‘Comings and Goings’: The Paperback Drops Tomorrow… But That’s Not the Whole Story

“When a book leaves its author’s desk, it changes. Even before anyone has read it… it is irretrievably altered. It has acquired, in a sense, free will… The book has gone out into the world and the world has remade it.”
— Salman Rushdie, Joseph Anton: A Memoir

“It was 1984, unmistakably so—Jordache and Calvin Klein jeans hugged long legs, paired with pastel tees, Harvard sweatshirts, or blouses that shimmered slightly in the dim lighting.”
— Alex Diaz-Granados, Comings and Goings: The Art of Being Seen

Hi, everyone.

Here I am, sitting in the soft, fading light on the final evening of June 2025. It’s been nearly a week since I clicked “publish” on the Kindle edition of Comings and Goings: The Art of Being Seen (A Jim Garraty Story). Tomorrow, for those who still treasure the feel of printed pages beneath their fingertips, the paperback edition will be available via Kindle Direct Publishing.

As I wait for the sky to darken and July to arrive, I’m feeling a swirl of emotions. There’s excitement, of course—genuine joy in sharing this story with the world. Pride and a sense of accomplishment, too; finishing a book is never a small feat. But braided through that joy is a quiet ache I’ve come to recognize: the post-publication blues.

This isn’t my first ride on the emotional rollercoaster. With two books published this year alone—Reunion: Coda in April, and now this—I’m beginning to understand the rhythm of it all. And if I count Save Me the Aisle Seat, the collection of Epinions reviews I pulled together in 2012 as a gift for my ailing mother, Comings and Goings marks my fourth book overall.

Yet each release feels different. Every book has its own journey and weight. And while I’ve been here before, I still find myself holding my breath, quietly hoping this story finds its readers—hoping it resonates, connects, and maybe even leaves a small, meaningful mark in the world.

I’m deeply satisfied with Comings and Goings. It emerged—Athena-like—less than three weeks ago, sparked by a brief flashback while revisiting the revised edition of Reunion: Coda. As I wrote in the Author’s Note:

Comings and Goings: The Art of Being Seen wasn’t part of the plan.

It emerged—quietly but insistently—from a single flashback in Reunion: Coda. At first, Kelly Moore was just a name. A memory. A girl Jim remembered sharing some Heinekens with on a summer night in 1984. But something about that moment lingered. In scene after scene, her presence kept resurfacing—not loudly, but unmistakably. Like a song you thought you’d forgotten until it plays when you least expect it.

The roots of this story were always there: in the beer Jim shared with his best friend Mark on graduation night, in the kiss from Marty that came too late, in the unspoken ache of not knowing if you were ever really seen. Even in that brief walk across Columbia’s campus—years later—when a familiar face stirs a flood of memory, and Jim wonders if anyone else remembers that night the way he does.

Writing Comings and Goings felt, in a way, like traveling back to 1998, when I wrote the original Reunion: A Story in under a week. Back then, I was 35—brimming with the stamina for ten-hour writing marathons. At 62, that kind of relentless pace is behind me. And yet, drafting this story in just eleven days felt like a small miracle, especially considering the nearly 25 months it took to complete Coda.

This isn’t meant as boasting. I know I’m not standing in the same literary circles as Franzen, Egan, Patterson, or King—much less Hemingway or Fitzgerald. But I do believe Comings and Goings is some of my best work. It doesn’t sprawl across timelines. It doesn’t rely on a wide cast. It’s a simple, tender story about two college students—Harvard history major Jim Garraty and Boston University English/theater arts major Kelly Moore—who meet at the College Party from Hell. They slip away to Kelly’s apartment, crack open some Heinekens, listen to Billy Joel, and share one unforgettable night rooted in trust and quiet intimacy.

As I wrote in the same note:

I hadn’t intended to write another short story so soon after finishing the novel. But the idea of Kelly and Jim’s first time wouldn’t let me go. It kept pressing forward until I listened. Until I wrote it.

My plan had been to wait until September to release it. But let’s be honest—life these days feels fragile, uncertain. At home. Abroad. And I’m not getting any younger. So here we are: the Kindle edition is available now, and tomorrow, the paperback will drop.

So yes—I’m pleased. Proud. Excited.

But I’d be lying if I didn’t also admit to the worry that haunts most writers I know: What if none of it matters? What if the stories I tell—no matter how sincerely or skillfully—never quite breach the surface?

Because the truth is, literary success is a strange, slippery thing. For every warm email from a reader who says a story helped them feel seen, there’s the hard data of rankings, sales figures, and the ever-elusive validation from critics or tastemakers outside my usual orbit.

I’d be lying if I didn’t also admit to the worry that haunts most writers I know: What if none of it matters? What if the stories I tell—no matter how sincerely or skillfully—never quite breach the surface?

Alex Diaz-Granados

Still… I keep going. Because these stories keep surfacing. Because writing them is how I make sense of things. Because in the end, it’s not about book deals or bestseller lists. It’s about the glimmers of connection—those fleeting moments where someone sees themselves in Jim’s uncertainty or Kelly’s quiet strength and feels, if only for a heartbeat, a little less alone.

So tonight, I send Comings and Goings into the world with gratitude and hope. Hope that it finds its readers. Hope that it lingers. And peace—peace in knowing that I’ve honored these characters and this chapter of my journey with as much care and truth as I could give.

Thanks for listening.

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