On Writing and Storytelling: ‘Big Things Come from Small Beginnings’

Saturday, January 24, 2026, Orlando, Florida

Thank you for joining me as I revisit one of the quiet turning points in Reunion: Coda. In this excerpt, we return to January 1981, when Jim Garraty and Martina Elizabeth “Marty” Reynaud—two 10th graders at South Miami Senior High—share their first real conversation. It’s a small moment on the surface, just a few words exchanged in a noisy cafeteria, but it becomes the spark that shapes the emotional arc of Jim’s life for decades to come.

This scene sits at the heart of the novel’s dual‑timeline structure, echoing between Jim’s formative years and the man he eventually becomes. What begins here as a shy, unexpected connection will resonate through his adulthood, coloring the choices he makes and the memories he carries.

Mark sat down across from me, his lunch tray in front of him. We chatted about our classes, our plans for the week, and the latest gossip. I laughed and relaxed, forgetting all about my worries.

After a while, Mark took one last bite of his pizza and made a face. “This pizza is terrible,” he said. “It’s so greasy and the crust is hard.”

I laughed. “I know,” I said. “That’s why I always get the oatmeal cookie.”

Mark reached over and took a bite of my cookie. “This is good,” he said. “Can I have another bite?”

I laughed again and told him he could have the rest of my cookie.

“So, how are your classes?” I asked.

“They’re okay. I’m really digging Business Ed, though. Especially Business Math.”

“Really? Why’s that?”

“Well, for one thing, I like math. It’s fun and useful. And for another thing, Ms. Garcia is hot.”

I rolled my eyes. Mark had a crush on every attractive female teacher in the school.

“Come on, man. She’s old enough to be your mom.”

“So? She’s still cute. And she’s nice. And she knows her stuff.”

I shook my head. Mark was hopeless.

“Whatever you say, buddy. Whatever you say.”

Suddenly, Mark’s eyes widened. “Hey, I heard you signed up for chorus,” he said. “I know we talked about it over the Christmas break, but I thought you’d chicken out.”

I smiled. “No, I didn’t chicken out,” I said. “How’d you find out?”

Mark waggled his eyebrows. “Everyone here knows almost everyone else. Word gets around, bud.”

“Ah,” I said.

“Seriously, though. I’m glad you decided to do something fun besides all that AP stuff you’re taking. I know you take school seriously, but sometimes you take it way too seriously.”

“I’m really excited about it.”

“What’s your teacher like? Mrs.-?”

“Quincy,” I said. “Well, she’s cool, I guess. If I had to describe her succinctly, I’d say she’s a cross between a sweet grandmother and a Marine drill instructor.”

“’ Succinctly,’” Mark repeated. “Oh, look at you and your fancy shmancy vocabulary!” He laughed, but not unkindly; he knew that my dream was to be a historian like Cornelius Ryan.

I took a sip of my chocolate milk. Mark took a swig from his half-pint carton of plain milk.

“Good ole moo juice,’ Mark said. “So, which group did you end up joining, Mr. Singing Cobra?”

“I thought that was general knowledge, my friend.”

“Well, I heard you joined the chorus; I didn’t hear which of the choruses,” Mark said.

“The men’s ensemble,” I deliberately chose the alternative name for the Boys’ Choir. I was 16, not 12.

“Why not Mixed Chorus? There are girls there, you know.”

At the mention of “girls,” I glanced down. Only slightly, and only for a split second. I hoped Mark hadn’t noticed.

“Have to start somewhere, you know,” I said as casually as possible.

“You used to sing at Kinloch Park. I wouldn’t call that ‘starting somewhere.’”

“Mark, that was in sixth grade. We’re in 10th grade – “

“Halfway through 10th grade, my friend,” Mark interjected.

“Fine,” I replied, annoyance creeping into my voice. “Halfway through 10th grade. But you’re talking about when we were kids in sixth grade. My voice has changed a bit since then, and I haven’t done a lot of singing over the past three years.”

