Writer’s Shop Talk: Hard Work, Sleepless Night, and a Sneak Peek at Chapter 29

Afternoon, Saturday, March 22, 2025, Miami, Florida

Yesterday was a delightfully busy day in my cozy writing room nestled in the Kendall area. For the third consecutive day this week, not only did I outline a scene for Chapter 29 of my novel, Reunion: Coda; I also indulged in the creative process and crafted a lovely collection of vignettes for that scene, each one bringing the story to life.

I spent my four-hour afternoon writing shift fully immersed in crafting Chapter 29, Scene Three. After a quick dinner break, I found myself irresistibly drawn back to my drafts, finessing and perfecting them late into the night. Despite knowing I should stop, the excitement of seeing my story come to life kept me going. By the time I finished editing and revising, it was past midnight, and my mind was so abuzz with creativity that sleep remained elusive until the early hours of the morning.

You can read an excerpt from yesterday’s work session below.

Saturday, March 25, 2000 

 Lincoln Center for the Performing Arts

Between 1:00 and 1:30 PM

The cab slows to a gentle halt, and Juan taps the meter with a flourish, pride gleaming in his eyes as he turns to face me. “Here we are, Professor Garraty—Lincoln Center, the beating heart of New York City culture. And guess what?” He thumbs his chest, grinning. “This guy just landed his first lead role in a film.”

I lean forward, fedora in hand, intrigued despite myself. “No kidding! What’s the title?”

“A Simple Ad.” Juan’s smile widens as he says it, like he’s savoring the sound of being a lead actor for the first time.

“Sounds like a marketing piece,” I smirk, teasing.

Juan shakes his head, laughing. “Nah, inspired by Hemingway’s six-word story. You know: ‘For Sale: Baby Shoes. Never Worn.’” His words seem to linger in the air for a moment, as if Hemingway himself were watching over us.

“Ah, a classic.” I nod, then quirk a brow. “Are you playing Hemingway? Or one of his pals at the bar?”

He bursts into hearty laughter, slapping the steering wheel. “Professor, do I look like Hemingway? Even if he’d been born Cuban?”

I let my gaze wander for a moment, considering. “Not Hemingway, no. But maybe a hint of Fitzgerald, if one squints and tilts their head.”

Juan howls with laughter, then tilts his head slightly, studying me with a mischievous grin. “Hey, speaking of classy joints—how’d that dinner at Delmonico’s go? You and your lady have a good time?”

I can’t help but grin. “It went well, thanks for asking. Though I doubt Maddie would’ve let me hear the end of it if I hadn’t managed to find my way there on time.”

“Well, aren’t you glad Juan the Navigator was at your service?” He grins, tipping an imaginary hat with a flourish. “Glad it worked out, Professor. Now go enjoy this concert. Tell your girlfriend I said hi if she’s here!”

****

The wind carries a crispness that hints at spring’s imminent arrival, teasing against my face as I take in the towering elegance of Lincoln Center. It’s a sight that never fails to command awe—a modern Acropolis dedicated not to gods but to art in all its forms. 

Pausing at the edge of the plaza, I take a moment to absorb the grandeur. Before me, Avery Fisher Hall stands proud, its glass facade gleaming as sunlight dances across its surface. Flanking it, the graceful arcs of the Metropolitan Opera House and the New York State Theater complete the triumvirate, their architecture a harmonious blend of function and aspiration. 

The plaza itself, with its iconic Revson Fountain at the center, beckons like an open hand. My mind drifts to the history of this place. The late 1950s were a time of ambition, and to create this artistic utopia, the city swept aside what was then a working-class neighborhood. Tenement buildings gave way to this cultural landmark—a bittersweet reminder of progress and sacrifice. 

It had been nearly five years since I first set foot here, freshly arrived in the City that Never Sleeps to begin teaching at Columbia. That inaugural concert by the Philharmonic had left me spellbound, the music weaving itself into the fabric of my New York experience. Now, as I stand on the brink of another performance, a wave of anticipation courses through me, as though I’m on the verge of reconnecting with an old friend.