A Certain Point of View: Writing, Film and Stuff

© 2025 Alex Diaz-Granados   When a Reader Sees What You Meant to Say There are moments in a writer’s life that feel like exhaling after holding your breath for years. Reading Denise Longrie’s review of Comings and Goings was one of those moments. “The story is not a romance, but rather an enjoyable, insightful journey into empathy and the importance of human connection.” In that single sentence, Denise captured what I most hoped this story would communicate. Jim and Kelly’s conversation—quiet, non-performative, and deeply human—isn’t about flirtation or clever repartee. It’s about being seen. About recognition amid loneliness. And Denise saw that. She saw Jim’s discomfort, his tepid beer, his sense of invisibility. She noticed Kelly’s confidence—not as bravado, but as an invitation. She appreciated how music threads through their moment, not just as time-stamp nostalgia, but as emotional texture. Denise didn’t just read the story—she inhabited it. “Kelly listens and does...

 💫 Fragments of Time, Glimpses of the Heart 💫 Step into the world of Jim Garraty—a man whose quiet journey through memory, longing, and redemption has touched readers in ways both unexpected and familiar. Across three distinct stories, you'll find echoes of your own past, gently reshaped through fiction. 📖 Reunion: A Story takes you to a Florida high school in 1983, where Jim faces a silent moment of decision that will echo for decades. 📖 Reunion: Coda revisits him in 2000 as a professor confronting personal ghosts and revisiting old friendships. 📖 Comings and Goings – The Art of Being Seen explores fleeting connections in Boston during 1984, where simply being noticed can mean everything. These works aren’t just stories—they’re portraits of vulnerability, humanity, and the grace found in quiet reflection. Written with spare beauty and emotional depth, they speak to anyone who’s ever wondered about missed chances, forgiveness, and what remains after time has passed. Av...

  © 2025 Alex Diaz-Granados Writers yearn for resonance—that magical moment when a reader not only follows the story but genuinely feels it. Since Reunion: A Story made its debut in 2018, Thomas Wikman has been a thoughtful and discerning voice among those who've embraced Jim Garraty’s journey. His recent review of Reunion: Coda , titled “The Mystery of Life and Love,” is both a celebration and a deep dive into the emotional fabric of the Garratyverse. Thomas doesn't just compliment the narrative—he illuminates it. His reflections speak to the story’s careful navigation of time and emotion, drawing out the philosophical heart that lies beneath the prose. From the lingering sorrow of Martina to the gentler warmth of Maddie, he recognizes how love, memory, and resilience intertwine to shape the world Jim inhabits. His words resonate with truths that often remain unspoken: “Life is complicated and difficult, people will disappoint you… Life can be good but never perfect. We reco...

  © 2025 Alex Diaz-Granados 🎧 The Soundtrack of Stillness — Music as Memory in Comings and Goings What if a mixtape could hold a heartbeat? In Comings and Goings – The Art of Being Seen , music is neither garnish nor nostalgia-bait—it’s emotional brushwork. Each track, from the thundering bravado of Twisted Sister to the trembling quiet of Beethoven’s Adagio cantabile , is chosen with surgical tenderness. Not to dazzle, but to reveal . Eric Carmen’s “Never Gonna Fall in Love Again” , hiding Rachmaninoff like a bruise beneath silk, becomes a turning point—not for plot, but for perception. Kelly hears what others miss. And that’s how we know she sees Jim too. Billy Joel’s “This Night” doesn’t seduce the moment—it steadies it. It enters like a held breath and leaves like a trace of skin on cotton. There’s a stripped-down elegance to the aesthetic curation here: each piece of music echoes a kind of duality. Pop songs with classical skeletons. Ballads that hum with memory. The mus...

© 2025 Alex Diaz-Granados It’s funny how inspiration works. With Reunion: Coda —the novel I published less than three months ago—the idea took years to bloom. In fact, it first sparked back in 2000, when April, someone I never actually met, read the early manuscript of what eventually became Reunion: A Story . Maybe because I subconsciously associated the idea of a sequel with her, I didn’t begin writing Coda until 2023. That’s a 23-year gestation period. The final product? A novel over 500 pages long. But my latest book? It arrived almost by accident. The first nudge came from my friend Juan Carlos Hernández, who asked me a deceptively simple question: “What are you writing next?” I didn’t have a good answer. I was still knee-deep in promoting Coda , still recovering from the two-year marathon of writing it and from the whiplash of two cross-country moves in under a year. The truth was: I wasn’t ready to know what the Next Story was. Because once you know, you have to write it. Sti...

 Image by Vika_Glitter via Pixabay  A Companion Reflection for Comings and Goings: The Art of Being Seen Some moments imprint not because they’re perfect, but because they were true. Not rehearsed, not adorned—simply lived, and remembered. For Jim Garraty, that moment comes beneath the hush of moonlight, in a quiet room striped with silver shadow, beside a woman whose presence steadies more than it startles. It isn’t a scene about conquest or climax. It’s about presence . About the shyness of a first-time lover, the cataloguing habits of a historian, and the aching relief of being held in truth rather than judged in silence. Kelly sees him. Not through the lens of expectation, but through care. When he whispers, “I wish I’d been better at this,” she doesn’t dismiss or deflect. She listens. She stays close. And her reply— “Then it was perfect. You were kind. You were here. That’s what matters.” —becomes the emotional thesis of their entire connection. This wasn’t a ...

📚 For the ones who still turn pages... Here’s a clever little verse to echo the heartbeat of Comings and Goings —made just for those who know that sometimes, the best connections happen offline: For When the Battery Fades Or the Wi-Fi just won’t play nice... Boston, '84. A boy on the run From chatter and chaos, from everyone. A girl with eyes that didn’t flinch— A mixtape moment, inch by inch. Not swipes, not screens—just breath and beer, And Rachmaninoff floating near. He wasn’t looking, she wasn’t loud, But somehow, silence drew a crowd. A paperback tale for your favorite chair, For train rides, porch lights, anywhere. A story that listens, instead of insists— Of glances held and what love resists. Not first love. Not neat or clean. Just the grace of being truly seen. 🗓️ Out July 1 in paperback—because not every chapter needs a charger. Perfect for hands that miss the rustle of a page… or hearts that carry the weight of memory like a well-loved spine. =