On Writing and Storytelling: Writing Intimacy as Emotional Truth

🛗 Between Floors and Feelings: Writing Intimacy as Emotional Truth

In Reunion: Coda, there’s a moment suspended in time—an elevator ride, a kiss, and a song that shouldn’t belong. It’s not a grand gesture or a climactic reveal. It’s quiet. Intentional. Sacred.

“The elevator is unusually empty as we step inside. The Musak version of ‘Faith of the Heart’ plays in the background… As it ascends to the 33rd floor, I turn to Maddie, and without a word, we kiss—a passionate promise of the evening to come…”

This isn’t just a kiss. It’s a narrative hinge. A moment where memory, promise, and presence converge. I didn’t write it to titillate or dramatize. I wrote it to honor the emotional logic of two people who’ve earned this silence, this closeness, this breath between chapters.

🎵 Music as Emotional Undercurrent

“Faith of the Heart” in Musak form is no accident. It’s a tonal shift—a departure from the classical melodies that once filled the elevator. It signals a new emotional register. Something rawer. More vulnerable. Maddie’s arrival changes the soundtrack of the moment, quite literally.

🌸 Scent and Skin: Writing Sensory Sanctuary

Her perfume—vanilla and jasmine—isn’t just a detail. It’s a memory anchor. A sensory echo that lingers long after the scene ends. I write scent not as decoration, but as emotional residue. It’s how characters remember each other. How readers remember them.

🤫 Silence as Dialogue

There’s no spoken word in that elevator (at least, not at this point in the scene). Just presence. Just trust. I believe intimacy lives in the spaces between dialogue—in the glances, the gestures, the shared breath. Writing those moments requires restraint, reverence, and a deep respect for emotional sanctuary.

📖 A Kiss as a Chapter Break

That kiss isn’t the climax—it’s the promise. It speaks of new beginnings, of stories yet to be told. In the Garratyverse, I write intimacy as a threshold. Not a spectacle, but a quiet crossing into deeper emotional terrain.

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I don’t write scenes like this to impress. I write them to honor the dignity of connection. To remind readers—and myself—that the most powerful moments often happen in elevators, in silence, in the scent of someone you trust.

And if you’re reading this while navigating your own transitions—whether it’s a move, a memory, or a moment of emotional recalibration—I hope this excerpt offers a breath of stillness. A reminder that stories, like kisses, can hold entire worlds between floors.