On Writing and Storytelling: In Transit: Stories, Discs, and Belongings

Wednesday, October 15, 2025 – Orlando, Florida

It’s a cool, rainy fall day here in my corner of Central Florida. I’m tucked into my rented room, watching the skies and tracking two Amazon orders with the kind of vigilance reserved for small, meaningful victories.

The first is marked Out for Delivery—a 4K UHD Blu-ray of Kathryn Bigelow’s Zero Dark Thirty, her 2012 dramatization of the long, winding hunt for Osama Bin Laden. I already own the standard Blu-ray, but that copy is still stranded in Miami with the rest of my belongings. I needed something good to watch tonight, something immersive and sharp, so I splurged on the 4K disc last night for $17.99. Reasonable, yes. Indulgent, maybe. But in this limbo between cities, comfort sometimes comes in 2160p.

The second package is more personal: my author’s copy of the hardcover edition of Reunion: Coda. I bought the retail version back in the spring, but it remains in my former bedroom in South Florida. Since updating the text in mid-September to correct a few lingering mistakes, I’ve wanted a cleaner, truer edition—one that reflects the care I poured into it. Rather than pay full retail ($30 plus Florida sales tax), I opted for the slower, cheaper “author’s copy” route. That saved me a decent chunk—I only paid $18.41—but came with two caveats.

First, Amazon treats author copies like second-class citizens in the shipping queue. I placed the order on September 20, and it only left Hebron, Kentucky early this morning. ETA: Saturday, October 18. Second, these copies don’t count toward Reunion: Coda’s sales rank, nor do they generate royalties. So while it’s a win for my wallet, it’s invisible to the algorithm.

Still, I’ll soon have a less-flawed, more satisfying hardcover edition of a book I spent over two years crafting—across three cities and two states—to complete the Reunion Duology. That’s worth something.

P.S. I’m glad I ignored that unsolicited advice to buy multiple author copies and resell them outside a Miami bookstore. The logistics alone would’ve been a nightmare, and the books wouldn’t have arrived before my move in late August. Sometimes, restraint is its own kind of triumph.