Jessica Scott

My post is up over at the NYTimes! It’s under my real name but I’m so dang excited!!

http://atwar.blogs.nytimes.com/

Tweet This Post

When you get home from deployment, the army sends you through all this reintegration training. Some of it is worthwhile, a lot of it is a waste of time and even more is a check the block exercise. I understand the intent behind it, but frankly, I didn’t need or want most of it. There was, however, one class that I really got a lot out of and it was taught by the chaplains. They discussed reintegrating with your families and I paid attention because honestly, I’ve been worried about reuniting with my kids.

They talked about expectations and reactions and how you and they are different now than when you left home. I knew all this but still I paid attention. There was a lot of anticipation within me about seeing the kids and getting my family back together.

I thought I was prepared.

So when we’re in the middle of a busy rest stop in New Jersey last night and my youngest starts crying out of the blue, I wasn’t prepared to hear why she was upset. She had real, painful tears, the kind of crying that sounded like her little heart hurt. When I asked her what was wrong, she sobbed “I don’t think you love me.”

It was not a fake cry. It wasn’t a cry for attention. And I had no idea how to react. Instantly, I started crying. In the middle of a rest stop, with people wondering what the heck was going on, I was trying to get my oldest’s coat on her while trying to get my youngest to understand that I did love her and I did miss her.

My husband freaked out when he walked up and saw me and our youngest both in tears. My oldest rested her head on my shoulder and told me she knew I loved her. But none of that helped until I could make my youngest understand.

It was a brutal episode and one I did not expect. They tell you about the babies not knowing you or your grade school kids wanting to talk incessantly but nothing prepared me for my 3 year old’s confusion and true heartache.

It’s better today. She’s back to normal and so am I but the pain from last night lingers. So today, I’m hugging both of them more and telling them I love them. I’d already been doing that but apparently, it wasn’t enough to make up for a year of no hugs and no up close I love yous. The web cam was good but it wasn’t enough.

I don’t know if I can ever make up  for being gone to either of them. I don’t know what else is coming.

And I don’t know that I’m prepared to deal with it.

Tweet This Post

A SOLDIER’S CHRISTMAS

‘Twas the night before Christmas, he lived all alone,
in a one bedroom house made of plaster and stone.

I had come down the chimney with presents to give,
and to see just who in this little house lived.

As I looked all about, a strange sight I did see,
No tinsel, no presents, not even a tree.

No Stockings by mantle, just boots filled with sand,
On the wall hung pictures of far distant lands.

With medals and badges, awards of all kinds,
A sobering thought came through my mind.

For this house was different, it was dark and dreary,
The home of a soldier, I could now see clearly.

The soldier lay sleeping, silent, alone,
Curled up on the floor in this one bedroom home.

The face was so gentle, the room in such disorder,
Not how I picture a United States Soldier.

Was this the hero of whom I’d just read?
Curled up on a poncho, the floor for a bed?

I realized the families that I saw this night,
owed their lives to these soldiers who were willing to fight.

Soon round the world, the children would play,
and grownups would celebrate a bright Christmas day.

They all enjoyed freedom each month of the year,
because of the soldiers, like the one lying here.

I couldn’t help wondering how many lay alone,
on a cold Christmas Eve in a land far from home.

The very thought brought a tear to my eye,
I dropped to one knee and started to cry.

The soldier awakened and I heard a rough voice,
“Santa don’t cry, for this life is my choice”.

I fight for freedom, I don’t ask for more,
My life is my God, my country, my corps.”

The soldier rolled over and drifted to sleep,
I couldn’t control it, I continued to weep.

I kept watch for hours, so silent and still,
as we both shivered from the cold night’s chill.

I didn’t want to leave, on that cold, dark night,
this guardian of honor, so willing to fight.

Then the soldier rolled over, with a voice soft and pure,
whispered, “Carry on Santa…., It’s Christmas Day…., All is secure.

One look at my watch, and I knew he was right,
Merry Christmas my friend…. and to all a Good Night.

~ Author Unknown *~

Tweet This Post

I’ve been treading water for the last two weeks. Two nights ago, I walked into my mother home to cries of mommy, mommy. I held my daughters in my arms and I was finally home. The piece of me that was missing is now filled. I am no longer just Jessie, just a soldier, just a writer. I’m Mommy once more, with all that entails.

And I couldn’t be happier. I’m exhausted, look like hell, (remember that crappy hair cut? Yeah, I’ve had no time to take care of it.) but couldn’t be happier. I’ve had no desire to write but that’s only temporary. For now, my job is mommy. My littlest one likes to tell me “you’re the best parents in the whole wide world” even after we’ve left them for the entire year.

They’re clingy. We cannot leave them alone and have no desire to. They fight in the car more. We made it exactly five minutes on a road trip to town before my hubby was ready to pull his hair out from the “mommies” arguments and I was cracking up because despite the time lapse, I’m still able to tune them out. Of course, he went and bought dvd players for the coming road trip to Texas.

