Writing a scene in a novel is not unlike baking a cake. You need to have the right ingredients, mix them well, and put them in the oven for the right amount of time.
Sometimes, though, things don’t turn out as you expected. Maybe you forgot to add sugar, or you left the batter too long in the mixer, or you set the temperature too high. Then you end up with a flat, dry, or burnt cake that no one wants to eat. That’s when you have to start over and try again, hoping to get it right this time.
The same thing happens with writing. Sometimes, you have to rewrite a scene several times before it feels right. You have to experiment with different words, dialogue, actions, and emotions until you find the perfect combination that makes the scene come alive. That’s what I did with this scene.
Here is one of the discarded versions of how Nicole Boisvert entered Jim Garraty’s office.
“Hey, Jim. Grading the future historians of America, I see?” Nick’s voice is light, teasing.
Reunion: Coda (manuscript file)
Jim Garraty’s Office, Columbia University, March 15, 2000, 4 PM
The clock ticks away the late afternoon hours as I sit surrounded by the fortress of papers that is my desk. The occasional chuckle escapes me as I read through the midterm exams. “World War II in black-and-white, huh?” I muse, shaking my head with amusement.
A soft knock at the door pulls me from the sea of academia. “Come in,” I call out, expecting a student, but instead, Nicole Boisvert enters, closing the door with a soft click behind her.
“Hey, Jim. Grading the future historians of America, I see?” Nick’s voice is light, teasing.
I lean back in my chair, welcoming the break. “Trying to. Some of these misconceptions are priceless.”
She laughs, a sound that’s familiar and comforting. “I can imagine. Mind if I vent about a shared concern?”
“Of course, Nick. What’s on your mind?”
“It’s about Miguel Hernandez. You know, the one in both our classes?”
I nod, already knowing where this is headed. “Let me guess, he’s been glorifying MacArthur again?”
“Exactly. And it’s not just the hero-worship; it’s his extreme views. They’re… unsettling.”
I sigh, rubbing my temples. “I know. His theories are out there. FDR allowing Pearl Harbor to happen? Siding with Hitler against Stalin? It’s revisionist history at its worst.”
Nick leans against the door, her expression serious. “It’s more than that, Jim. It’s the intensity behind those beliefs. I worry about what he might do if he’s challenged.”
“We’ll keep an eye on him. That’s all we can do.” I try to sound reassuring, but the concern is gnawing at me too.
The conversation shifts, and Nick’s gaze softens. “You seem different, Jim. More… settled, since you came back from Miami.”
I stiffen at the mention of Miami, a chapter of my life I’ve kept closed. “It was a long time ago, Nick.”
She nods, understanding the boundary I’ve set. “I know you don’t want to talk about it. I just hope it brought you some peace.”
I offer a half-smile, appreciating her tact. “It did. And, well, there might be someone new.”
Nick’s smile is genuine. “I’m happy for you, Jim. Truly.”
She stands, gesturing to the imaginary stack of papers waiting for her. “I should get back to my own grading. Good luck with… everything.”
“Thanks, Nick. You too.”
As she leaves, the silence settles back around me, along with the weight of unspoken stories and the possibility of new beginnings.
A Certain Point of View, Too 
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