Writing Exercises for Reunion: Coda

Monday, April 1, 2024

What does your hero say the first time he sees the heroine naked?

“As a historian, I’ve always believed it’s the unseen details that hold the true essence of beauty. Now, standing before you, I realize some histories are felt rather than told.”

And this is how Maddie might reply:

“In the symphony of my life, you’ve been, as of late, the crescendo, Jim. And now, you’ve left me utterly breathless.”

Tuesday, April 2, 2024

Describe what your hero is wearing when your heroine first sees him.

Jim is a professor of history at Columbia University and an up-and-coming author of non-fiction books about military history (especially focusing on World War II). At the novel’s beginning, he’s at a new nightclub in Williamsburg (Brooklyn) called the Moonglow. It’s Friday night, and even though I don’t delve into it much in the book, we can safely assume that Jim went to his apartment in midtown Manhattan after work, showered, shaved, and chose a nice suit to fit in with the club’s 1940s theme.

Based on this assumption, Jim is wearing a gray tweed herringbone suit (pants, vest, and a single-breasted jacket), a white shirt, a red tie with a gold tiepin, brown shoes, and a matching belt. He also wears a replica of Indiana Jones’ brown felt snap-brim fedora.  

How do you describe your heroine when your hero first sees her?

I glance at the bottle of Heineken in my hand, feeling the chill of the condensation on my fingers. It’s a new nightclub, and I’m curious to see what it’s like. I’m not here to hook up, but I wouldn’t mind some company. Maybe someone who shares my passion for history. Someone who appreciates the stories behind the facts. Someone who can make me laugh and think at the same time.

That’s when I hear her voice. “Excuse me,” she says, “is this seat taken?”

Her accent is refined and elegant, like a cross between FDR and a British aristocrat. I swivel around and there she is, clutching a bag stuffed with books from Book Culture—that quaint little bookstore on Broadway. Her hair is the color of caramel, cascading in loose waves that brush her shoulders with a gentle grace. Her hazel eyes, framed by arched brows, are windows to her soul, expressive and vibrant. They catch the club’s dim lights, reflecting a spectrum of warm colors. Her heart-shaped face is turned slightly, the soft contours of her cheeks tapering to a delicate chin, giving her an air of approachability. Her lips, reminiscent of a Gibson girl’s, hold a promise of a smile that could light up the darkest corners of any room. She’s wearing a sky-blue dress that hugs her curves in all the right places. She’s breathtaking.– from Reunion: Coda

Wednesday, April 3, 2024

Describe your heroine’s physical characteristics without having her look in the mirror.

Because Reunion: Coda is a novel set in two different stages of the protagonist/narrator’s life, there are two female leads: Marty and Maddie. Marty is the 1980s-era one, while Maddie is the Present Day (2000) “heroine.”

Let’s go for Maddie, shall we?

Maddie is a woman whose beauty is both striking and subtle. She possesses a heart-shaped face, the soft contours of her cheeks tapering to a delicate chin. Her hazel eyes, framed by arched brows, are windows to her soul, expressive and vibrant. A mane of chestnut hair falls in a cascade of loose waves, brushing her shoulders with a gentle grace. Her lips, reminiscent of a Gibson girl’s, are neither too full nor too thin, but perfectly shaped for a smile that lights up her face. Her neck is slender, leading to shoulders that carry an air of confidence. Maddie’s physique is toned, the result of regular exercise, yet retains a natural softness. Her fingers are long and delicate, the hands of a pianist, with a touch as gentle as her voice. In her posture and presence, there is a balance of strength and femininity, a harmony that captures the essence of her character.

Thursday, April 4, 2024

Does your character have an academic interest? Did they go to college, and if so, what did they study? What draws them to this subject?

My protagonist/narrator, James K. Garraty (Jim/Jimmy) is a professor of history at Columbia University. His area of expertise is 20th-century military history, with a special focus on the Second World War. He earned a full scholarship to study history at Harvard in the early 1980s, and he has taught at Harvard and Oxford University. I haven’t mentioned his motivations in either Reunion: A Story or Reunion: Coda, but I think Jim became fascinated with history while trying to understand why the U.S. got involved in Vietnam – a “lost crusade” in which his father, an Army helicopter pilot, was killed.

Friday, April 5, 2024

What role does money play in your story? How does it impact your characters? Is it a subject that causes conflict, and if so, how?

Money doesn’t play much of a role in the Reunion duology. None of the two stories in it are your run-of-the-mill romance novels, so that trope of “wealthy character loves working class character” isn’t a “thing,” especially in Reunion: Coda. Jim is a history professor and best-selling author, so he definitely makes over $100,000 a year. Maddie (his 2000 era love interest) is a professional musician who plays the piano with the New York Philharmonic. She probably makes less than Jim, but this doesn’t cause any dramatic tension between them.

Monday, April 8, 2024

What is the first line of dialogue in your novel? Who is speaking?

In the Prologue to Reunion: Coda there are several instances where my narrator/protagonist uses indirect quotes to highlight several cliches that he (and I) think are trite and annoying, including Everything happens for a reason and Time heals all wounds.

However, the first line of character-to-character speech appears in Scene 3 of the Prologue. It’s “Are you going to be okay, Jim?”  It is spoken by Jim Garraty’s best friend, Mark Prieto, in a scene set less than 20 minutes after the last South Miami Senior High School scene in Book 1 of the Reunion Duology.

Here’s the entire scene for context:

3

The Last Afterschool Walk Home

This is a story I don’t tell often; I’m a private man, and I don’t like to spill my guts about my love life, or lack thereof. I’m fine with talking in front of a crowd – whether it’s my history students at Columbia University or the folks who come to hear me read from my latest World War II book at the bookstore. But when it comes to the women who have broken my heart, or the one who never knew she had it, I keep that to myself.

The only other person – besides you, now – who knows the truth about the letter and what I did with it and why is my best friend, Mark Prieto.

Mark wasn’t there that day in June of ’83 when I met Marty for the last time in the chorus room at South Miami High School. I don’t know what would have happened if he had walked in on us, on me and the girl I loved more than anything but was too chicken to tell her. But I know Mark, he’s been like a brother to me since we were kids at Kinloch Park Elementary, and he would have done something. He would have tried to make me confess my feelings to her before it was too late.

But I was young and dumb, scared of my feelings, still hurting from Kathy – she had dumped me three years before, and I still hadn’t gotten over it – and I had let the whole year slip by without making a move on Marty. And then there we were, alone in the chorus room – Room 136, I still remember the number on my schedule – and we kissed. It was the first time we ever did. And I knew I had screwed up. I had set myself up for a fall. No one – not Mark, not Marty, not even God – could have saved me from the mess I had made of my own heart.

I can still see it in my mind, even after 20 years. South Miami High, that canary yellow bunker on the corner of Southwest 53rd Street and Southwest 68th Avenue. It was a short walk from the house where I lived with my mom, Sarah Garraty, ever since my dad died in the early years of America’s lost crusade in South Vietnam. I didn’t need a bike or a car to get there. It was close enough to smell the cafeteria food and hear the bell ring. It was a warehouse for 2100 kids and 150 grown-ups, as one of the Cobras joked once. It was built in 1971, when the world was going crazy with wars and scandals and generational strife. It had three floors of classrooms, chemistry labs, a library, a student publications room, a Little Theater for the drama classes, an auditorium for the various choirs, and walls lined with rows of lockers. It was a place full of secrets and surprises. It was where life happened, for better or worse.

Mark walked with me that day, our last day of high school. He didn’t say much. He knew I was hurting. He knew I was losing Marty, and that I was feeling downright shitty about it. She was leaving for London with her family after graduation. She would be gone for the whole summer, maybe forever. I would be gone too, heading north to Harvard, to start a new life without her. Mark knew all that, but he didn’t say anything. He just walked with me, like a true friend.