I’ve done arts and crafts and gone sledding and slept in a chair holding both of them. My youngest is so far out of pull ups, my oldest could pass for a third grader with her more mature short hair cut (I swear to God, if I catch her with scissors again…). I’ve already started counting to three to overcome my 3 year old’s selective hearing.

There’s no better feeling than holding my daughters as they snuggle up. They’ve changed incredibly but then again, so have I. This is what’s really important. The time with my kiddos. I’ll never get this year back but I still have today to make a difference and let them know how much I loved them and missed them. I’ll never let the opportunity pass by.

Tweet This Post

The news this week was that female veterans have a hard time feeling like they’re part of the team once they get back. An article ran in the Associated Press commented that no one buys the gals a beer in the bar and how they’re not invited out to the bar with the families because the wives of their buddies downrange might not approve.

I can relate and in a sense, I understand. I was at a car dealership this weekend and the manager was talking to my husband about being in Iraq. I felt sidelined by the fact that the manager never once asked if I’d been there, too. He simply assumed I was a spouse and I felt like I’d be going ‘ooh ooh me, too, I was there, too,” if I’d spoken up. It was awkward for me but at the same time, had I not read the AP article, I might not have been even thinking about it.

As a female soldier, I’ve always been on the outside looking in. The males in every unit I’ve been a part of have seen a female first, a soldier second, much as if they see a black female first or a Hispanic male first. I’ve accepted that is simply part of being a women in the military. I’ve also accepted another dirty little secret: the wives at home ALWAYS suspect the female soldiers in their husbands units of trying to sleep with their husbands. Their fear is not unfounded. I get to see what their husbands do during the deployments and when they’re TDY. Some of their husbands are not faithful and that is a disappointment to me.

They are not cheating on their wives with me but that doesn’t matter because I am simply the other to them, a woman who spends time with their husbands who is not them. So I understand the awkwardness that some of the guys have in introducing their teams. I can’t smile too much when I meet the wives or else, I’m suspected. I can’t be too stand offish because then I’m hiding something. It’s a precarious balance, one that means that when I get home, I’ve lost the buddies I’ve hung out with all year, bs’ing with them in the TOC or in the smoke area.

That means that when we come home, I’m on my own. I can’t seek out the friends that I had downrange without causing suspicion and rumor and the last thing that anyone needs is rumor and innuendo. Coming home is hard enough without adding jealousy into the mix. But the blatant, more often than not, assumption that I have not deployed to combat is almost as irritating as having people look at me and see a lieutenant instead of seeing an officer with over 14 years in the service.

People can’t help what they see. They see a female, the mental association is not with being a soldier in our society, just like when folks see a lieutenant, they don’t expect to see someone with experience. I am what people see, at least until they get to know me. I cannot change their expectations of me in that first glance but I can change it once they get to know me.

I feel like I’m doing a ‘me, too’ thing when I correct people if they leave me out. Invariably, they are surprised that I’m in the army because ‘I don’t look like I’m in the army’. I’m not sure exactly what that means, but it’s irrelevant. I am in the army. I am a combat veteran. And when they shake my husband’s hand and say welcome home, I feel the lack of recognition.

Maybe I shouldn’t. Maybe I should just accept it as what it is. But it still hurts.

And it still feels wrong, for me and the thousands of women who’ve served with distinction just like our male soldiers.

Tweet This Post

Things are settling back in. I’ve been home for a week now and I’m starting to feel normal. The irritation that I feel over little things is subsiding and I’m getting back into my current WIP. I nailed 20 pages on it this weekend and I’m just started to get back into the groove of it.

I’ve also had an encouraging couple of emails from prospective agents. The agents who currently have my full are ones I’d love to work with, so if I have a choice, it’s going to be a hard one to make. I won’t make an on the spot decision, but having been in one agent/author relationship, I think I have a better idea as to what I’m looking for.

In other news, I’ve rediscovered how to burn food and that my lack of domestic abilities is still sorely lacking. There was no magical hit this past year that miraculously turned me into a Martha Stewart protégé. No, I still burned the first round of blueberry muffins, however, the second round (that did not come from a box) were a huge hit with my other half (trust me, this is a bigger milestone than you might think).

The biggest news this week is that on Friday, I get full swing back into Mommy mode. No more phone calls with the kiddos, I get full blown hugs, along with peed on pants, dirty faces and attitude. It’s going to be an adjustment, I know this but one thing I am hoping for is a better perspective on things with them now that I’m home. I’m implementing a rule on myself: no email, no phone calls, no distractions while the kids are home from school. The few precious hours I have with them each night are going to be sacred mommy and kiddo time.

I personally think I’m going to go insane inside of a week. It will be a race between my mom and I as to who gets there first: me from inheriting my children back or her from the silence in her house from no children.

Either way it rolls, life is going to be an adjustment over the next few months. They say it takes 90 days for things to fully settle in. Well, in 90 days, my husband might be moving to Ft Bragg without us, for me and the kids to follow this summer. THAT will be an adjustment, but having gone through 2 deployments at home with him gone, I know I’ll be just fine. Busy. But fine.

