A Certain Point of View: Writing, Film and Stuff

©2018, 2023 Alex Diaz-Granados  “On the Good News Front” Post It gives me immense pleasure to present the recent Amazon appraisal of my novella "Reunion: A Story", penned by the eloquent and cultured critic Pooja Gudka, whose talents span blogging, poetry, and history. She has graciously lavished admiration on my literary creation, for which I am deeply appreciative. Her discerning and perceptive commentary was as follows: The plot was what drew me to the story. I’m not usually drawn to romance novels or anything particular romantic. But the summary for this book really drew me in because it’s something most of us can relate to- lost love. We all have “the one that got away.” Well, most of us anyway. Also, as a historian myself I loved that Garraty’s character was a historian and was intrigued by that. The author also explores multiple philosophical aspects of life such as true love, happiness, friendships, loss and regret. Things most adults are familiar with. We also learn

  2 A Parley at Lunchtime 12:20 PM, Near the End of First Lunch   “You did what now?” Mark Prieto’s expression was a mix of thunderstruck surprise and wry amusement as I finished telling him about my upcoming solo in the 1981 Winter Concert, which was less than one week away. We were seated at our usual table in the school cafeteria – a round table normally seated five or six people at a time – a short distance from the teachers’ lounge and the main corridor leading to the school’s first floor. As usual, the room was filled with a cacophony of sounds as several hundred adolescents sat in clusters at the other tables, gossiping, joking, bitching about how much homework Mr. or Mrs. X handed out daily, guessing about mid-year exams and grades, or even arguing about the Miami Dolphins’ waning season. There were even spats between teenage lovers, usually based on rumors that one half of the couple was cheating on the other. And, of course, the murmurs and laughs and occasional y

   3 Moonlight Serenade, or: "Parting is Such Sweet Sorrow..."   We go back to our table after our dance. The Swinging Millers are playing their encore, Moonlight Serenade . The dance floor is nearly empty now, and most of the patrons are either sitting at their tables or getting ready to go. Maddie and I sit in silence, listening to the music. She looks gorgeous in her sky-blue dress. It contrasts nicely with her hazel eyes, which sparkle in the dim light. There's a matching jacket in her bag from Book Culture, along with some books she bought earlier. I wonder what they are, but I don't ask. I don't want to spoil the mystery. The song ends, and the band thanks the audience for their applause. Maddie looks at her watch and sighs. "It's late," she says. "I should get going." "Me too," I say. Before we go, Maddie snatches a napkin and a pen from our table, flashing me a mischievous grin. We head to the coat check, w

(C) 2018 Alex Diaz-Granados and CreateSpace (an Amazon company) On June 28, 2018, Amazon Digital Services published Reunion: A Story, my first work of fiction, through its Kindle Direct Publishing division. As of today, it's ranked #70 in the Best-Sellers - Kindle Short Reads - Teen & Young Adult Categories.   Two days later, the print version of Reunion was released in a 40-page paperback by Amazon's CreateSpace Independent Publishing Platform. Though the print edition is selling more modestly than the e-book, it's still doing better than my first book performed six years ago.  Like most writers, I'm often asked questions along the lines of "Where do you get your ideas from?" and "How did you write this story?"  So, to give you some idea of how Reunion came to be and what it's about, here are some questions and answers related to my new short story.  The Premise:   It is February 1998. 33-year-old Jim Garraty is a respected

Love Unspoken, Love Unbroken Dedicated to everyone I've loved, past...and present No Absolution: February 1998 It’s quiet here. But then again, it’s supposed to be quiet. Cemeteries, even those in the heart of a city, tend to be full of silence. The sounds of the neighborhood – barking dogs, laughing children, even the traffic on the adjacent streets – are swallowed up by the silence of the graveyard. The walls around the perimeter of the cemetery – imposing redbrick walls six feet high and adorned with a black iron fence – have something to do with it, I suppose. I’m a historian, not an acoustical engineer. I’ve been here some fifteen minutes, but it seems as if I have been here for hours. It has been twenty minutes since I drove into the parking lot, walked into the main office, and asked one of the dark-suited employees where Marty’s grave is. The employee – or Service Representative, as her desktop nameplate so eloquently states her job title – quietly tapped a few