Mark and I stood in front of his house, half a block away from mine. We had walked from school in silence – for the last time, my brain kept reminding me. We had already said everything that needed to be said about “the thing with Marty” and the letter. Mark would never admit it, but he was just as sad as I was that our carefree youth had come to an end. We were known in school as the Twins from Different Families because we had been best friends since sixth grade. Now, we would probably not see each other for a long time once I left Miami for the chilly embrace of Cambridge.

As we stood on the sidewalk, just a few yards away from his front porch, Mark finally broke the silence. “Are you going to be okay, Jim?” His blue eyes, usually sparkling with wit or wisdom, were now a dimmer shade of grey-blue – a sure sign that Mark was truly worried or sad.

I sighed. “Yeah,” I said unconvincingly. “I’ll be okay, pal.”

Mark pointed in the direction of my house. “You sure you don’t want me to walk you to your front door? It’s no problem.”

“What are you now, my dad?” I replied with a half-hearted chuckle. “I’ll be fine. It’s not like I live in Westchester or Sweetwater, bucko. I’ll probably go straight to my room and crash – I didn’t sleep much last night and I’ve been up since 6:30. I’m bushed.”

Mark grinned. “You sure it’s not because you’re afraid of running into that crazy cat lady next door?”

I rolled my eyes. “Very funny, Mark. But no, I think I can handle Mrs. Finklestein and her army of felines.”

We both burst out laughing – it was the first time we had genuinely laughed since that final bell rang at 2:30 PM, signaling the end of our school days. But as the moment faded into the past, our smiles slowly turned into quiet sobriety.

“Well, I’ll catch you tomorrow,” Mark said in a subdued voice. “But if you need to talk….”

“I got your digits,” I replied.

I turned and started walking towards my house when Mark called out, “Hey, Jim!”

I stopped and turned around. “What’s up?”

“May the Force be with you,” Mark said, making his best Han Solo impression.

I laughed and flipped him the bird over my shoulder before continuing down the sun-drenched sidewalk towards home.

Tuesday, April 9, 2024

Describe the first kiss between your characters, including the situation leading up to it and how they react after it’s over.

John F. Kennedy International Airport, Arrivals Terminal, 2:35 PM EST

I’m at JFK, the arrivals terminal humming with the energy of a city that never sleeps. It’s a Friday afternoon, and the place is buzzing like a nightclub, but instead of music and laughter, it’s filled with the sounds of greetings and goodbyes. I’m here waiting for Maddie, my heart racing a bit as I glance at the clock. Her flight, British Airways BA-175, was due at 1:45 PM, but it’s running late. Headwinds over the Atlantic, they said.

I taught my Intro to WWII class at Columbia this morning at 9:00, and Henry Townsend, bless him, arranged for a TA to cover my afternoon sessions. I rarely drive in Manhattan, but today I made an exception. I pulled my ’95 Acura out of the garage, where I shell out more than I’d care to admit each month, and hit the road around 10:30 AM. The traffic was a nightmare, made worse by a fender bender somewhere on FDR Drive, between midtown Manhattan and here.

I’ve been trying to distract myself with the day’s New York Times, but the headlines are just a blur. NASDAQ’s record high, a bomb in Sri Lanka killing 18—none of it registers. All I can think about is Maddie, jet lag, and whether she’ll be up for watching The English Patient tonight.

To kill time, I wandered into the duty-free and picked up the latest Tom Clancy paperback, The Bear and the Dragon. Now, I’m nursing my third cup of coffee from Starbucks, trying to lose myself in Clancy’s world of espionage and military fiction, but it’s no use.

Then, out of nowhere, I hear her voice, that British accent cutting through the noise, “Excuse me, is this seat taken?” I look up, and there she is. Maddie, in a red dress cinched with a black belt, knee-high black boots, and that wide-brimmed red hat she loves. She’s got a wheeled suitcase and a carry-on slung over her shoulder. She’s here, and suddenly, the wait is worth it.

The Clancy novel slips from my fingers, thudding against the Starbucks’ tiled floor, but I barely notice. I’m on my feet in an instant, my Indy fedora almost taking flight from the sudden movement. It doesn’t, though, and it ends up askew, covering my left eye. Maddie’s giggle is a silver bell in the airport’s cacophony. I can’t help but grin as I adjust the hat, channeling my inner Harrison Ford with a rakish tilt.

Time seems to stand still as we lock eyes. There’s so much we could say—mundane pleasantries, polite inquiries—but none of that matters now. We’re reading each other’s faces, searching for the stories written there since our last goodbye. Maddie’s beauty is as striking as ever, her heart-shaped face a canvas of soft contours and delicate lines. Her hazel eyes, vibrant even in her fatigue, are alive with the stories she’s yet to tell me. Chestnut waves frame her face, and her lips, oh her lips—they’re a perfect bow, the kind that would inspire poets and artists alike.

She looks every bit the English rose I remember, yet there’s a hint of weariness around her eyes—a subtle testament to the miles she’s crossed to get here. But when our gazes meet, all signs of tiredness seem to vanish, replaced by a spark that’s all too familiar.

Without a word, we step into each other’s arms, and the world around us fades into a hush. Our kiss is a revelation, a tender collision of longing and relief. Maddie surprises me with a bold and passionate French kiss, yet the softness of her lips, the faint taste of wine, and the scent of her perfume envelop me. It’s a kiss that speaks of missed moments and the promise of those to come. Our hats tumble to the ground, forgotten, as we’re lost in the warmth of our embrace, the gentle hum of the airport fading into the background.

A passerby’s gruff voice cuts through the moment, “Get a room, why don’t you!” But we barely hear it. We’re too wrapped up in the rediscovery of each other, in a kiss that feels like coming home.

Our laughter mingles, a shared melody that softens the edges of the bustling terminal. Maddie’s playful defiance shines as she sends a cheeky gesture to the retreating New Yorker, her spirit undimmed by his rudeness. Then, she turns back to me, her eyes alight with affection, and our lips meet again. This kiss is gentler, a tender reaffirmation of our connection.

“I missed you, Professor Garraty,” Maddie whispers, her voice a soothing balm to the chaos of my day. I straighten up, balancing the Tom Clancy novel awkwardly under my arm as I gather our fallen hats. With a reverence that feels almost sacred, I place the wide-brimmed red hat atop her head, adjusting it with care.

Her smile is gratitude and love interwoven. “Thanks for coming all the way out here to fetch me,” she says, her words wrapping around me like a warm embrace. In this moment, with her standing before me, every mile driven and every minute waited feels utterly worthwhile. – Reunion: Coda, Chapter 14

Tuesday, April 9, 2024 (Redux)

“Gee, Your Hair Smells Terrific!”

How a character smells says a lot about them. List the first three scents that come to mind when thinking of your hero. Now describe your heroine using another three scents.

Jim Garraty:

1. Old Spice After Shave: A classic scent that suggests a traditional and masculine charm.

2. Leather: Evokes a sense of scholarly gravitas and sophistication, hinting at a life surrounded by books and academia.

3. Aged Paper: The musty aroma of old books aligns with his profession as a history professor, suggesting a lifetime spent in libraries.

Maddie:

1. Herbal Essence Shampoo: A modern, clean scent that reflects her personal care routine.

2. Perfume (Orange Blossoms and Jasmine): A blend that suggests a warm, inviting, and slightly exotic personality.

3. Green Tea: Represents her vibrant and spirited nature with its fresh and invigorating aroma.

These scents help to build a sensory profile for each character, adding depth and relatability to their personas. 🌿📚

Wednesday, April 10, 2024

List five character strengths for your heroine.

Maddie’s Strengths:

1. Intelligent
2. Talented
3. Kind/Generous
4. Determined
5. Witty

Now list five character flaws.

Maddie’s Weaknesses:

1. Impulsive
2. Can be unnecessarily stubborn at times
3. Is sometimes devious
4. Some sibling rivalry issues
5. Pushes herself too hard when she doesn’t need to

Wednesday, April 10, 2024 (Redux)

Where do your characters live and how does it influence the story? Do they live in a city and meet at a bar? Do they live on a ranch and ride horses?