“Except for when you sing the main theme from Star Wars.”

“That’s humming, not singing,” I retorted.

“Whatever.”

“Seriously. I’m a bit rusty. I figured I’d start with the basics. You know, like dipping a toe in the pool before going swimming. Baby steps, man. Baby steps.”

Mark cocked an eyebrow in wry amusement. Then, his expression changed to something akin to understanding. “Hey, I’m only yanking your chain a bit, bud. I’m happy that you’ve decided to do something besides study, play solo wargames, and read books all the time. You’re still a kid, you know. You’ll have plenty of time for that history stuff after we graduate in two and a half years.”

I laughed. “Still keeping to that countdown to graduation, I see.”

Mark snorted. “I don’t hate school; I mean…look at all the girls here,” he said, nodding to one of the other tables, where Ann Saroyan, one of the JV cheerleaders, was having lunch and chatting amiably with three other girls from the squad.

I sneaked a peek at the object of Mark’s attention, hoping she wouldn’t notice. It was Ann, of course. One of the prettiest girls in Cobra Country, by a long shot. I had known her since third grade, but we never got past exchanging polite greetings. I once fancied her in fifth grade, but I soon learned that she didn’t go for nerdy boys like me. So, I gave up on her and dreamed of Farrah Fawcett-Majors instead, the blonde bombshell of my 11-year-old fantasies.

“Point,” I said.

Before Mark could reply, I noticed a blur of blue and white moving in the general direction of our table.

I sipped my chocolate milk and pointed at the cafeteria entrance. “Do you see her?” I asked Mark. “The girl who just walked in.”

Mark looked up and scanned the room. “Who? Where?”

“There,” I said. “The one with the long chestnut hair and the blue denim outfit. She’s heading for the lunch line.”

Mark squinted and nodded. “Yeah, I see her. She’s pretty. Who is she?”

I shrugged. “I don’t remember her name. But she sang ‘We’ll Meet Again’ this morning. She was amazing.”

Mark raised his eyebrows. “Wait. I thought the first period was just the boys’ chorus. She auditioned?”

I nodded. “Yeah, the period was almost over, and Mrs. Quincy hasn’t picked songs for us to practice, so we guys were just talking in class. It was almost boring, really, until she showed up. She has a voice like an angel. And a British accent.”

Mark whistled. “Wow, sounds like you have a crush on her.”

I felt my face heat up. “No, I don’t. I just think she’s talented. And nice.”

Before Mark could tease me further, the girl walked up to our table and smiled shyly at me.

“Hi,” she said. “I wanted to thank you for helping me with the audition earlier.”

I blinked, surprised, and flustered. “All I did was give Mrs. Quincy a pen so she could sign a form – ” I racked my brain for her name.

She blushed but kept smiling. “Martina,” she said. Her voice was soft and warm, and I felt a tingle in my chest. “But you can call me Marty.”

“Marty,” I repeated.

“You were very kind – ” she continued.

“Jim,” I interrupted, holding out my hand.

She took it and shook it gently. “Nice to meet you, Jim,” she said. “I have to go now. Lunch and fourth period, you know.”

“Yeah, I know,” I said, feeling a pang of disappointment. “See you around, Marty.”

She waved and walked away, joining the lunch crowd at the back of the cafeteria.

I watched her go until Mark nudged me on the shoulder.

“Come on, Jim. We have to get to class. Second lunch is starting. You don’t want to miss algebra, do you?”

“No, of course not,” I said, tearing my eyes away from Marty.

Moments like this one—brief, awkward, unexpectedly tender—often slip by unnoticed in real time. Only later do we recognize them for what they were: the first tremors of a bond that will echo across years. As you read this early encounter between Jim and Marty, I invite you to hold both timelines in mind—the shy boy in the cafeteria and the man he becomes—because the story of Reunion: Coda lives in the space between those two selves, and in the quiet ways a single conversation can alter the course of a life.