Jessica Scott

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.

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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!

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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.

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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!

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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.

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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?

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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.

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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.

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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!!

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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.

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So y’all know I left my agency this week. While I’m not sure what the impact will be in the long run, I’ve made a decision and there’s no going back.  I’ve been fortunate to have a few of manuscript requests right off the bat. One has already come back with a lovely pass but I’ll be honest, rejection sucks.

The army has taught me that whatever I put my mind to, I can achieve whatever I put my mind to. I decided I was going to be a published writer but everywhere I turn, road blocks continue to pop up. See, publishing is only partially about what I can do. Now, I’ll be the first one to tell you, when I went through the first round of agent hunting in 2008, I soundly deserved to be rejected. I might not have known it at the time, but what I was sending out what hot garbage. I had a good query letter but the work itself was…well, it never should have gone out. Ever.

Fast forward to now. I haven’t submitted a query since late 2008, before I deployed to Iraq. A few months afterward, my agent picked me up and I was off to the races. Or so I thought. I kept writing, and writing kept me sane over here. I was able to put a whole lot of emotions and time and energy into the 7 books I’ve written or rewritten this year. I learned how to critique my own manuscript, at least, I’m a hell of a lot better about it than I used to be, though I’m sure I still have more work to do.

But I’ve decided that I’m going to be published. Can I really control that? My books are military romance, but there’s only 1 author out there who writes military characters that are not romantic suspense. My stuff is not romantic suspense, so where does that leave me? And what happens if I don’t get published? What does that mean to me as a writer and as a person who has not accomplished anything I’ve tried before?

I’m pretty sure the book is as good as I can get it right now. I’ve written a book that doesn’t have the parts I skip in other books. There isn’t a secondary romance because I tend to skip those. The plot centers on the two character’s emotional journey. The great Kate Duffy told me once about another project of mine, that my characters were not handling things better than real people did. Maybe that’s part of my challenge in finding a place to fit. My book – and all my books – reflect the life that soldiers around me experience. So they’re not as uplifting or light hearted as a normal romance.

Maybe there isn’t a market for a book that spends the first half in a hospital room at Fort Hood. That is a distinct possibility and a chance that I may have to shelf this book and move on to something else. But that’s the problem. I don’t want to give up on these characters. I don’t want people to not get a chance to see a glimpse of life inside the military life and a character who chooses to stay in the army as opposed to getting out. Because that’s who I’m surrounded by. Men and women who choose to serve, despite the challenges the military life demands of them.

Maybe I’m not writing romance. I’m not sure. I know these books are not what Bob Mayer calls “fictional memoires.” They are not me put on paper. But what does it mean to me if I never see my name in print? Does it mean that I just didn’t try hard enough? Does it mean that what I’m writing the publishing world does not want?

I’m not sure. I know I’m at a crossroads in my life right now. I’m getting ready to go through a huge transition period coming home from Iraq and taking my family back. I know my writing is something I can’t not do, but maybe I’ll need to set it aside for a time and figure out why I really want to be published. What am I really hoping to gain? Does it make me a better person, a better mom or wife? Does it make the laundry get done faster?

This isn’t about the cruel literary world not taking me on. This is about me finding my place in it. Maybe I need to do more work and make my manuscript better. If that’s the case, I’ll eventually figure it out and write another book. Maybe my military series has no place. If that’s the case, I’ll whip my paranormal apocalyptic into shape and start submitting that.

But I need to find a way to let go of the crushing disappointment each time another not right for me comes back. This is not a rejection of me as a person. This is not, necessarily, a rejection of my book. It is a statement as to sale-ability and personal tastes.

I’m still me. I’m still stuck in Iraq. I’m still a mom of two healthy girls and a wife to a great, loving husband. The pass on my novel is not – and should not – be a soul crushing defeat. So I’ll figure out a way through it. And – though I hope this is not the case – if all the agents who currently have War’s Darkest Fear pass, I’ll start revising the next project.

Because the stories are still in my brain, still leaking out onto the page, demanding to be heard.