In both timelines of Reunion: Coda, the characters (Jim, Marty, Mark, and Maddie, as well as the supporting “cast” members) all live, work, or study in large metro areas. 1980s high school-age Jim, his high school crush Martina (aka Marty), and his best pal Mark live near the South Miami High campus. Jim and Mark live on the same block; Marty and her family live several blocks away. In 2000, Jim teaches history at Columbia University and writes books on the subject in New York City, while Maddie is a pianist with the New York Philharmonic. He lives in midtown Manhattan; she lives in Jamaica Heights, Queens. 

And, of course, they meet at a ritzy WWII-themed nightclub called the Moonglow.

2

“You Haven’t Even Asked Me to Dance Yet”

Maddie and I finish our drinks and watch the dance floor from our table at the nightclub, a spacious area cordoned off by velvet ropes and flashing lights.  The smooth, shiny floor reflects the smiling faces of the happy dancers. Every so often, there are gold or silver-hued flashes as light bounces from a watch or bracelet. A stage at one end of the floor holds a band, where a dozen musicians in matching suits and hats are getting ready to play their instruments. A microphone stands in front of the stage, waiting for the voice of the emcee.

“Ladies and gentlemen, boys and girls, welcome back to the Moonglow Club!” The emcee’s voice rings out over the speakers, drawing cheers and applause from the crowd. He is a tall, skinny man with slicked-back hair and a thin mustache, dressed in a tuxedo and a bow tie. He talks with a fast-paced, nasal accent that reminds me of a Walter Winchell-type radio announcer from the 1940s. “We have a special treat for you tonight, a swingin’ sensation that will make you groove and move, the Swinging Millers!” He points to the band behind him, who wave and grin. “They’re going to play some more of your favorite tunes from the golden age of swing, so get ready to boogie and have some fun! And now, without further ado, let’s give it up for the Swinging Millers!”

The emcee steps aside as the band starts playing “In the Mood”, a classic swing song that fills the air with energy and excitement. The dancers pair up and move to the beat, spinning and twirling on the dance floor. The emcee watches from the side, clapping his hands and nodding his head. He waits for the song to end before he goes back to the microphone.

“What a wonderful performance by the Swinging Millers! Let’s hear it for them!” He encourages more applause from the crowd. “And they’re not done yet, folks. They have two more songs for you tonight, two more gems from the swing era that will make you swoon and sway. First up, we have a sweet and sentimental tune that will melt your heart, “Little Brown Jug”. And then, we have a romantic ballad that will make you feel all warm and fuzzy inside, “Smoke Gets in Your Eyes”. So, grab your partner and get ready for some more swingin’ fun with the Swinging Millers!” He steps back again as the band begins playing “Little Brown Jug”, a cheerful song that contrasts with the earlier one. The dancers change their pace and style accordingly, enjoying the variety of music.

I glance at Maddie and see that she has a flush on her cheeks and a sparkle in her eyes. She looks at me and smiles. Then she says, “Do you want to dance?”

“To ‘Little Brown Jug’?” I raise a skeptical eyebrow. “All you’ll get is your toes being stepped on – constantly. The rhythm is a bit too fast for me, I think.”

Maddie’s smile fades, as if a passing cloud had eclipsed the moon over Manhattan. The spark in her hazel eyes dims a bit as well. “Party pooper.”

“No, no. I’m just trying to save your toes from going home tonight all sore. They used to call me ‘Two Left Feet Jim’ in school.”

For some reason, Maddie finds that nickname amusing, and her smile, that bright, self-confident smile, returns – but not quite reaching her eyes. A trick of the lighting in the Moonglow, perhaps, or maybe it’s the two Heinekens I’ve consumed talking. But for a second there, I sense that odd feeling that characters in Raymond Chandler or Dashiell Hammett stories get when they get a visit from mysterious dames at their offices late at night.

“You? Danced in school?”

I shrug. “Yep.”

She laughs, half amused, half skeptical. “College? Or high school?”

 “College. I was too much of a high school – “

“Nerd?” she finishes for me, and I’m not sure if she’s being cute or if she was the type of girl in high school that looked down on boys like me – the grades-before-all-else, shy, and awkward guys usually depicted in the movies as uncool, comic relief characters who play second fiddle to the jocks and bad boys on campus.

I gaze at her, looking for any sign of disdain in her expression. There’s none.

“Yeah, you could say that. No, I took dance classes in college. Mom insisted. She said it would be good for me. You know, to socialize. And be a bit physically active.”

“I see,” she says, the distinctive patrician accent that is somehow fitting in this World War II-era themed nightclub a tad more pronounced thanks to that Sidecar she’s been drinking. Her eyelids droop a bit, like shades being dropped to conceal – something. “Mothers know best, after all.” She pauses a second, then her expression morphs back to inquisitiveness. “Where did you go to college?”

I look away from Maddie. I like her, I really do. But I don’t want to reveal too much about my past yet. I didn’t even tell her what I do for a living. It’s not that I’m ashamed of being a professor of history at Columbia or that my latest book was just published. I just want her to like me for who I am, not because I’m a B-list celebrity in my field.

Thursday, April 11, 2024

What kind of speech pattern does your heroine have? What is her favorite curse word? Describe her voice in five adjectives.

Since I’m currently working on a Jim-and-Maddie chapter (there are no more “Jim-in-high school” ones planned), let’s focus on Maddie, shall we?

In Reunion: Coda, I’ve established Maddie as a woman in her late 30s (37 or 38 in early 2000) who has lived, studied and worked in two countries: Great Britain and the United States. She was born in London – or, at least near it – and spent her first 11 or so years there before her father, a Foreign Service professional, was posted at the British consulate in Miami. She attended junior high (what we now call “middle school”) and high school in South Florida, then returned to the UK to further her studies in music and – hopefully – join one of London’s prestigious orchestras as a pianist. Sometime between the late 1980s and early 1990s, she moved to New York City and joined the New York Philharmonic.

Maddie normally speaks with the accent that most non-Brits know as a “British accent” or the “King’s English”: Received Pronunciation (RP), which, per Wikipedia, is defined as:  the accent traditionally regarded as the standard and most prestigious form of spoken British English[1]. It’s the accent that most Americans are familiar with from TV, movies, and radio, and is the standard pronunciation used by presenters and reporters on the BBC World News broadcasts, among other things.

However, Maddie – having a good ear for music and human speech patterns – is a good mimic and can, if she so chooses, speak with an American accent. When she does, she adopts a Mid-Atlantic accent that, combined with her conversational style that suggests a worldly sophistication and sparkling wit, makes her sound like a cross between the patrician FDR and the beloved opera singer Beverly Sills. (Sometimes, though, especially if she’s had a few drinks or has her guard down, her Englishness seeps through the faux American accent. Then she speaks like a cross between FDR and Princess Diana.)

Maddie’s speech pattern, as described with an “FDR-meets-British aristocrat accent,” suggests a unique blend of American and British English influences. This could be characterized by a mid-Atlantic or transatlantic accent, which is often associated with a certain level of formality and sophistication. It’s a cultivated accent that combines the clear enunciation of American English with the non-rhotic sounds of Received Pronunciation, commonly associated with the British upper class.

In her speech, one might imagine a crisp, articulate delivery with softened ‘r’ sounds and elongated vowels, giving her voice a melodic and refined quality. Her choice of words and phrases likely reflects a blend of American directness with British eloquence, creating a speech pattern that is both warm and authoritative, friendly yet polished.

The conversation below also indicates that Maddie has a caring and considerate tone, with a touch of humor and playfulness, as seen in her light-hearted teasing. Her speech conveys concern and affection, which adds depth to her character and makes her interactions with Jim feel genuine and engaging. Overall, her speech pattern is distinctive and memorable, contributing to her character’s charm and presence in the narrative.

I chase my hat down the street, cursing as it bounces and rolls on the sidewalk just out of reach. The wind has snatched it off my head and sent it sailing down the busy avenue. I curse and chase after it, my briefcase banging against my leg. The hat is a replica of Indiana Jones’s fedora that I bought in Miami eleven years ago when I earned my master’s in history. It’s not very expensive, but it’s priceless to me. It reminds me of my love for adventure and discovery.