So that’s the latest from the home front. With any kind of luck, I’ve got a new normal, just in time for that normal to be replaced, once more, by chaos. I’ll live. I always do.

Tweet This Post

I’ve been home a few days now. I’ve been busy. Aside from the dead lizard in the bathroom, which I really enjoyed, I’ve been going non stop. Cleaning the house and getting things back to normal in my home is nearly a full time job. But I did take time for me, because as soon as I get the kids back, I no longer have me time. So I went and spent some time at Bobbi Brown and at the Loft and spent some time trying to learn how to be a girl again.

But here’s the problem. I’ve been a soldier all year long. That’s been who I am, aside from the folks I interact with in the online writing community, I’ve been around soldiers and that’s it.
It was easier.

I very nearly lost my temper today at a girl who was doing her best to cut my hair but despite her efforts was pretty much giving me a hatchet job. You’d think I would be a little more easy going about this, seeing how my hair has had a single style for the entire year. But as the length got shorter and shorter and the sides more and more uneven, I felt this tiny knot of anger growing inside me. She was trying but the harder she tried the worse it got and the bigger the knot grew.

Thankfully a more experienced hair stylist stepped in and salvaged it so I’m not bald.

But really? I was getting violently angry over.

A.

HAIR.

CUT.

WTF? This is something so beyond petty and inconsequential, I’m ashamed to even be writing about it. Everyone who knows me knows I’ve got a temper but as I’ve gotten older, I’ve strived to keep it more in check. This year has been more challenging and I’ll admit, I let it fly more often than I checked it.

But if I’m losing my temper (which I did not, thankfully. I paid and left without comment) about something so absolutely stupid as a bad hair cut, how on earth am I going to handle my kids? I mean, they’re babies. They’re not used to me and I’m not used to them.

So how am I going to handle this?

I’ll tell you, this is the most apprehensive I’ve been in a long time.

This isn’t a two week stint of R&R. This is it. I’m mommy, full time, go starting in less than a week and there’s no one to take the load off for me and my DH. We’re both coming back this time, not him with me adjusting to him coming home.

It’s going to be an interesting journey, that’s for sure.

Tweet This Post

I’ve developed a low tolerance for a lot of things since I’ve been back from Iraq, but something completely trivial is working my nerves.

People all across the country respect and admire soldiers and thank us for our service. While we’re just doing our jobs like everyone else, it’s still nice for people to recognize that we do something just a little out of the ordinary by just saying thank you. It’s a small thing, but it really means a lot.

Except, if you live in a military town, the rule is not thank you for your service, but familiarity breeds contempt. I’ve got a news flash for all you civilians that work on post and are put out by having to provide a service to us soldiers. Your job is here because of us. You don’t know where we’ve been or what we’ve encountered over in Iraq and Afghanistan. So when you walk by at 0758, refusing to make eye contact with me as I stand outside your office and refusing to open the door to even allow me and the three other soldiers inside where it was warm, remember that without us, you wouldn’t have a job.

I know that’s sounds bitchy and it is. My patience, like I’ve pointed out, is really low these days. But these women were completely engrossed in their conversation and were literally trying to pretend that there weren’t four of us outside, freezing our asses off and they couldn’t’ have been bothered to even open the door and let us in. They didn’t even have to serve us before they opened but a little common courtesy would have been nice. Especially considering it was 32 degrees.

Same thing happened at a local restaurant. This place was a chain and my hubby and I thought having a sit down breakfast would be nice. We waited, patiently. The restaurant was half empty but still, no one was coming to seat us. Then, when the hostess finally did start seating folks, she seated another couple first.

We left, neither of us having the patience to deal with basic lack of manners and basic customer service.

I know this sounds like I’m being petty and small and maybe I am. Maybe in a couple weeks, I’ll look back on this post and think, what the hell was I thinking. And please recognize, this is not an indictment of the whole town, but people in it who refuse to recognize that soldiers are people, not just numbers.

But right now, the rudeness and the refusal to recognize that soldiers are not just a uniform but a person by some of the people in the town and on the base I call home is disconcerting.

Tweet This Post

Last night I went to the Austin RWA annual xmas party. I had a fantastic time reconnecting with the women who supported me so incredibly last year while I was in Iraq. It was great and I felt like I was around a group of kindred spirits and it was one of the first times I felt normal this year.

It was literally like taking a deep breath and letting go of some of the tension I’ve held onto since I’ve been back. It was an oasis of normalcy that I desperately needed.

It was great, talking about writing and books. I loved it but I got a question thrown at me that I was not prepared for.

What’s your theme?

I pretty much stopped and really had to think about it. My books are all military in nature, but military, by itself, is not a theme. It’s a topic. Themes are the something deeper, beneath the narrative and are much more universal than any story can be.

