Time Marches On: On Birthdays…and Literary Journeys

Late Morning/Midday, Wednesday, March 5, 2025, Miami, Florida

Hi, Constant (and not-so-Constant) Readers.

It’s a bright and muggy early spring day in South Florida, with the current temperature at a toasty 82°F (28°C). With 66% humidity, it feels closer to a steamy 87°F (31°C). As a true Miami native and lifelong Floridian (barring a brief stint in Bogota, Colombia as a child, a 10-month escapade in New Hampshire last year, and a Semester in Spain in the fall of 1988), I’m well-acquainted with warm Marches. Though, today feels more akin to an early July from my youth in the 1970s.

“I grabbed a pile of dust, and holding it up, foolishly asked for as many birthdays as the grains of dust, I forgot to ask that they be years of youth. ” ― Ovid, Metamorphoses

Today is my 62nd birthday, and I’m caught somewhere between a celebratory cheer and a contemplative sigh. Physically, I’m in decent shape, save for the aches that accompany too many hours at my desk and the occasional cold. Emotionally, however, I’m on a rollercoaster that’s more intense than a theme park ride. After two interstate moves in less than a year and navigating the rollercoaster of life since Mom’s passing in 2015, not to mention the wild state of the world, it’s challenging to feel wholly optimistic. Still, I’ve made it through 62 trips around the sun and am embarking on the 63rd, so I suppose there’s reason to pop a metaphorical champagne cork.

I’ve never been much of a ray of sunshine, but I’m deeply grateful for the good moments life sprinkles my way. I do wish for the level of contentment I felt around 2017. Special occasions, like birthdays and holidays, make me miss my mom acutely. And, if I’m being perfectly honest, I miss the company of a romantic partner — despite the occasional drama that comes with it. Who knew that the best birthday present might just be a dose of humor and a warm hug from life itself?

So, here’s to another year of navigating this wild ride called life, with a bit more laughter and lightness as the goal. Cheers to 62 and counting!

On Writing and Storytelling: Inching Ever Closer to the Goal Line

Yesterday was my most productive writing day since I left Tampa for Madison, New Hampshire, back in December 2023. Riding the wave from last Friday when I kicked off Chapter 26, I managed to churn out over 2,100 words for the third scene of the chapter. Not too shabby!

But let’s be real, it’s not just about hitting a word count—even though Stephen King himself recommends aiming for 2,000 words a day in his book, On Writing: A Memoir of the Craft. Sure, I hit that sweet spot a few times early on while working on Reunion: Coda, but most days I hover between 800 and 1,000 words. Honestly, more often than not, I land on the lower end of that range.

Writing is a journey, and every word and sentence brings me closer to the finish line. This particular scene is pivotal, marking the emotional climax of both the novel and the entire Reunion Duology. Writing it has been challenging, as it features an epistolary style that includes significant revelations leading to an emotional catharsis for the protagonist. Here’s to finding joy in the process, no matter how many words I write each day!

3

The Whisper of Lost Time

Jim Garraty’s Apartment

9:15 PM, Thursday, March 23, 2000

My living room is eerily quiet, the distant hum of city life a low, comforting murmur. The lamp’s warm glow casts soft shadows on the walls, illuminating the stack of term papers and essays that seem to mock me from the coffee table. But my attention is solely on the manila envelope that Maddie handed me earlier.

I take a deep breath, the weight of the past pressing down on my chest. With trembling hands, I peel back the seal and pull out the letters inside. The faint, musty smell of old paper wafts up, mingling with the scent of ink. The paper feels slightly rough under my fingers, a testament to its age and the emotions it holds.

I unfold the first letter, my eyes immediately drawn to the delicate, elegant handwriting. Marty’s penmanship is beautiful, almost ethereal—each letter meticulously crafted with the grace of someone who spent years learning the art of cursive in England and refined it in the States. Her Palmer-style script flows effortlessly across the page, with gentle loops and precise lines that speak of a disciplined yet tender touch.

2 February, 1998

Dearest Madge,

Hey, Big Sis. I hope this letter finds you in the best of spirits. I’ve been doing a lot of reflecting lately, and there’s something I simply must share. I recently stumbled upon the January issue of *People Magazine*, and to my astonishment, there was a small article mentioning that Jim Garraty has gotten divorced. The discovery stirred a whirlwind of emotions within me, emotions I’ve found incredibly challenging to articulate….