I lunge for it, but it slips away again. It dodges cars and pedestrians as if it has a mind of its own. I weave through the traffic, ignoring the honks and shouts. I’m in a hurry to get home after a long day of teaching at Columbia University. I have an important call to make, one that can’t wait too long.

Why is this call so important, you ask? Well, it’s about Maddie. The girl I met at the Moonglow Club on Friday night. We shared drinks and danced to swing music from the 40s. She had an FDR-meets-British aristocrat accent and a dazzling smile. She gave me a napkin from the club with her number before getting in a cab. She said she worked weekends, so I had to wait till now to call her.

Finally, I catch up to the hat and snatch it off the ground. I put it back on my head and take a deep breath. My heart is still racing, but I feel a little foolish. What was I thinking, chasing after a hat like a madman? I look at my watch and realize I have six minutes to catch the next train that will help me get to my midtown Manhattan apartment. I hope Maddie hasn’t forgotten about me – or that I have her number.

I walk back to the subway station at 116^th Street–Columbia University, my briefcase still banging against my leg. The wind has died down, but the station is deafening. Trains screech to a halt, doors open and close, and people talk and laugh. I try to focus on the phone call I’m about to make, but I can barely hear myself think.

I take out my Nokia 3210 and dial her number.

It rings once, twice, three times. I’m about to hang up when I hear her voice.

“Hello?” Maddie says. She sounds the same as on Friday night, with her FDR-meets-British aristocrat accent.

“Hi,” I say, covering the phone with my hand to block the noise. “It’s Jim.”

“Jim?” she says. “Where are you calling from? You sound very far away!”

“I’m at the 116^th Street–Columbia University station. It’s really loud here.”

“Oh, I see. Well, it’s nice to hear from you.”

“It’s nice to hear from you too,” I say, trying to talk over the din of the subway station. “Is this a bad time?”

“No, not at all,” she says. “I was wondering how you were doing.”

“I’m all right. Just on my way home from work. How are you, Maddie?”

“I’m fine. The weather’s nasty out there, though. Why don’t you call me when you get home? It’ll be easier to talk,” she says. Her voice is warm, friendly, even concerned.

“Okay, that sounds good. I’ll call you in 45 minutes. The train won’t take that long to get to my stop, but I do need to shower and maybe have some dinner, too.”

I think I hear a hint of – what? Happiness? Relief? – in Maddie’s voice. “That’ll be perfect.” She pauses, then adds jokingly, “I was beginning to think you’d forgotten me, Mr. Jim. Go catch your train. I’ll be here when you call.”

Her favorite curse word – which she has yet to use – is “fuck.”

Here are the five adjectives the exercise requires:

Given Maddie’s unique accent and her musical background as a pianist and likely an alto singer, here are five adjectives that might describe her voice:

1. Melodic – Her voice likely has a musical quality, flowing smoothly like a well-composed song.

2. Resonant– As an alto, her voice might carry a rich, deep tone that resonates warmly.

3. Cultured – Reflecting her FDR-meets-British aristocrat accent, her speech would sound refined and sophisticated.

4. Expressive– Her pianist’s sensitivity could translate into a voice that conveys emotion vividly.

5. Clear – Despite the unique accent, her enunciation is probably precise, making her easy to understand.

These adjectives paint a picture of a voice that is pleasant to listen to and carries both authority and warmth.

Friday, April 12, 2024

Choose one of your secondary characters and describe how they function in the story. How did they meet your protagonist and what is their back story?

Character Name:Mark Alan Prieto

Function in the Story: Jim’s best friend and (dramatically) he serves various roles, including The Voice of Reason and Comic Relief, throughout both books of the Reunion Duology. Although he’s younger than Jim by six months, Mark sometimes steps into the role of the big brother Jim never had. It is from Mark, for instance, that Jim learns about sex (perhaps sometime between sixth and eighth grade), especially various practices and positions, by way of Playboy magazines that he somehow manages to acquire. (In fact, Mark gave Jim the February 1983 issue which featured Melinda Mays as Miss February, much to his best friend’s surprise.)

Mark and Jim met in Ms. Ellen Nabutovsky’s sixth-grade class at Kinloch Park Elementary at the beginning of the 1976-1977 school year. Here’s the timeline:

If Mark and Jim have known each other for seven school years by the time they graduate high school in the 1982-83 academic year, they would have met in the sixth grade during the 1976-77 school year. Here’s the breakdown:

– 12th Grade (Senior Year): 1982-83

– 11th Grade (Junior Year): 1981-82

– 10th Grade (Sophomore Year): 1980-81

– 9th Grade (Freshman Year, but still in junior high): 1979-80[2]

– 8th Grade: 1978-79

– 7th Grade: 1977-78

– 6th Grade: 1976-77

So, logically, Mark and Jim would have met at the beginning of the sixth grade in the fall of 1976, which would mark the start of their seven school years of friendship leading up to their high school graduation.

Saturday, April 13, 2024

“Loss and Sorrow”

Have either of your main characters suffered a major loss? Who did they lose? How did it happen? How long ago? Does it still affect them?

While both Jim and Maddie have suffered major losses throughout their lives, today we’re going to focus only on Jim; I’ve devoted quite a bit of space to Maddie here as of late, and for good or ill,  he is the protagonist/narrator.  

Jim’s life has been shaped, in one way or another, by the deaths of two individuals: the father he never knew, and the girl he loved in high school – but never told. (Or, more accurately, he waited to tell her until it was too late.)

As I wrote in Reunion: Coda, Jim’s father, Kevin Christopher Garraty, was a young first lieutenant in the United States Army in 1965, the year Jim was born. He flew UH-1 “Huey” helicopters for one of the first Army divisions deployed to South Vietnam and was killed by enemy ground fire the following year:

Mom was still sitting behind the wheel of her old white 1964 Buick, the one that she had owned since Dad died in Vietnam in 1966, a year after I was born. He was an Army helicopter pilot, and he was shot down near Dak To during a “routine” combat mission that only brought death and sorrow to American and Vietnamese combatants alike but didn’t bring the end of the war closer. I never got to know him, but my mother said he was brave and kind. She had kept his car as a reminder of him, and she had taken good care of it. She had tried to cheer me up during the drive from our house near South Miami High, but it didn’t help. I was too nervous, too restless, too eager. I was about to graduate from high school, and I had achieved something no one in our family had ever done before. I had won a full-ride scholarship to Harvard to study history. I had worked hard for this opportunity, and I didn’t want to waste it.

The other loss, of course, was Martina Elizabeth Reynaud, aka “Marty.”  I told that story in my novella, Reunion: A Story, which deals with her death and Jim’s reaction to it in great detail. Here’s an excerpt:

“Hi, Mark,” I said when I picked up my telephone receiver. I glanced casually at my watch; it was 10:05 PM.

“Jim, Marty died yesterday afternoon.”

No preamble. No jokes. Just this hellish bolt-out-of-the-blue.

“What?” I had been standing next to the couch in the living room. In the blink of an eye, I was sitting on the couch. My legs had lost their strength. I felt the blood rush out of my face.

“I know,” Mark said apologetically. “I just heard about it this morning. I had hoped it wasn’t her, y’know, and I didn’t want you to find about it from the papers.”

“I-I understand,” I managed to say bleakly. I took a deep breath. “Mark, how…how did she –?” I couldn’t bring myself to say the word die. It has such an ugly aura of finality to it.

“Well,” Mark paused, then he continued. “A car accident of some sort. Three other people were killed, Jim, so it must have been pretty bad. The cops haven’t really said anything else.”

“My God, no,” I whispered.

“I’m really sorry, man,” Mark said quietly. “Is there anything I can do?”

“No, not really,” I said. “Look, thanks for telling me yourself. You did good, man.”

“You okay?” he asked, and I could almost see him frowning with concern.

“No, not really,” I said again.