I honestly couldn’t answer for a moment. I thought about Shane’s story, War’s Darkest Fear. He did nothing wrong, but he felt like he did. I thought about Lucas’s story, Resurrection. Lucas believes in the mission but when he has to make a choice about the mission or his life, the consequences are more than he bargained for. I thought about Tracy and Sean in War’s Darkest Loss. Sean had never forgiven himself for his actions and Tracy has to figure out if she can.

There are other books I’ve written but ultimately, looking across my body of work, the constant theme is redemption. Shane has to forgive himself for being wounded and give himself permission to live again. In Resurrection, Lucas has to atone for making the wrong choice. In Loss, Sean has to prove that he’s a better man than the boy Tracy once knew.

Redemption is a theme that I’ve been dealing with a lot in my work and I didn’t even know it. Balancing redemption is vengeance. What happens when good men and women allow vengeance to dictate their actions?  I’m not certain where these themes have risen from within me, but I do know that they run through my work.

So thank you, Chris, for asking me that question. It was a tough one to answer, but I think I’ve figured it out.

Tweet This Post

I suppose it’s supposed to be a good time. I guess that for folks coming home to families and pets and a lived in house, it is. But for me, it’s strangely silent and empty. Intellectually, I know it’s because the house is empty and I spent the weekend and early hours of the morning cleaning. Shopping was fun, but in a I need this to feel normal again not in a I really want to go shopping kind of way.

I guess in a way, my heart is kind of like my house. Empty. There is a strange disconnect inside me that I don’t know how to fill. I’m hoping when Scott gets home later today that I’ll feel normal again but right now, I’m not sure. I know that life in Iraq is not real life but that life back here is strange and different, too.

I’m not sure which way is up or down. I know, intellectually, that I’m tired and I’m jet lagged and I’m going through a bunch of emotional changes but none of that helps fill what’s inside me. Or rather, what’s not.

So we’ll see what happens as the hours turn into days. I know that time is incredibly slow. I’ve never had an hour take so long in my life. I’m sitting and reading a great book and the time is simply inching by. The house is clean. I have new makeup.

But it still feels like normal will only return when my house is full of kids and dogs and cats and dust bunnies the size of Chihuahuas. Maybe that is normal.
Maybe that is real life.

Right now, I’m simply not sure.

Tweet This Post

What is it like to stand on the airfield at a ramp ceremony? What is it like when there’s a mortar attack?  How many casualties did you take this year?

I’ve had my cherry popped in more ways than one this year but being asked these questions was a milestone I didn’t want to see breached. I flew on a Blackhawk for the first time, fired an AK-47, and felt an earthquake. I stood in my CHU as indirect fire hit our base.

But I didn’t want to talk about what it’s like when someone dies. One of the new lieutenants asked me how many casualties we took this year. I didn’t want to give him a number, I wanted to tell him about the names. The brothers and sisters that we lost. The husbands and wives and sons and daughters.

And now I know how others felt when I asked the questions he put to me. Awkward. Unsure. Irritated. Saddened.

But I gave him the number, hoping he would catch on that I didn’t want to talk about it. He didn’t. He asked about the worst day. I told him there were two for me but many more for each soldier in the brigade. The day we lost a battalion commander in a catastrophic blast. I’ll never forget the heavy shock that settled over my shoulders when my boss told me that Warhorse 6 was hit. I wasn’t close to him, but he’d taken time to chew me out several times when I was the brigade signal officer and I respected him. He talked trash to me at a test fire range in Kuwait and I gave it right back. I don’t think he expected a female LT to smart off but then again, he didn’t so much as blink. His sergeant major laughed.

The next hard day struck my then new company hard. One of our soldiers was married to the girl who was hit by a mortar. When I explained this to the new lieutenant, he was shocked. How does someone get hit by a mortar? Wrong place, wrong time? He asked. No. Just being in Iraq.  My husband took her death hard as he worked with her. I took her death hard because I worked with her husband, and my heart broke for him.

But then the LT crossed the barrier. He asked about the ramp ceremony. I’ve written about them, but nothing on earth will prepare you to stand at attention, holding a salute you would rather die than drop and see a flag draped coffin carried on to the back of a C-17. No matter how cold or how hot, it is the final respect we pay for our fallen brothers and sisters.

And they suck, because in that coffin is the remnant of a life, a person who’s mission was finally complete here on earth and they were called home. Knowing they are safe and happy now does nothing to ease the ache inside you when you watch that procession.

I did not want to talk about it. I felt myself avoiding his questions and his eyes. I told him I hoped his year here was quiet and that he never had to go to a ramp ceremony or a memorial. They are heart wrenching, even for brothers and sisters I did not know.

Funny, I can write about it so much easier than I can use voice the words. I can’t explain why. Maybe because sitting at my computer, I don’t have to look in your eyes and explain to what it feels like. Maybe because you can’t see my eyes fill or my voice thicken, I can write the words far more easily than I can speak them.

For whatever reason, I don’t want to talk about what it’s like. In that, I am probably more like my combat veteran brothers and sisters than I am different. COL (RET) Merline Lovelace told me that most folks in her generation don’t talk about Vietnam, even after years of work to remove the stigma from veterans of that war. There is a deep shame in our country for how we treated our veterans of Vietnam whereas there is a deep pride in our nation now for our veterans of this war.

