Writer’s Shop Talk: On the Swift Passage of Time…and the Finer Points of Revising

Late Morning, Wednesday, February 26, 2025, Miami, Florida

“I don’t write a quick draft and then revise; instead, I work slowly page by page, revising and polishing.” –  Dean Koontz

Hey there, Dear Reader,

It’s a gorgeous late winter day here in South Florida on the last Hump Day of February 2025. As I sit at my desk, it’s 72°F (22°C) under mostly sunny skies. A light breeze from the east-southeast at 4 MPH (7 Km/H) and 64% humidity makes it feel like a comfy 84°F (29°C).

February, the shortest month of the year, wraps up on Friday. Come Saturday, we’ll be welcoming March and the start of spring. I keep track of the days almost automatically and mark their passing on my blog, but somehow, the months always seem to sneak by, leaving me wondering, “Where did the time go?”

Maybe it’s because my life has been a whirlwind these last two years. Back in February 2023, I was living in Lithia, a far-off suburb of Tampa, Florida, a quaint town where “country meets the city.” Fast forward a year, and I found myself in a completely different, almost alien setting – rural New Hampshire. I stayed there for 10 months but eventually returned full circle to my hometown, Miami. So, yeah, with all these changes, time feels like it’s flying by.

Or maybe I’m just getting old?

On Writing and Storytelling: The Fine Art of Revisions

I intended to outline either the fourth scene of Chapter 25 or kick off Chapter 26, but instead, I spent my afternoon revising my Reunion: Coda manuscript. This has been my modus operandi since I started writing my first novel in March 2023. It goes against Stephen King’s methodology in On Writing: A Memoir of the Craft, where he says, “I believe the first draft of a book – even a long one – should take no more than three months, the length of a season. Any longer and – for me, at least – the story begins to take on an odd foreign feel.” King likes to get that first draft done without revising, saving all the editing and polishing for later drafts. But for me, storytelling is all about the meticulous crafting of each page until it’s just right.

I’ve been working on Reunion: Coda for almost two years now. Honestly, part of that is because I improvised a lot in the first two-thirds of the book, and many scenes set at South Miami High School in the early eighties come from Book One of the Reunion Duology. I’m definitely not as fast a writer as Stephen King, but that’s also because I do a lot of copy editing. I tend to catch mistakes in my writing that even Word’s spellchecker misses. Plus, while I might not be the neatest person in general, I’m pretty particular about my writing. I can’t stand it when I read something I wrote that feels awkward or doesn’t flow. In the end, I want each page to feel like a perfectly brewed cup of coffee—warm, rich, and satisfying.

So, I didn’t have to slog through the entire 521-page manuscript after all. Phew! Instead, I just tweaked a few passages in the latter half of Reunion: Coda. Picture me, armed with my editor’s keyboard, shortening some sentences here and rearranging some clauses there to make the text less clunky. It took up most of my afternoon—yes, even editors have those marathon sessions—but it was worth it. The revised version, with a slightly leaner word count, flows like a dream and has dialogue that sings. Who knew a bit of sentence yoga could do wonders?

As for today, I’m hopeful that I can find a moment to outline or maybe even write a new scene after lunch. My goal is to wrap up Reunion: Coda this year – hopefully before Summer 2025, and every new scene brings me closer to that satisfying conclusion. Here’s to an afternoon of creativity and progress—let’s see what unfolds!

As I finish getting dressed, Maddie watches me silently. Then, with a playful glint in her eye, she reclines in bed, striking a pose reminiscent of Goya’s La Maja Desnuda. “Do I compare to Pepita Tudó?” she asks, a mischievous twinkle in her eye.
“You’re far prettier,” I assure her, and I mean every word.

Reunion: Coda

An Excerpt from Reunion: Coda

“You Are the Angel Glow That Lights a Star”

Late Afternoon, Jim Garraty’s Apartment

The soft glow of the afternoon light fills my apartment, casting a warm embrace over everything it touches. It’s 4:30 PM, and the distant hum of the city seeps through the windows, a subtle reminder of life beyond these walls.

Maddie lies beside me with sunlight playing across her skin, turning it into a canvas of peaches and cream. I’m captivated by how the light accentuates her form’s softness, the delicate peach fuzz that covers her, and the single white hair amidst my chest hairs that she idly twirls with her fingers.

“We’ve been lucky this weekend,” I murmur, the words barely a whisper, lost in the moment’s tranquility.

She laughs softly, a sound that fills the room with warmth. “I’m sorry for not being quieter earlier… I hope Mrs. Halverson didn’t hear.”

I shake my head, smiling at the thought of my elderly neighbor. “She’s probably out with Mr. Piffles, enjoying the afternoon.”

Reluctantly, I slide out of bed, feeling the cool air against my skin. I dress quietly, aware of Maddie’s gaze following me. She doesn’t say anything, but we both know the weekend is drawing to a close, and reality awaits us.

As I finish getting dressed, Maddie watches me silently. Then, with a playful glint in her eye, she reclines in bed, striking a pose reminiscent of Goya’s La Maja Desnuda. “Do I compare to Pepita Tudó?” she asks, a mischievous twinkle in her eye.

“You’re far prettier,” I assure her, and I mean every word.

With a satisfied smile, Maddie rises, and as she does, the bed sheets, tousled and twisted from our coupling, bear the delicate imprint of her form. She stands for a moment, the contours of her figure still pressed into the fabric, a temporary testament to our shared warmth. Wrapping herself in her pink terrycloth bathrobe, she cinches it closed with a flourish. Even with the robe on, there’s an undeniable grace to her movements that holds my gaze captive. She catches me staring, her smile widening—a silent acknowledgment of the effect she has on me, an effect as lingering as her imprint on the sheets.

Equally reluctantly, Maddie gets dressed, her movements reflecting the bittersweet reality of our parting. She slips into the same jeans and button-down blouse she wore before our last lovemaking “round,” the fabric now a testament to the memories we’ve woven. Standing there, next to the bed, she’s a vision of loveliness that makes it hard to let go. “I wish I could freeze time so the weekend could last longer,” she says as she packs her Victoria’s Secret negligee and pink bathrobe in her travel bag, her voice carrying a wisp of the weekend’s magic.

“But then you wouldn’t be able to enchant the world with your music,” I remind her, trying to cast a light on the inevitable march of time.

She gives me a smile, one that seems to acknowledge the inexorable pull of our separate lives. “And you wouldn’t be able to share your passion for history. We have our callings, don’t we?”

With her small travel bag packed and ready, I give her an “Are you ready?” look. Maddie nods, then pauses, her eyes catching a glimpse of the Book Culture bag resting against the nightstand. The same bag she carried on the night we met at the Moonglow Club—a token from our beginning that now holds the fruits of my literary labors. She reaches over, her fingers brushing against the canvas before she pulls it close, ensuring the three books I signed for her are safely tucked inside.