“Can you come down for the funeral?”

“When is it?” 

“Well, it’s not until Friday, from what I’ve heard,” Mark said.

“I’ve got classes on Friday, plus a bunch of office hours appointments with some of my undergraduate students, and I can’t break away from them. At least, not on such short notice.” It was true, but it sounded lame, even to me. “I’ll see if I can get one of my teaching assistants to cover for me next week. Is it okay if I stay at your place?”

“Hey, doesn’t the university pay you history weenies enough so you can pay for a hotel?” Mark mock-wailed in an attempt to cheer me up. “Sure,” he said in a more subdued tone. “When do you think you’re coming down?”

“Sunday, maybe Monday.”

“Okay. Give me a heads-up call as soon as you know, all right?”

“Yeah, sure,” I said, then I hung up the phone.

I was not able to sleep that night. To be honest, I didn’t even try. I stood in front of my living room window, staring out at the bright lights of New York City. I don’t know how long I stood there; in fact, I didn’t see the millions of multicolored lights or the never-ending streams of headlights and taillights on the busy streets below.

Instead, I saw, in my mind’s eye, the crowded high school classrooms and halls where my friends and I had shared triumphs and tragedies, where the ghosts of our past still reside. Images flickered in my mind. I saw the faces of teachers and fellow students I hadn’t seen in years. I heard snatches of songs I had rehearsed in third-period chorus. I saw the library where I had spent long hours studying after school.

Most of all, I saw Marty.

Marty as a shy sophomore, auditioning for Mrs. Quincy, the school choir director.

Marty singing her first solo at the 1981 Christmas concert.

Marty at the 1982 Homecoming Dance, looking radiant after being selected as Junior Princess.

Marty sitting alone in the chorus practice room on the last day of our senior year.

I stared long and hard at those sepia-colored memories. And as my mind carried me back to the place I had sworn I’d never return to, I remembered.

Sunday, April 14, 2024

Write a conversation or scene in which you show the emotional state of a character without using the word “feel” or “feelings.” Instead, focus on the character’s physiology (ex: “His feelings for her grew stronger.” vs. “His heart pounded at the thought of waking up next to her.”)

Enter Marty

8:45 AM

It was only the first day of the new semester, and Mrs. Quincy devoted most of the class period to vocal exercises. She only made us listen to two songs she wanted us to learn.

I only knew one song – “There is Nothing Like a Dame” from South Pacific. Mom took me to a rare screening of the 1959 movie when I was 12. I didn’t want to go; I thought musicals were silly. But she convinced me by saying, “It’s a World War II story. In the South Pacific.”

To my surprise, I ended up liking the movie, even though part of me still found it a bit odd that characters in a movie set during the war would sing and dance as if it was the natural thing to do. And although “There is Nothing Like a Dame” was not my favorite song from South Pacific – I liked “Some Enchanted Evening” more – it was enjoyable enough for me to want to sing.

Mrs. Quincy also played “I’ll Go No More A-roving with You, Fair Maid.” I’d never heard it, but it suited a boys’ choir. I liked the sound and the lyrics. Mrs. Quincy explained them to us: a sailor who has been away for a long time wants to settle down, but regrets leaving the adventure.

The chanty ended, and Mrs. Quincy clapped her hands sharply. The sound was like two pistol shots being fired. We hadn’t been singing along or talking – much – but the room became as silent as an empty church at midnight.

“All right, gentlemen,” Mrs. Quincy said, her voice sweet but laced with authority. “Since we only have 10 minutes left before the next class period, that will be all. You can talk among yourselves…but quietly. Is that clear?”

“Yes, Mrs. Quincy,” said a tall, dark-skinned boy with an athletic build and the attitude of an upperclassman. He looked like he was 17 or 18, and he spoke with both calm and deference.

Bruce, who sat next to me in the bass-baritone section, prodded me gently with an elbow. “So, what do you think, huh? Pretty cool class, right?”

I nodded in agreement. “Yeah, it’s cool,” I said after a moment’s pause. “Mrs. Quincy’s nice, and the chorus is a more fun way to start school than, say, AP English.”

“Oh, about that,” Bruce said. “Did Ms. Back give you a hard time about the class switch? I hear she can be a real hard case about some things.”

“Nah. She might have been a bit pissed, and she acted as though signing the schedule change form was a major hassle, but it’s all an act. I get good grades in AP English and don’t screw around in class. She said that her third-period class is reading the same book, Heart of Darkness, as first period, so I’ll be fine.”

Bruce was about to say something, but then there was a gentle, almost hesitant knocking at the door.

Mrs. Quincy called out, “Come in!” in a calm, pleasant, even welcoming tone.

Slowly, ever so slowly, the heavy door to the chorus room creaked open. We all looked to see who was entering the room.

It was a girl. She was of average height, clad in new “first day of the semester” jeans, a white blouse that peeked out from under a navy-blue jacket, and clean new Keds girls’ sneakers. Her chestnut-colored hair was pulled up into a ponytail, and her cheeks were rosy against her pale skin, partly because it was cold outside, partly because she thought she was interrupting the class.

“Can I help you?” Mrs. Quincy asked.

The girl hesitated at the door, clutching her backpack tightly. She looked at Mrs. Quincy nervously and fumbled for a piece of paper in her pocket. She walked up to the teacher, holding out the class schedule change form  with both hope and a bit of fear. She bit her lip and waited for Mrs. Quincy’s reaction, hoping she wouldn’t be turned away or scolded.

Mrs. Quincy reached for the form and, in that grandmotherly way of hers, said, “Oh, don’t worry, young lady. These gentlemen and I are done for the period. First day’s not too busy.”

The girl let out a sigh of relief and gave Mrs. Quincy a shy smile but said nothing.

Mrs. Quincy scanned the form, nodded a couple of times as she read it, and reached into her jacket pocket for a pen to sign it – and came up empty-handed.

“Quick,” she said as she snapped her fingers. “Any of you men have a pen?”

“I do, Mrs. Quincy,” I said, holding up the Bic pen I’d had in my jacket pocket as if it were the torch held by the Statue of Liberty. Without being prompted, I got up from my chair, walked over to Mrs. Quincy, and handed her the pen.

“See?” Mrs. Quincy said to the girl as she marked the schedule change form as approved and signed it with a flourish, “Chivalry isn’t quite dead in 1981.”

The girl gave me a shy smile but said nothing.

Oh, boy. She’s gorgeous! I thought. Even though she’s probably suffering from first-day jitters, she’s beautiful.

On the heels of that: I better get a grip. For all I know, she probably has a boyfriend. Or maybe I am just dreaming, and she isn’t really here.

Mrs. Quincy started to hand the signed form to her new pupil, then stopped, as if she had forgotten something. “Oh, I’m getting a bit goofy in my old age,” she said in a light, jokey manner. “Can you please sing for me the first verse of your favorite song?”

The girl’s eyes – they were hazel, I saw – widened, then returned to normal as she remembered where she was and what she was doing. “Oh, right,” she said shakily in a soft, pleasant voice and an exotic, elegant British accent. “What – what song would you like me to sing?”

“Just sing the first verse of your favorite song. I just want to get some idea of what you can do.”

The girl – I couldn’t get over how lovely she looked, even though she was still a bit nervous – straightened up and squared her shoulders back. Her left leg gave a little tremor, but she took a deep breath. Her face was blank for a moment – she was probably wondering which song she wanted to sing – and then, with more confidence, she said, “Right. Here we go.”

She raised her head, and even though it wasn’t intentional, her eyes locked on mine as she opened her mouth and, in a crystal clear, pitch-perfect voice, sang the first line of “We’ll Meet Again.”

I’d heard “We’ll Meet Again” a few times in World War II documentaries and Dr. Strangelove. It’s an old song, but it’s still catchy. The lyrics are about two lovers who are separated by war, and they vow to meet again someday. It’s a hopeful song, but it’s also kind of sad, because you know that the war is going to be tough.