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I’ve learned a lot of things about myself this year in Iraq but one thing stands out to me: I am very much a creature of habit. I think I border on the edge of OCD, and I’m not being a smart ass when I say that. Most of the time, I’m incredibly scatter brained. I don’t remember where I put things and my filing systems is…well, let’s just say that if I die, I hope my husband can figure out our finances.

I have to work extra hard to keep my life from falling apart. When my oldest daughter was born, I decided I needed a key holder by the door. I don’t even think about it. I come in the house and hang my keys. Every single time. So there’s a little bit of panic when I look at they’re not there.

I do the same thing here. I have my eye protection in a side pouch of my assault pack. In the morning, I change to the sunglasses, as night to the clear lenses. But the case is always in the same place. My ipod is in my front left pocket. It’s reassuring to me to reach up and know it’s there and when it isn’t, I stop and have to remember where it is so that I know it’s not lost.

I asked my husband where something was this morning and he made a joke to the effect of ‘color me surprised, you don’t know where something is’. But we’ve moved. So where I was keeping something for the whole year is no longer where is it right now. When it’s not in its place, I can’t find it.
In applying this to my writing, I’m very much the same. I sit in my bed, my desk lap on my thighs, my macbook on my desk with its sad little broken Apple light. I keep my files organized, at least to me. My books are all in the Books file. Each series has its own folder. I have to do it this way, otherwise, I can never find a damn thing. Soldiers think it’s anal when the Command Sergeant Major says that all first aid pouches will be worn in the exact same spot on every soldier. This makes sense, though, because in combat, you need to react, not search for something and if it’s in the same place, everyone knows.

I am going quietly insane right now because I can’t find the charging plug for my ipod. I moved it, in that  took it to my chu last night as I knew I was not going to write but take a night off and recharge my brain. I tweeted. I surfed. I veged out.

I lost my cable. I left it in the same place for a year and now I can’t find it because I moved it. I remember the last time I saw it but after that, it’s like a fuge state where I have no idea where it went. This is what happens when I break the pattern. This is what happens when everything is not in its place.

I’ll find it, as soon as I buy a new one (say a prayer that the PX has one or I’m really in trouble).  But how far over the edge am I that I have these rituals and routines that ease my mind. I work in chaos all the time but if I know where something is, even if the location is on a calendar somewhere, I can cope. I can handle all kinds of things at once, but I react very poorly to being blindsided, which is the equivalent of moving my cable.

I can thrive in chaos but require order. I’m the worst at organizing but I can hold all the facts. One of the hardest things for me to learn how to do was organize my storylines and keep the plot moving forward in a coherent storyline. I know I have more to learn about writing and about the army but finding a place to put everything is an important, difficult habit to enforce.

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In the 9 years our army has been at war, I’ve been incredibly lucky. I’ve known people who have been killed but it hasn’t been one of mine. My husband has lost soldiers, my soldiers have lost friends and spouses but my soldiers and my friends have been spared. Even the shootings at Fort Hood, where my home was violated by that son of a bitch, felt strangely detached because I wasn’t there.

Monday, a good friend of mine collapsed and was sent to the CSH. I’d just been reading the brigade newsletter, looking over the faces of the men and women we lost this year and my husband called to tell me about our mutual friend. The grief was instant and overwhelming and we knew nothing other than he was in the CSH.

Thank God he’s fine. But I was reading the Stars and Stripes tonight and I just found out one of my former troops died in Afghanistan this week. I remember this soldier and the team we were part of like I’d just seen him yesterday. The night we’d stayed up in the Node Center and he’d sworn there was a DC power cable to the management shelter (there wasn’t). The night we sent him looking for chem. Light batteries. Or the day of September 11 when we couldn’t find him and he’d just bought civilian cloths the day prior and we’d all thought he was part of whatever was going on.