It still doesn’t mean I want to talk about it. I’ll write about it instead, because that is my chosen release. Others may be willing to speak about it and if they do, listen. But for now, I don’t wish to speak about it.

Tweet This Post

Julie Weathers! Please email me. Laura Griffin selected your comment for the Borders Gift card. Please email me your addy so I can forward it to Laura!

jessica AT jessicascott DOT net

Congratulations!

Tweet This Post

You wouldn’t think that being in Iraq, there would be much to be thankful for. On the other hand, you might think I have a lot to be thankful for.

I’m on the side of the latter. I have a ton to be thankful for today and while I’m not going to bore you with the details, I will say that like Memorial Day, I had a lot of strong emotions that I couldn’t figure out where they were coming from. We were in the chow hall, and our dfac puts on quite a display. There were table cloths and decorations and bottles of sparkling wine everywhere. It was really great. But in the midst of it all, in the middle of hearing everyone wish each other Happy Thanksgiving, there was a knot in the middle of my chest.

I don’t know why. I have so much to be grateful for, not the least of which is the fact that I was sitting at the table with my husband. I mean, you can’t ask for more than that. But the knot was there and I had a hell of a time stomping it down. It’s been on the edge of breaking through all day and I don’t know why.

My daughters are safe and happy and healthy, along with my mom. I’ve got the most amazing friends and mentors in the writing community and in my personal life. There is no indirect fire today. My soldiers are safe, a few days from getting out of here. Sitting over here on the FOB, seeing the colonel and the command sergeant major and everyone walking through the chow hall wishing everyone Happy Thanksgiving, I should have felt relief. I should have felt happiness to be sitting near my husband and knowing I’ll sleep tonight in a bed next to him.

So I’m not going to complain, only state that there is a knot that I don’t know the origin of and I can not name. I refuse to dwell on it. I refuse to be anything less than incredibly grateful for the blessings in my life and the lessons that I’ve learned this year, most of them difficult pills to swallow but in the end, they made me stronger.

I don’t know what the coming year will bring. I only know that today, I am grateful for so much.

Tweet This Post

I’d like to extend a warm welcome to Austin’s own award winning author, Laura Griffin, author of the incredible Glass sisters novels and one of my all time favorite books, Whisper of Warning. She’s here today to talk about her latest release, UNTRACEABLE.

Make sure you leave a comment! One lucky commenter on Laura’s post will receive a $20 gift card from Borders! Winner to be announced next week!

Thank you so much for being here today.

Thanks for inviting me, Jess! I enjoy your blog. So much food for thought.

Can you tell us about UNTRACEABLE?

UNTRACEABLE is the first book in my new Tracers series. It’s the story of Alex Lovell, who has established a niche business helping women in danger drop off the radar and begin new lives in safety. When one of Alex’s clients goes missing, she suspects foul play and turns to the Tracers for help. The Tracers are an elite team of forensic scientists who use cutting-edge techniques to help detectives crack their toughest cases.

Most authors have ‘that book’ that was difficult for them to write. Have you had that happen yet? What was the most difficult thing about that book?

For me, THREAD OF FEAR was difficult, mainly because that story opens with the kidnapping of a child, which is every parent’s worst nightmare. In terms of the writing, I would say UNTRACEABLE was challenging because this is a longer series than I’ve done in the past, and that means more people and a bigger story.

You mentioned in an interview with Publisher’s Weekly that you used to be reporter. What was the most difficult thing in making the shift from non fiction to fiction?

The great thing about shifting from non-fiction to fiction is being able to use your imagination to create the story, rather than just record it. The tough part is letting go of the idea that everything has to be totally realistic. In fiction, the story line doesn’t have to be probable as long as it’s plausible.

Every author has a different technique for basically ending up at the same point, which is the end of a book. What’s you’re writing process like?

I start with research, usual some kernel of an idea that sparks my interest. Then I get to know the characters I’m going to use to tell the story. Then I start writing. In UNTRACEABLE, the idea was, “What if my life was in danger and I suddenly had to disappear without a trace? How could I do that?” Alex Lovell, the main character, knows precisely how to make that happen.

What’s your favorite part of being an author?

I love to write. I love stories. I love to read, which I am lucky enough to get to pass off as research. It’s my dream job, no question about it.

UNTRACEABLE is your latest highly anticipated release. What’s next for Laura Griffin?

The Tracers are providing me with a wealth of interesting story ideas. (call me a forensics junkie). Next up is UNSPEAKABLE, which is about a serial killer. Then UNFORGIVABLE, which follows a detective unraveling a cold case.  And after that? I’m not sure, but I have a feeling it will involve a love story woven together with a mystery. Those are my favorite.

Thanks so much for joining me today, Laura.

Readers, don’t forget to leave a comment and pick up Untraceable at your favorite bookseller!

Tweet This Post

I was going to stay out of it, I swear I was. But, at the end of the day, y’all know I can’t keep my opinions to myself.