I remembered the first time I heard it. I was watching a documentary about the Battle of Britain, and the song came on during a scene where a group of soldiers were saying goodbye to their loved ones before they were shipped off to war. It was a powerful moment, and the song stuck with me.

The girl’s voice was clear and pure, and her song moved me to tears. She stopped singing, and the room fell silent. Then, everyone clapped and cheered.

Mrs. Quincy smiled and gave her the signed form. “Lovely, young lady. You have a beautiful voice.”

“Thank you,” the girl blushed.

“What’s your name?” Mrs. Quincy asked.

“Martina Reynaud,” the girl said.

Monday, April 15, 2024

Make a list of your heroine’s nonphysical characteristics. Is she stubborn? Is she sarcastic? Does she sing in the shower?

In the Reunion Duology, there are two heroines (love interests, really) that are at the core of Jim Garraty’s story: Marty (in high school) and Maddie (in his mid-30s). Let’s look at them both, shall we?

Marty

1. Naïve
2. Kindhearted
3. Shy
4. Friendly
5. Thoughtful/Considerate
6. Musically talented (and probably sings pop songs in the shower)
7. Trusting (until she’s betrayed…then not so much)
8. Witty
9. Patient
10. Romantically repressed (a result of her bad breakup with her high school boyfriend

Maddie

1. Worldly
2. Adventurous (in the bedroom as well as in other aspects of life)
3. Musically talented (she’s a pianist, and she hums tunes from various genres in the shower)
4. Stubborn at times
5. Gregarious
6. Humorous
7. Likes to be mysterious when she wants to be
8. Does not like to be ignored
9. Likes to unwind with fine wines or other “adult beverages”
10. Intellectually curious

I asked Copilot, Microsoft’s AI, to analyze the two heroines’ nonphysical characteristics, and this is what it said:

You’ve created a compelling contrast between your two heroines, Marty and Maddie, which should add depth to your novel. Here are my thoughts on the nonphysical characteristics you’ve listed for both characters:

Marty:

The traits you’ve chosen for Marty paint her as a gentle and relatable character. Her naivety and shyness suggest a vulnerability that could endear her to readers.

Her musical talent and habit of singing in the shower add a layer of authenticity and relatability.

The transition from trusting to wary due to betrayal is a strong character arc that can drive her personal growth throughout the story.

Being witty and patient are qualities that can create interesting dynamics in her interactions with other characters, especially in moments of tension.

Maddie:

Maddie’s worldly and adventurous nature sets her apart as a confident and dynamic character.

Her musical talent, coupled with her habit of humming in the shower, gives her a creative and artistic flair.

Her occasional stubbornness and gregariousness suggest a complex personality that isn’t afraid to stand her ground or be the life of the party.

Her intellectual curiosity is a trait that can lead to intriguing plot developments, especially if it ties into the historical aspects of Jim Garraty’s story.

Both characters have distinct and engaging personalities that should resonate with readers and provide a rich backdrop for your narrative. Their differences complement each other and can lead to compelling interactions with Jim Garraty, driving the emotional core of your novel. Keep in mind that as their stories unfold, allowing them to evolve and react to their circumstances will add to the realism and depth of your characters.

Tuesday, April 16, 2024

What kind of speech pattern does your hero have? What is his trademark exclamation? Describe his voice in four exchanges.

Adult (Present Day, 2000) Jim Garraty

I bask in the warmth of Maddie’s apartment, the scent of aged wood and a hint of lavender surrounding me. The living room is a canvas of pastel blues and greens, the soft colors of the couch and chairs inviting a moment of rest. Maddie’s digital piano, a Yamaha, sits in silent anticipation of her touch. It’s a model that’s been around since the late ’90s, compact enough to fit in the cozy space but grand in its promise of music.

Maddie had shown me around earlier, her voice a melodic guide through the memories framed on the mantel, the Beethoven bust overseeing our tour with stoic approval. The kitchen, she explained with a laugh, had been upgraded by her father—a housewarming gift that replaced the ’60s appliances with ones from the early ’90s. I remember how she pointed to the stove where I would later cook pasta al burro, her hazel eyes brightening as she spoke of her dad’s thoughtfulness.

Now, hours after our arrival, the dinner I prepared sits half-eaten on the coffee table. The weather outside had been clear that night, the stars barely visible against the city’s lights, a backdrop to our evening that now feels worlds away. Maddie emerges from the hallway, changed into something more comfortable, her chestnut hair loose and framing her face like a portrait come to life.

“Jim, this pasta is wonderful,” she says, her exhaustion replaced by a soft contentment. “You didn’t have to, but I’m glad you did.”

I smile, watching her settle onto the couch, the blue fabric complementing the tired yet beautiful lines on her face. “It was my pleasure, Maddie. Anything for you.”

The night stretches before us, filled with the possibility of conversation and quiet companionship, the earlier tension dissolved like the last notes of a song fading into silence.

The evening has settled into a comfortable silence that only comes after hours of shared space and quiet conversation. It’s been over four hours since we stepped into Maddie’s apartment, the night deepening outside her windows as the city’s heartbeat pulses in the distance. The remnants of our simple dinner, pasta al burro, linger on the plates, the rich buttery aroma still hanging in the air, mingling with the faint floral notes of the rosé wine we sipped—just one glass each, as per Maddie’s insistence after her in-flight indulgence.

Maddie catches me eyeing the nearly empty wine bottle, a playful glint in her hazel eyes. “Don’t even think about it, Professor. One glass is my limit tonight,” she says, her voice a soft chide which dances through the room.

I can’t help but chuckle, the sound echoing lightly off the hardwood floors. “Of course, I wouldn’t dream of it,” I assure her, though the warmth of the wine still courses gently through my veins.

A moment of contemplative silence passes before I venture into the territory of our unintended dilemma. “Maddie, I just realized… I didn’t bring anything to change into for bed. The plan was to be at my place, after all.”

Jim Garraty’s speech pattern, as depicted in the excerpt, reflects a well-educated individual with a penchant for descriptive and reflective narration. His language is articulate and rich in vocabulary, suggesting a deep familiarity with the subject matter he teaches. The narrative voice is calm and measured, indicative of a baritone range, which aligns with his singing voice. His speech rhythm is likely to be steady and even, with a hint of a Southern Floridian accent softened by years of academic influence.

Given his background, Jim’s speech would be characterized by the following traits:

– Clarity and Precision: As a history professor, Jim would choose his words carefully to convey his thoughts clearly and accurately.

– Reflective Tone: His narrative style suggests a contemplative nature, often pausing to appreciate the environment and the emotions of the moment.

– Educated Diction: The use of terms like “digital piano,” “pastel blues and greens,” and “Beethoven bust” indicates a higher level of education and a refined taste.

– Southern Floridian Influence: While not overtly mentioned in the text, his upbringing in Miami could lend a warm, relaxed cadence to his speech, though likely muted from his professional environment.

– Narrative Flow: As the narrator, Jim’s speech would maintain a smooth flow, guiding the reader through the story with ease and confidence.

Overall, Jim’s speech pattern is that of a narrator who is both a participant in and an observer of the story, offering insights and descriptions that enrich the narrative experience. His voice, both literal and literary, is an integral part of the storytelling, setting the tone and pace of the novel.

Teenage Jim Garraty (Circa 1981-1983)

“Hey, Jim,” Mark said as he approached our “usual” table in the school cafeteria, a canary yellow plastic lunch tray with the day’s entrée (Salisbury steak) and sides (mashed potatoes, green beans, and one orange slice) in his hands. “How’s it going?”

“Fine, considering that it’s fucking cold outside and that I have trig after lunch,” I replied as I speared a piece of Salisbury steak with a plastic Spork. “How’s your day going?”

“Couldn’t be better,” Mark said, cheerfully digging into his slice of meatloaf – Salisbury steak was, at least in our opinion, one of the few dishes on the official school lunch menu that was enjoyable.

“Really? Why’s that?”

