise, rippled like a cold wave of ocean water through the practice room as this bit of news sank in. Surely, I heard my inner voice whispering in disbelief, she’s not talking about leaving at the end of the school year, right?