Midday, Thursday, February 27, 2025, Miami, Florida
“The scariest moment is always just before you start. After that, things can only get better.” ― Stephen King, On Writing: A Memoir of the Craft
It is a warm, humid day in my corner of South Florida. The mercury reads 79°F (26°C) under mostly sunny skies, but the thick, clingy air (60% humidity) makes this late winter day feel more like a sneak preview of summer. The “feels-like” temperature? A sticky 90°F (32°C), thank you very much. I’ve been rooted in Florida all my life, barring some exotic detours—five years absorbing Spanish and Colombian culture in Bogota, a whirlwind fall term in Sevilla, and a brief flirtation with New Hampshire’s bracing cold. So, summer on the eve of spring? It’s all par for the course.
Yesterday, my writing muse played nice for once. Not only did I sketch an outline for Chapter 25’s fourth scene, but I also managed to write, edit, and revise the scene itself. Typically, my writing sessions are like wrestling with an octopus—tentacles of thoughts and ideas flailing everywhere. I’ll spend a good four hours wrangling an outline for just one scene, meticulously listing characters, specific settings, and a concise scene synopsis. Dialogue? If I’m lucky, I jot down snippets of conversation or, more often, vague descriptions of what the characters might say and do.
These sessions usually stretch out longer than I’d prefer. Typing at lightning speed isn’t my forte, and because I’m narrating the story to myself as I go, my writing rhythm is more stop-start-stop than a car stuck in city traffic. I’ll hammer away at the keys for a furious 10-15 minutes, then halt abruptly to scrutinize my words, pondering, “What’s next?” before diving back in for another frenzied quarter-hour. Writing fiction? It’s a tough, tortuous trek through the creative wilderness, and every step feels like an odyssey.
More often than not, I’ll devote an entire working day to meticulously crafting an outline—a sort of literary Polaris guiding me through the nebulous expanse of my narrative. These outlines are my north star, steering me through the uncharted waters of my plot with the precision of an ancient mariner. The next day, I’ll spend hours transforming that skeletal framework into a vivid, immersive scene. Characters spring to life with each keystroke, their voices resonating clearly, their actions unfolding naturally. Environments become living, breathing worlds that draw the reader in. Each dialogue exchange and descriptive passage is crafted to make the reader forget they are turning pages and feel as if they are right there with the characters, experiencing every twist and turn. Like an explorer charting unknown territories, I use my outline to navigate the labyrinth of my imagination, ensuring I don’t stray too far from the intended course. Each keystroke is a step closer to discovering the heart of my story, unraveling the tangled threads of my tale with wit and grit.
Yesterday, however, I somehow managed to outline Scene Four in less than an hour, partly because I knew it wasn’t going to be a long one but mostly because it progressed naturally from the previous scenes and was intended to be the endpoint of Reunion: Coda’s 25th chapter. And because I finished that task early in the afternoon, I went ahead and wrote the scene rather than wait until today. As a result, I added three pages to the 521 I’d already drafted in the Reunion: Coda manuscript.
Today is another working day, and I have a novel to finish…hopefully before summer arrives. I wonder if Calliope will be as generous today as she was yesterday.
A Certain Point of View, Too 
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