Mark made a “hold on” gesture with his free hand as he chewed his food with gusto, swallowed, and then took a swig from his red-and-white half-pint carton of MacArthur plain milk. Then, with an exaggerated sigh of satisfaction, he flashed a grin that would have made the Cheshire cat turn green with envy. “Well,” he said, his blue eyes sparkling with good cheer, “I asked Debbie Voss if she wanted to go to the prom with me – and she said ‘yes!’”

I nearly jumped out of my plastic and metal cafeteria chair, so surprised was I by this bit of news. Debbie Voss was considered by many of the guys, and by some of the girls as well, if the rumors on campus were to be believed, to be one of the sexiest, if not the sexiest, girls in the Class of 1983. She’d gone to school with all of us who had been in the Kinloch Park-South Miami Junior-South Miami Senior “feeder” system. Most of the boys (including me), at one time or another, had had a crush on Debbie – or at least had a fleeting fantasy about her. I thought she looked a lot like Brooke Shields, except Debbie had brown eyes and slightly thinner eyebrows than the girl from The Blue Lagoon.

“You have got to be – “I was going to say shitting me, but Mr. Sterling, the thin, balding assistant principal with an unfortunate resemblance to British actor Peter Cushing and who almost every student referred to as “Mr. Lightbulb” (or “Bombillo” in Spanish) was hovering near our table. As always, the loud babble of several hundred teenagers trying to talk over each other and the tinny sound of pop music – currently, WSMH lunchtime DJ Mike Estromboli was playing Boston’s “More Than a Feeling” via the school’s PA system; I wasn’t sure if it was broadcast via radio or piped from the WSMH studio on the second floor via cable to the speakers in the cafeteria. The combination of sounds was almost deafening, but Mr. Sterling had sharp ears, and many a student had gotten in trouble for letting loose an intemperate “Fuck you!” in the middle of an intense argument.

“You have got to be kidding me,” I finally said after making sure Mr. Sterling wasn’t looking in my direction. “You asked Debbie to go to the prom?”

Mark looked genuinely hurt by my skepticism. “Yeah, man. I did,” he said quietly. “She’s not seeing anyone; last I heard, she and Tommy broke up before the Christmas break, and – “Mark said, fixing me with a half-angry, half-sad glare, “unlike someone I can mention, I don’t sit around moping and wishing a girl would just fall in my lap and say, ‘Hey, cutie, I love you. Wanna go steady?’ That isn’t the way dating works, you know?” He took a deep breath, then added, “Also, is it hard for you to believe that I’d ask Debbie Voss to the prom? Or that she might say ‘Yes’?  I mean, I’m no Harrison Ford, but I’m not exactly chopped liver.”

The teenage version of Jim Garraty, as presented in the high school-set chapter, exhibits a speech pattern that is more casual and colloquial than his adult counterpart. His language is peppered with slang and expletives, reflecting the typical speech of a teenager in a relaxed social setting. The dialogue captures the essence of youthful banter, complete with the emotional highs and lows of high school life.

Here are some characteristics of teenage Jim’s speech pattern:

– Informal Language: Jim uses informal language and slang, such as “fucking cold” and “skivvies,” which is typical for a teenager conversing with peers.

– Direct and Blunt: His responses are straightforward and to the point, as seen when he comments on the weather and his upcoming class.

– Emotionally Expressive: Jim’s reactions are more emotionally charged, showing excitement or surprise, like when he hears about Mark’s prom date.

– **Reactive: Teenage Jim is more reactive to his environment, as evidenced by his near outburst before noticing Mr. Sterling’s presence.

– Aware of Social Dynamics: He is keenly aware of the social hierarchy and gossip of high school, as shown in his thoughts about Debbie Voss.

Overall, teenage Jim’s speech is indicative of a high school student who is intelligent and aware of his surroundings, yet still subject to the emotional and social turbulence of adolescence. His narration as an adult looking back adds a layer of reflection and maturity to these experiences, providing a contrast between the person he was and the person he has become. The use of past tense and retrospective insights in the narrative voice suggests a man who has grown and learned from his past, yet remembers it vividly.

Jim’s Verbal Interactions with Women

Teenage Jim (Love Interest – Marty)

I stepped inside, hoping that Marty was already there, but Room 136 was empty, aside from the Kawai piano, the rows of chairs on the raised clamshell dais where we students had done our morning routine of vocal exercises – singing scales, shouting “Foo!” in different musical notes and using our head voice rather than our chest voice, practicing our breathing exercises, and whatnot – several class periods before, and the metal music stands, now empty without songbooks to sing from. Damn, I thought sourly, I hate being the first one to arrive – it makes me nervous.

I walked over to my usual seat in the bass section – second tier on the raised dais, third from center left – shrugged off my backpack, placed it on the floor in front of me and wearily sat down on the metal folding chair. I sat there, nervously twiddling my thumbs, and gazing anxiously at the round-faced clock as I waited to see if Marty would show up for our first run-through of “Somewhere.”

What if, a timorous, fretful voice very much like my own, when I was younger, whispered in my mind as I watched the red second hand on the clock tick off time, Marty doesn’t show up?

“She’ll be here,” I said aloud.

Hmm. You don’t sound too certain of that, bucko.

“She’ll be here,” I repeated impatiently, almost angrily.

We’ll see, the voice sniggered.

“Shut up,” I said.

I was about to grab my backpack and rummage through its contents for my dogeared paperback copy of Cornelius Ryan’s A Bridge Too Far, one of my favorite books about a World War II battle, when I heard the squeaking of the chorus room door swinging slowly open. By now, of course, I was beginning to think Marty had either forgotten about our practice session or, worse, had changed her mind about singing the duet with me. It’s probably just one of the custodians coming to tidy up and turn off the lights, I thought glumly.

Still, I stopped searching for A Bridge Too Far and placed my backpack on the floor again. I looked toward the door…

My heart skipped a beat at the sight of Marty’s chestnut hair. “Hi, Jimmy,” she said presently as she smiled at me. “I hope I didn’t keep you waiting too long.”

She looked radiantly beautiful, clad in a pair of slightly faded Lady Levi’s jeans, a gray sweatshirt with rainbow-colored stripes above her midriff and a faint outline of a cobra – our school mascot – in the center, and white Keds sneakers. Her long hair was done up in a ponytail, like it usually was on most school days, although I’d seen it cascading down past her shoulders on several occasions, mostly when we sang for our fellow Cobras at our twice-a-year series of concerts. A big brown leather purse hung down from her right shoulder.

“Oh, no,” I said in what I hoped was a reassuring tone. “Not at all.”

“I would have been here a bit sooner, but I ran into a couple of friends on my way down from sixth-period English with Mrs. DeVargas – “she said apologetically.

“That’s okay, Marty. You don’t need to explain. I’m glad you’re here. We’re just gonna practice singing a song.”

Marty smiled again, and my heart did an Immelmann turn inside my chest cavity. Oh, if you only knew how beautiful you look right now, how much I want to say I love you, I thought but didn’t say.

Marty bit her lip, looking unsure. She glanced at the sheet music, then at me. She seemed to be weighing her words carefully. She cleared her throat and asked, “Did Mrs. Quincy give you a xerox of the score?”

“I’m sorry – what?” I shook my head to clear it of the thoughts that were bubbling up from my subconscious as I realized that this was the first time Marty and I had been alone together since she had auditioned for Mrs. Quincy on the same day I’d joined the Men’s Ensemble back in January of 1981.

“Did you get a copy of the score for ‘Somewhere’ from Mrs. Quincy?” Marty asked again, her eyebrows knitted in a frown that was half-puzzled, half-annoyed.

“Oh!” I said when my head cleared, and I’d come out of my lovelorn reverie. “Yes, of course she did!” I picked up my backpack, unzipped the smaller compartment on its front, then pulled out the neatly folded photocopy of Leonard Bernstein and Stephen Sondheim’s “Somewhere.”

In his interactions with Marty, teenage Jim’s verbal communication is marked by a mix of nervous anticipation and earnestness. His internal monologue reveals his deep-seated feelings for Marty, which he struggles to articulate openly. The dialogue between them is tentative and cautious, reflecting the awkwardness and uncertainty of young love.