Please bear in mind that my opinions do not reflect a total knowledge of the publishing industry and that everyone who’s tweeted, blogged and raved about the Harlequin Horizons last week knows more about this than I do.

But, one thing I do know is the frustration of being a writer consistently told no. Now, I’ve got a book out there right now, and I believe its ready to go. But even if every single full request comes back with a not right for me thanks, I would not consider self publishing this novel.

Why? Don’t I believe in my work enough to risk it?

Self publishing, to me at least, is not a matter of belief in my own work. It’s a matter of skill. I know that I am a new author and as such, I make new author mistakes. I’m confident in this draft of my book, meaning that if I get rejections, I’m not going to look back at the book and say, oh, yeah, I can fix that, then email said agent and say but wait, I’m revising as we speak (I had no idea that this was a totally newbie thing to do and yes, I’m guilty of it in 2008).

What I do know is that I need guidance. In army life, I’m confident enough to navigate most military situations and have some idea what to do. But not only is publishing not the military, it’s also a civilian system and while you think that might not matter, I believe it does.

Military leaders, especially particular senior combat arms commanders, are hyper type a personalities. This means they want a project done yesterday, even if they told you about it tomorrow. I’m used to a system that has written rules for everything.

Publishing doesn’t have rules, it has best practices. In that, its kind of like accounting. There are generally accepted principles such as:

• your first book probably won’t sell
• don’t mention that this is your first book in your query
• Have patience this is a slow business
• Don’t ask authors to read your manuscript

I didn’t know any of these rules but through my awesome RWA chapter, both online and in Austin, I learned. BUT what if I was not a member of these groups and I had no idea that  Miss Snark even existed. I might receive a rejection letter from Harlequin, directing me over to Harlequin Horizons and for a nominal (it’s not really nominal) fee, I could realize my dreams of seeing my book in print.

With no one ever having proofed it for me. With no one ever sitting down and telling me I had too much repetition and oh by the way, can you complete a sentence (first draft of first book, I was in love with fragments, no idea why).

Bob Mayer points out that with all things, self publishing is caveat emptor and I agree. But the other thing we’re not discussing is how the rejections in this industry do two things: they weed out those who would quit because it is too tough and it tells us that something still isn’t right with our work. Harlequin Horizons takes that rejection and instead of steering the author back to his or her work, steers them to a vanity press. This is the problem I have with the Harlequin Horizons venture, because I want to be the best author I can and HH plants the seed that maybe, I’m better off without a second opinion, at least one that I didn’t have to pay for.

Not always, but rejection, for me, is a tool to go back and relook what’s going on with my own work. If I didn’t have rejections and I’d published a year and a half ago, I’m pretty sure I would burn with shame at that first project.

So while Harlequin Horizons is caveat emptor, and I 100 percent agree with that, I don’t believe that self-publishing is right for me. I can only speak for self and what my current strengths and weaknesses are.

Tweet This Post

I’ve written before about finding my own work in someone else’s. I wrote about it recently upon discovering that one of the soldiers in David Finkle’s The Good Soldiers was seeing a little girl every time he closed his eyes and that I have a character that, though he predates my reading of the Good Soldiers, had a similar issue.

In February, I wrote the book that was then titled The Last Sunrise, about a special operations team trying to prevent the real Biblical Apocalypse. Great idea, right? Well, just rewrote the book and it has key players from the hosts of heaven as well as the fallen angels.

Jamming so far, right?

Then I pick up a fantastic book and go ‘oh shit’. Love the book. Will read the entire series when I get home and have book store access. But now, as I edit my draft, I’m looking for ways to differentiate my story from this one. It’s not even that similar, other than the fact that we’re both using names from religious history, such as Belial and Lillith.

But I worry about it. Just like I pitched a book to Joann Ross’s agent that had the same name and same central issue without knowing about her book, I’m worried now that I’m going to look like I’m biting off this other author.

I know there’s nothing new under the sun. I know that no works are created in a void, but why does this same thing seem to keep happening to me? Am I over worried about something that I truly cannot control, especially if I’m pulling from the collective unconscious of the world?

Because that’s truly what I feel I do. As a writer, I’m tapped into something that demands my fingers move on the keyboard. The characters become people in my head and I know them. I hear their dialogue and jot it down as fast as I can because if I don’t, it hounds me until I do.

Then I discover the same impulse has already established itself somewhere else. But just like Madagascar and The Wild came out at the same time, I don’t think anyone can say this is a copy, because I’m not. My books were written before I even knew about this series.

But I know that as I continue with my own books, I’m going to have to consciously differentiate my world from this other author’s world as opposed to trusting my impulse from the collective unconscious.

What about you? Have you discovered your story matches something similar to someone else’s? What did you do about it, if anything?

Tweet This Post

I debated long and hard about posting this one for two reasons: one, I am not a published author and have no idea the time constraints that published authors find themselves under. Nor have I experienced a raving email from someone I said no to or gotten a nasty response for a harsh critique. So I’m only writing this from what I’ve observed, not from what I’ve experienced.

