Saturday, October 3, 2026 – Orlando, Florida
Hi there, Dear Reader.
I’m running a bit late today. The weather in my corner of Central Florida has been unsettled; it’s been rainy here over the past two days, and we even experienced a thunderstorm around 3 PM.
After that, my landlady decided that we needed to go to Aldi’s and get groceries, and that errand took us a little over an hour to accomplish. It was still raining then, too. Just not as hard, and blessedly, the thunderstorm cells moved away from the Orlando area just as we got back home.
I can’t say that this past week was particularly productive as far as And the Horse You Rode in On is concerned. I haven’t written any fresh copy for the manuscript all week; I suppose that seeing a huge plot hole in my narrative just when I thought I was off to a good start doused my morale. I had, I thought, a decent draft that centered on how Jim Garraty, who is 10 years old in this mid‑1970s story, met his best friend Mark when they were fifth graders at South Miami Elementary. In my admittedly biased opinion, I wrote a darned good vignette about a seminal moment in my Garratyverse, featuring a look at life in the summer of 1975 – the first year of the Bicentennial of the American Revolution – and a funny, character‑true depiction of how Jim and Mark became the “Twins from Different Families.”
I’ve already explained why I had to scrap this version of the story’s opening chapter, so I won’t belabor the point. Suffice it to say, though, that I find it incredibly difficult to recover from editorial stumbles such as this one. It’s not like my brain has a big red button marked Press to Reset that allows me to ignore continuity errors and blithely start over. I put much thought and effort into those first few pages of And the Horse You Rode in On, and I’d love to save as much of the existing material because, honestly, I like what I wrote. I just need to reconfigure the beginning so that the two boys meet in Miss Nabutovsky’s fifth‑grade class as I established in Reunion: Coda, rather than the way I have them meet in the rough draft of the new story.
The Myth of “Easy” Fiction Writing
Something else has been on my mind this week, and it’s worth saying plainly: writing fiction looks easy from the outside. If you’re not a writer — or if you’re a casual reader who enjoys a book now and then — it’s natural to assume that stories simply appear. That writers sit down, crack their knuckles, and let inspiration pour out in a clean, linear stream.
But anyone who writes — and certainly anyone who writes as much as I do — knows better. Fiction is hard. It’s architecture, psychology, continuity management, emotional calibration, and sheer stubbornness. It’s wrestling with characters who sometimes refuse to cooperate, and with plots that collapse just when you think you’ve finally built something sturdy. Even after decades of reading, writing, revising, and living inside my own fictional universe, I still run headlong into walls like this one.
People sometimes assume that because I’ve written several books, the process must be automatic by now. I wish. Every story is a fresh climb, and every climb has its loose rocks and sudden drop‑offs. This week’s plot hole was one of those drop‑offs, and even though I know how to fix things, that doesn’t make the stumble any less aggravating.
Confidence in the Climb Back Up
Still — and I’m reminding myself of this as much as I’m telling you — I will recover from this tailspin. I always do. It just feels Sisyphean at the moment, like I’m pushing a boulder uphill only to watch it roll back down and flatten my ankles. But the truth is, I’ve been here before. Every writer has. The trick is remembering that the boulder doesn’t actually win.
Eventually, I’ll get my footing, adjust my grip, and start pushing again.
I know I’ll rework the beginning of And the Horse You Rode in On. I know I’ll find the right angle, the right emotional entry point, the right way to honor what I established in Reunion: Coda without losing the spark of what I drafted before this week. It may take a few false starts. It may take a little grumbling. It may take a long walk with Joanne or a documentary break to clear my head. But the story is still there, waiting. And once I stop glaring at it, I’ll be able to see the path forward.
Writing isn’t easy. It isn’t supposed to be. But it is doable — even when the hill feels steep and the boulder looks smug.
A Gentle Nudge Before I Go
If you’ve enjoyed following Jim Garraty’s journey — or if you’re curious to see where all these continuity puzzles come from — I hope you’ll consider picking up one of the existing books in the series: Reunion: A Story, Reunion: Coda, or Comings and Goings – The Art of Being Seen. And if you prefer everything in one place, the omnibus edition, The Jim Garraty Chronicles: A Life Told in Four Movements, gathers all three, plus a bonus story, into a single volume.
Whether you’re discovering Jim for the first time or revisiting him, your support means the world to independent authors like me. Every purchase, every review, every quiet word‑of‑mouth recommendation helps keep these stories alive.
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