Here’s an analysis of how teenage Jim communicates with Marty:

– Internal Conflict: Jim’s internal dialogue shows a battle between hope and doubt, as he tries to reassure himself of Marty’s arrival.

– Vulnerability: His repeated affirmations and the subsequent “shut up” to his inner voice display a vulnerability that is common in adolescence.

– Genuine Concern: When Marty arrives, Jim’s immediate response is one of concern for her, ensuring she doesn’t feel bad for being late.

– Hesitation: Jim’s hesitation to speak his true feelings, choosing instead to focus on the practical matter of the song practice, indicates a shyness or fear of rejection.

– Distraction: His momentary distraction when asked about the score highlights his emotional turmoil and the significance of this moment alone with Marty.

Overall, teenage Jim’s verbal interaction with Marty is characterized by a blend of emotional depth and youthful insecurity. His speech is a dance around his true feelings, revealing much through what is left unsaid as through his words. The dialogue captures the essence of a young man on the cusp of expressing his affection but held back by the fear of the unknown.

Adult Jim (Love Interest – Maddie)

I walk into Henry’s Clipper Piano Bar & Grill, feeling a mix of excitement and nervousness. I’m meeting Maddie for our second date, and I’m hoping to have a good time with her. She suggested this place when we first talked on the phone on Monday, nearly a week ago. We confirmed our plans last night with a brief chat. She told me she loves this place because it reminds her of the old Pan Am flights her grandparents used to take. I thought it sounded like a cool idea. She sounded happy and eager to see me again.

The Clipper Piano Bar & Grill is a living, loving tribute to Pan American World Airways; the walls are covered with silver-framed reproductions of vintage posters and memorabilia of the legendary airline that once flew to every corner of the globe. The staff wears aprons with the Pan Am logo. The place has a nostalgic and romantic vibe.

I scan the room for her, taking note of the vintage posters, model planes, and memorabilia that adorn the walls. The place is cozy and warm, a welcome contrast to the freezing temperatures outside. A piano stands in the corner, waiting for someone to play it.

Finally, I spot her at a table near the piano. She looks beautiful in a red sweater dress and black boots. She has a matching red hat and gloves on the table, along with a menu – probably the one for the lunch shift. She smiles when she sees me and waves.

I take off my hat, coat, and scarf, and make my way to her. She stands up and hugs me, then leads me to sit down across from her. “And here he is, the man of the hour, right on time,” Maddie’s voice says with a playful tone. She looks stunning in her outfit, and I can’t help but admire how her hazel eyes sparkle in the sunlight.

I notice that Maddie’s accent is still as refined as ever, with that faint hint of British enunciation that always makes me smile. It’s one of the things that I find most intriguing about her.

I smile at Maddie. “Me too. You look amazing,” I say, feeling a bit tongue-tied. I notice a bag from Book Culture on the floor next to her chair, and I wonder if it is the same one she had at the Moonglow on the night we met.

“So, how was your week?” Maddie asks, taking a sip of her cocoa.

“It was okay. Busy as usual. I had a lot of papers to grade and lectures to prepare.” I say, trying to sound casual.

“I bet you did. You seem like such a dedicated teacher,” she says, smiling.

“Thanks. What about you? How was your week?” I ask, returning the smile.

“Oh, you know. The usual,” she says, shrugging.

She doesn’t elaborate on what she does for work or what she does for fun. She keeps it vague and mysterious. She’s like a puzzle that I want to solve.

“Really? That’s all?” I press, hoping to get more out of her.

Maddie smiles again and says, “Well, not exactly. But I don’t want to bore you with the details.” She looks at me with a playful glint in her eye. “Besides, we’re not here to talk about work. We’re here to have fun.”

She reaches for my hand and says, “Come on. Let’s go play some piano.”

Maddie gets up from the table and pulls me along with her. I feel a surge of adrenaline as I follow her to the piano. We sit down next to each other on the bench, our legs touching slightly. She opens the lid and runs her fingers over the keys, making a soft sound. She looks at me with a smile and asks, “Do you know how to play?”

I shake my head. “No. Not really. But I used to sing in the high school chorus.”

She laughs. “That’s cool. Maybe you can sing along then.”

In his verbal interactions with Maddie, adult Jim exhibits a more confident and assured manner of speaking compared to his teenage self. His language is still rich and descriptive, but there’s a smoothness and ease in his dialogue that reflects maturity and experience. With Maddie, his speech is flirtatious and playful, indicating a comfortable rapport and mutual attraction.

Here’s an analysis of how adult Jim communicates with Maddie:

– Confidence: Jim’s approach to Maddie is confident, as seen in his compliment about her appearance and his casual conversation about his week.

– Mutual Interest: The dialogue suggests a mutual interest, with both parties engaging in light-hearted teasing and showing curiosity about each other’s lives.

– Romantic Undertone: The setting and the actions, such as Maddie pulling Jim to play the piano, add a romantic undertone to their interaction.

– Cultural References: Jim’s observations about the venue and its connection to Maddie’s family history show a deeper level of engagement and understanding.

Comparing the “two Jims,” we see a clear evolution in Jim’s character:

– Teenage Jim: He is nervous, uncertain, and internally conflicted, especially around Marty. His speech is hesitant and he struggles to express his feelings openly.

– Adult Jim: With Maddie, he is more self-assured and articulate. His speech is more direct and he seems to enjoy the playful banter, reflecting a man who is comfortable in his own skin and in his interactions with others.

The contrast between the two versions of Jim affects the novel’s tone by providing a nuanced portrayal of growth and maturity. Teenage Jim’s interactions are tinged with the angst and intensity of first love, while adult Jim’s exchanges with Maddie are marked by a relaxed and charming ease. This progression adds depth to the narrative, inviting readers to reflect on the journey from adolescence to adulthood and the changes in how we communicate and connect with others over time. The tone shifts from the earnestness of youth to the sophistication of adulthood, mirroring the complexity of human relationships as they evolve.

Are there any commonalities between the two Jims?

Yes, despite the differences in age and maturity, there are several commonalities between teenage Jim and adult Jim that persist over time:

Musical Connection: Both versions of Jim have a strong connection to music, which plays a significant role in their interactions and experiences. Teenage Jim is involved in chorus and vocal exercises, while adult Jim appreciates the piano and is willing to engage in musical activities with Maddie.

Emotional Depth: Both Jims exhibit a deep emotional capacity, whether it’s the teenage Jim’s nervous anticipation and unspoken affection for Marty or the adult Jim’s romantic and playful interactions with Maddie.

Descriptive Observation: In both stages of his life, Jim is observant and descriptive, paying close attention to his surroundings and the people he cares about. This trait is evident in his detailed descriptions of environments and personal appearances.

Internal Monologue: Jim’s internal monologue is a key feature of his character, providing insight into his thoughts and feelings. This aspect of his personality remains consistent, offering a window into his inner world at both ages.

Kindness and Consideration: Jim consistently shows kindness and consideration towards others, whether it’s being concerned about Marty’s feelings or complimenting Maddie’s appearance.

These commonalities help to create a cohesive character arc for Jim, showing how certain core aspects of his personality remain unchanged even as he grows and matures. They also contribute to the novel’s tone by providing continuity and depth to Jim’s character, making him relatable and believable as a protagonist whose experiences and traits resonate throughout the story.

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[1] Received Pronunciation. (2024, April 10). In Wikipedia. https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Received_Pronunciation

[2] In the 1970s and 1980s, junior high consisted of grades 7, 8, and 9, even though 9^th grade was, by tradition, the first year of high school (or senior high school, as it was called when I was a student in the Dade County Public Schools system). When I started attending South Miami High at the start of the 1980-81 school year, I was a sophomore. In 2024, junior high is called “middle school” and consists of grades 6 through 8; first-year students at South Miami High now enter the campus as 9^th graders. This change occurred, I believe, in the 1990s, several years after I graduated with the Class of 1983.