He was a crazy kid who’d wanted nothing more than to be a combat arms soldier but instead he was a signal soldier. Looks like he got his wish and made it to the infantry. He never owned any civies until a year after he’d been in the regular army. He’d sit in his room and write music, content to just be on his own. There was the time he put a CD in the node center’s work station and crashed the whole system. I smoked the living shit out of him that day.

It’s weird because these are the things I remember about my team that Dale was a part of. He was a good kid and a good sport and God did we laugh back then. My node center wasn’t the best or the fastest but we were close knit. We’ve all gone out separate ways since then but I remember my PL then.

The war hit home today and even though it’s been half a decade or more since I’ve seen any of my old team, I remember them well. And Dale’s death has hit me harder than I thought the loss of a soldier I haven’t seen in years would.

This fucking sucks. I hate the war. I hate this place. I want everyone to come home. And I’m tired of reading the names in the bottom of a newspaper somewhere knowing that somewhere, someone is mourning.

Tonight, that someone is me.

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I had an interesting Twitter conversation last night with Deidre Knight. We started talking about makeup and I commented that I’ve forgotten how to wear makeup. We discovered that we both love Bobbi Brown cosmetics and that my first stop before I am allowed to take leave is taking my credit card and my face to visit theBobbi Brown in Saks in Austin.

But over here in Iraq, makeup has been redefined as minimalist. I’ve blogged about how when females over here where makeup, they are sending a specific message but for clarification, I mean females who wear the whole she-bag: foundation, blush, eyeliner, eye shadow, concealer. The whole palette. When you wear that much over here, you stand out and not in a way that most soldiers want.

But when I get home, oh yeah, the makeup bag is coming out. I’m wearing foundation, well, tinted moisturize to work. And eye shadow. Probably a little blush. I want to look and feel like a woman when I get home and to be honest, I’ve forgotten how.

Oh I remember how to apply a little blush, but I can’t look in the mirror and feel like it’s too much. When I have worn a little eyeliner over here, I look in the mirror and think it’s too thick. So I need a professional intervention to teach me how to wear makeup again. How to dress like a woman, how not to talk like an infantryman in everyday conversation.

I’m not just coming home, I’m readjusting to being in another country. I’ve never been around a lot of civilians, so when I go to RWA, I’m going to need to adjust to being around that many fabulous women again.

But as far as beauty in Iraq, there have been certain things I could not live without. I don’t have the ability to try things out. I purchase what I know works. So here’s the list of stuff I wouldn’t have made it through Iraq without, and yes, this list is 100% superficial and girly and unimportant in the grand scheme of fighting the war.

10. Clinique Long Wear mascara. Doesn’t come off, even in sweat and 115 degree heat.

9. MAC Longwearing eyeliner pencil. That stuff goes on easy, doesn’t melt of and doesn’t smear. It’s there for the day.

8. TNS Recovery Complex. The only serum I’ve found that really, really works. The lines around my eyes are much less pronounced than they were when we got here.

7. Laura Mercier Flawless Skin Moisturize. This stuff is a godsend. My skin feels plump and dewey and it’s so rich and luxurious, a hard thing to maintain in this arid desert.

6. Clinique SPF 15 Lipgloss in First Blush. A nude color that provides SPF (a must) and just a hint of gloss. No color, just moisture.

5.  Clinique Daily Defense SPF 25. I’ve stood on a flight line for 6 hours and not gotten a sunburn.

4.  Skin Medica Vitalize Peel. I know you’re supposed to have a doctor do this but this chemical peel is easy to do yourself (I’m not recommending you try this at home, so don’t blame me if you burn your skin). But this peel is fantastic and you can get it on ebay dirt cheap compared to having a doc do it. My skin feels incredible after the peel and it’s evened out my sun damage.

3.  Laura Mercier Cleansing Oil and Tonic Water. I love this set. The oil cleans without drying and the tonic feels like it could be its own moisturizer. Love this stuff.

2.  L’Occitane Shea Butter Hand cream. Need I say more? This stuff is fantastic, smells clean and keeps my hands silky smooth all day long.

