For the radio drama, there are three new chapters to replace one long narrative stretch. I'd rather show it than tell it. The updated text will replace the story as it is currently here.
That said, there is a thing that happens to authors who fall in love with their native tongue. Like all love stories, the best ones involve opening oneself to the possibility of being hurt. Many aspects of The Visitor touched upon elements of my past, including several bits of unfinished business that now clamor for some form of closure. I write it, and it writes me. I look at David's story and Maureen's and see in it a journey I am also taking. I also see David as someone I aspire to be, Maureen as someone I aspire to be worthy of, and in Dewdrop the dear wife who endured so much to become my better half. And I say, "Please God, help me to be worthy of her unquestioning devotion."
People ask me how to be a better writer. I tell them they must aspire to be a better person. For it is out of the person's desires that the dream is born, and out of their commitment and devotion that it is raised and launched upon the sea of art.
The part of The Visitor you don't see is the toll it took on me. Like Pygmalion or Galatea, I have created the embodiment in a work of art of a longing that can never be satisfied in real life. And finding myself trapped by this conundrum, I discovered the only way out is to allow the art I created to become an integral part of myself. When I aspire to David's selfless service, Maureen's parental devotion, or Dewdrop's zest for life, they live and I commune with them.
Let this both inspire you and stand as a warning. You can have an affair with language and enjoy some cheap thrills, or you can marry it and let your stories be the incarnation of your love for writing. If you marry it, you set yourself up for all the drama that makes a life bigger than yourself worth living.