Cloudy Sunday, Light Workload, Hope for Tomorrow

Sunday, February 22, 2026 — Orlando, Florida

Hi, everyone.

It is a grey, brooding late‑winter day in Central Florida. It’s almost noon, and as I write this, the temperature is 74°F (24°C) under cloudy skies. We’ve already had scattered light showers, and more are expected to pop up throughout the afternoon on this last Sunday of February. If the forecast holds, we might even get a few shy appearances from Old Man Sunshine later on—partly sunny conditions are expected, with a high near 77°F (25°C).

Since I first sat down to write my novel, Reunion: Coda, back in March 2023, I’ve tried—at least in theory—to stick to a classic Monday–Friday writing routine, leaving weekends open for rest, relaxation, and the occasional adventure. But like most boundaries I set for myself, the “no work on weekends” rule has always been more of a friendly suggestion than a hard line. During the writing of Coda, especially with my self-imposed “aspirational deadline” looming, I often found myself breaking that rule. Sometimes an idea would burst into my mind and demand immediate attention—who am I to say no to inspiration? Other times, particularly during my ten months in New Hampshire, boredom nudged me back to the keyboard. Some weekends I’d sneak in a half day of work; others turned into full-on Saturday‑and‑Sunday writing sprees. Yes, I was chasing deadlines that kept drifting farther away, but mostly I kept going because the work itself was rewarding and grounding.

Now, nearly a year after finishing and sending that novel out into the world, the pressure is different. These days, I’m tinkering with The Jim Garraty Chronicles, but gathering three existing works into an omnibus and smoothing out a few formatting gremlins doesn’t carry the same urgency as launching a debut novel—a dream that had been simmering since 1978. So this weekend, I’m embracing the “No Work on Weekends” philosophy wholeheartedly, and I have to admit it feels pretty good.

Yesterday, for instance, I wrapped up the Hormuz scenario in Sea Power: Naval Combat in the Missile Age’s NATO mission pack. I had saved the game in its final phase: my six-ship Earnest Will convoy—USS Fox, USS Kidd, USS Crommelin, SS Bridgeton, SS Gas Prince, and SS Middletown—completed its transit of the Strait of Hormuz without further interference from Iranian naval or air forces. No additional Silkworm missiles were fired at the tankers or their escorts.

Overall, I did well as task force commander. Between them, Fox, Kidd, and Crommelin sank the frigate IRIS Alvand, two La Combattante‑class missile boats (IRIS Khanjar and IRIS Shamshir), four Boghammar speedboats, five F‑5E fighters, at least three F‑4E Phantom II fighter‑bombers, and three SH‑3D helicopters armed with anti‑ship missiles. I didn’t destroy any ground targets—my ships never got within 5‑inch gun range of the missile sites—but the surface action group shot down every incoming Silkworm. Even better, none of the convoy ships suffered any damage, and my helicopters rescued 24 Iranian survivors from the Gulf.

Will I play Sea Power today? Probably not. I enjoy it, but it’s only one of many games in my Steam library, and I don’t want to burn out by playing it exclusively. Besides, I went to Miami in December to retrieve my Blu‑ray and DVD collection, along with my vast library of CDs, so gaming is just one of several entertainment options at my fingertips.

As for tomorrow, I’m hoping ACX will make some progress on the Audible edition of Reunion: Coda. The cover art has already passed its check, but the metadata and audio file reviews are still pending. With any luck, Monday will bring movement on that front. After all, waiting is always the hardest part—but it’s also part of the journey.

If you’re new to Jim Garraty’s world, all three stories are already out there waiting to be discovered: Reunion: A Story, Reunion: Coda, and Comings and Goings – The Art of Being Seen. Each one explores different facets of Jim’s journey—memory, connection, the ache of growing up, and the quiet moments that shape us. Whether you’ve followed along from the beginning or you’re just stepping into his story now, I’m grateful you’re here for the ride.