There’s been a lot floating around the interweb about what a pain it is to be asked to read someone’s manuscript. Most published authors I know or have spoken to about this cite either a fear of being accused of stealing someone’s work or legal reasons from their publishers.

There are, however, other reasons and one of the main ones was that most often, some published authors think that unpublished authors are simply trying to skirt the system and get a referral to an agent or an editor. While I may not truly understand the sheer numbers of people like this, I wonder if that is truly what people are looking for when they ask a published author to read their manuscript.

Now, I’ll be the first to admit that being handed a manuscript beneath the bathroom stall is both rude and awkward and reeks of desperation on the part of the writer. But assuming that newbie writers should know better is a false assumption, even if they should have some basic social understanding of etiquette in general. I’ve been ‘a writer’ for almost 2 years now and there is beyond too much information that I don’t know. I did not know about the Miss Snark website until last summer, AFTER I queried half the agents in the business.

Disclaimer: I have asked published authors to read my book. I sent an email and asked. And you know what? Most said I can’t and I was perfectly fine with that. I understand that people are busy. I understand that reading someone’s work who needs a ton of editing can be exceptionally challenging on both patience and brain power. I know this because I have pushed a book that was in no way shape or form ready to be read by anyone other than my cat.

I will also say now, thank you to the authors who did say yes, even if it was to read a few pages and say something like, I think you have talent but I don’t think this book is going to get you published.

Here’s the thing I love about the writer’s I have had the good fortune to have interacted with. Even if they haven’t read my mss, they’re still a source of inspiration and mentorship. Writers mentor better than any group I know of, including army officers. So I am well and truly grateful for the writers who have taken me under their wing. I know I am incredibly fortunate to have their support and their brains to pick on all matters from depression to writing industry to what to look for in an agent.

I am grateful to the writers who declined as well because I learned not only how to do so with grace but also that once published, the demands you have as a writer increase. When I asked one author why her publisher had a policy against reading uncontracted books, she was gracious to explain to me the whys behind the decision so that I now know that too many writers have experienced being accused of stealing someone’s idea. I am grateful because she took the time to explain something to me that I didn’t know.

I recognize that every published author cannot help every unpublished author. But when did it become the de facto sentiment to be so irritated that someone asked you to read something they wrote. Now, I understand being irritated if they’re simply trying to circumvent the system. And I understand how hard it is when people put you on the spot. I also fully understand that there are going to be those screaming emails when you do politely tell someone no and they lose their minds on you, blaming you for everything.

Agents go through it every day. I’m willing to bet that every agent in the business has sent a rejection only to get blasted by some unprofessional writer who blames them for not believing in their project that almost certainly would be a NYT Bestseller if only someone would pick them out of the slush pile. This behavior is wrong. Agents should not be subjected to it and neither should published authors. It is not your responsibility to help me make my manuscript better. It is mine to learn. But part of that learning involves asking questions.

So unpublished writers, approach published writers or agents on Facebook or Twitter with an idea of what you are asking. It takes time to read a manuscript, time most publishes authors will tell you they just don’t have. If someone does take the time to read and offer comments, don’t argue. Listen and learn what you can. I’m not telling you not to ask, but don’t email every published author and ask. Be nice and if they say no, say thank you anyway.

But published authors, please remember that someone, somewhere along helped you, taught you or mentored you and while you can’t help everyone, if you can, please do so, even knowing that it is not your job. No one has a responsibility to do anything to help anyone else out.

That doesn’t mean you can’t.

I know it’s frustrating and time consuming but please try not to be aggravated with us. Just like many of you are irritated with Harlequin Horizons for taking advantage of unpublished or newbie writer’s ignorance and desperation, please remember what it feels like to want to see your book in print so badly, you’d do anything, yes even hand a complete stranger a manuscript beneath the latrine wall. Yes, the onus is on us to work for it, and keep working for it. But if you can take a few minutes, even if it’s only reading ten pages of a manuscript and offer pointers, please do.

And unpublished writers, be grateful for what you get. I’m not saying you should lick boots or anything like that, but remember that other people’s time is precious to them so figure out what you need and be specific when you ask and be okay with being told no. If you really want to be a writer, you better get used to it, because being told no is standard issue in the writing world and you’ll hear a lot of it. But every so often, you’ll get a yes in there, so be grateful when you get one.

This post, hopefully, expresses just how truly grateful I am to the published writers who have helped me or simply offered a kind word when I needed one. This post also, hopefully, reminds all of us that no one is an island and that if at all possible, you should pay it forward when you can.

Tweet This Post

So I’ve written a lot this year, right? People might think it’s a little insane to have written or rewritten 11 books in a year but they are all basically first drafts, except for the 3 that I chunked and rewrote and I’m not sure how to characterize them.

But what I have learned is that I’ve got a technique now for revising that I did not have at the beginning of the year. So onward to the object lesson.

I wrote The Last Sunrise in February-March timeframe. My first foray into paranormal (good versus evil and the book of revelation, along with a couple of sexy almost fallen angels) and I really loved the idea. But, when I finished in in February, I put it away. I wrote a query for it and tucked it into my Books file.

At some point in September, I pulled it back out and read through it IN WORD. I have learned a new trick that works for me in that I write in Scrivener but I edit almost exclusively in Word. I have no idea why it works but it seems to be so I’m sticking with it for now.

Anyway, read through it and chunked about 2/3 of the novel and once more, started over, including the opening scene that I LOVED. Finished the new draft, which is now titled Resurrection (yes this happens in the book and both my mom and my aunt are going to disown me for the blasphemy) and once more, put it away.

Except I didn’t. I finished it about three weeks ago and have now opened the Word document today and started revising. While the essential plot remains the same, the revisions are pretty extensive layering, smoothing and tightening. One thing the army has taught me and I’m now able to see in my writing is that just because something makes sense to me, doesn’t mean it came out that clear. I see that in my sentences now and have started working to smooth them out.

So I’ve learned something about myself. I have to write a complete first draft to figure out what the story actually is. Then write THAT book. Then revise and clean up. Thankfully, of the 7 books I’ve got written, 4 are in the second round draft right now, so with any luck, when I finally do get around to revising, the drafts are cleaner, tighter and don’t involve massive deleting of texts.

Tweet This Post

Thank You

Just wanted to pop back on and say thank you for the emails and the support. Today was a rough one for some reason and I thought I’d be honest about the pain I was feeling on the blog about missing my kids. I mean, that’s what I’m really going through as a mom, so…

It’s not all bad though. I’ve learned a lot this year and accomplished a lot more. So in the effort of dragging my depressing self out of the gulley of what the heck have I done, I’m going to figure out everything that I have managed to accomplish this year, both army and writing.

Army

1. Got rate best platoon leader out of 11 in the battalion. I was shocked but thought that was pretty cool. My battalion commander listens to me now as opposed to thinking I’m just a mouthy lieutenant.
2. Was selected to be my company executive officer (2nd in command) early. Fixed the property book so that we have 100% accuracy of everything we own (trust me this is harder than it seems).
3. Have re-motivated my supply sergeant. There is nothing better in the army than taking a kid who’s struggling and turning him around. My supply sergeant went from being the worst in the battalion to the best. As a team, we’ve still got room to grow, but he’s come a long way and I just smile when he starts talking smack about how squared away he is, because he deserves it.
4. Got selected for captain. Okay, Bill, stop laughing. We all know that just requires a pulse but I thought I’d throw it in for a laugh.
5. Grew a lot as a leader. Had some serious challenges but I think I’ve learned a lot about myself and my own weaknesses and strengths as an officer.

Writing

1. When I left for Iraq, I had 2 books done and a 3rd half way. Now, I’ve got 7 completed but I’ve rewritten 4 of them so in reality, I wrote 11 books this year.
2. Have grown my blog. When I started the year, I had 10 hits a week. Now, I’m up to almost 2000, so thank you, everyone who stops by the site and says hi or just checks up on me.
3. Hooked up with some fab mentors and an awesome critique partner. Can’t wait to read more and continue to grow.
4. Learned from a great agent. Things might not have worked out but I’m still exceptionally grateful that she took me on.
5. Was mentioned on Smart Bitches and Romance Roll Call (and still smile when I think about it, so thank you, SBSarah and Sarah!)

This year has been full of ups and downs, and the roller coaster is about to get even more crazy before we get out of here. Thank you for everyone who’s supported me, sent care packages or a kind email. Hopefully, I’ll have a fab new agent soon and will get my head straightened out and focused back on my goals, which is be a kick ass army officer and a published author.

No more bummer posts. I’m coming home soon!!

Tweet This Post

I’m not sure why I’m reacting like this today. I’m stuck. I’m stuck in Iraq, I’m stuck in my writing career. I’m a constant movement forward person. I’m always in motion and today I’m stuck.

Last night on the webcam, my 3 year old crossed her arms and dropped her little head and all I wanted to do was hold her and feel her breath on my neck. I wanted to brush my  5 year old’s hair from her face and listen to her tell me how she learned what a veteran was in school the other day. I want the aggravation of getting them to bed on time and the hugs and kisses first thing in the morning. I want it so goddamned bad and there is nothing I can do to make the time go by faster.

My soul aches with how badly I want to go home now. Sure, life is simpler here in Iraq but damn, it’s not worth it. I’ve avoided everything that hurts, everything that gets too much emotion going for the last year because if I let it out, it feels like I’ll never stop. I don’t watch violence on TV, I can’t stand to hear a baby cry. Today, everything is leaking out and I can’t put it away. I don’t know why. My kids have cried on the phone before.

The same uncertainty with going home is tearing me up. I’m putting on a brave face for all the soldiers but the possibility of staying through Christmas makes my soul bleed. We’re here for the team and if we have to stay, then we have to stay, but that doesn’t make the disappointment any easier.

Tweet This Post