1.  Bumble and Bumble Gentle Shampoo and Super Rich Conditioner. I was using stuff that cost twice as much but my hair still felt like coarse straw. Now, I rinse with cold water and use this product every day and my hair feels amazing, even after not having a hair cut for over 6 months. This stuff is worth the price and has my loyalty forever!

Beauty in Iraq is much more pared down than in the states. I don’t wish to stand out but I still like to feel like a girl. These products were the best I found to get through the year and even though I’m going home, I feel like these products are going to remain in the rotation.

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I finished reading David Finkel’s The Good Soldiers earlier this week. I was impacted. I could visualize the battalion commander and the private equally. I felt their pain when they sat in the chapel and paid tribute to their fallen brothers.

I can’t really describe all the emotions this book brought to the surface. I look at the portraits that Finkel created and I can see those men in the faces of soldiers I see around me every day. I look at the battalion commander in the book as more than anything as a man first, a commander second. I can see the dichotomy in the men and women around me

Mr Finkel created a book that impacted me in a way that a non fiction book rarely does. I could not put this book down. I cringed when the bombs exploded. I could feel the commander’s pain when he visited the wounded.

Though I have been a veteran for the last 14 years, this year, I become a combat veteran. I know the sound of incoming mortar fire. I know the fear of sitting in an intersection as an Iraq vehicle comes down the road and the pressure that tightens around my chest in uncertainty. I know the sound of the M4 going off inside the TOC and the absolute, instant grief of thinking you’ve lost a good friend. I have felt the blast of a thousand pound bomb a quarter mile away. The sound of the air weapons team over head is a comfort, not an annoyance. The thunder of the 50 cal in the test fire pit against my ribs is reassuring. The sounds of my soldiers around me is a sign that we are doing what we are meant to do. Protect and defend.

There is a bond between soldiers but the bond I feel toward the soldiers in my company will never diminish. We will sit back and laugh in the next years as we see each other in the PX or at the PT track. This is my company, these are my soldiers. Every soldier in my brigade can call home because of what my soldiers bring to the mission.

The tradition and the history in the army is a source of comfort. I know now why the veterans seek out the Officer’s Club for one more taste of the brotherhood we share. I know I will be back in Iraq again in two years. Or if not here, Afghanistan. I choose to serve because this is what I know, this is what I do and this is what I love. My journey as a writer has been fulfilling and challenging but nothing compares to the feel of firing a 50 cal for the first time or the confidence of knowing I can hit what I aim at.

Each of us volunteered to be in the army. If we stay, we volunteered to continue to serve. My fellow sisters in arms at the Romvets paved the way to allow me to be a signaler, a combat medic, a military police officer. I serve today because they proved I could.

To all the soldiers who came before me, I thank you.

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I was unable to watch the Hood memorial ceremony from over here in Iraq but I caught a bit of it on TV.

I’ve got to say, having sat through multiple memorials over here, watching the TV for the one at Hood felt a little off. It was so strange seeing the field that I run PT on every morning filled with soldiers, the American flag draped over the entrance of the III Corps Headquarters.

The first memorial I ever went to was for a battalion commander we lost here in combat. It was a horrible shock and a catastrophic event. The CAC, where we conduct all ceremonies here on the FOB, was packed. After all, Lieutenant Colonels don’t usually make the casualty roster. So when my battalion lost a private and the CAC wasn’t nearly as full, it was kind of an eye opener.

I appreciate that the president went and offered his respects at the ceremony. But I wonder, did he ask the family members if they wanted him there? And I’m truly just wondering that. I thought he made a thoughtful decision earlier this year when he left the decision of photographs being taken at Dover up to the families. But I really wonder if anyone asked these families. They are as much a casualty of this war as anyone who died over here this year.

On the other hand, I recognize that the nation needs to mourn with us. That there is a kinship and a support for our soldiers even when we might close ranks and only stand with those who serve with us. Those who know what it feels like to stand on a tarmac and salute a flag draped coffin. That is an experience very few Americans know or understand and the reaction is to keep it to ourselves.

When we put on the uniform, we choose to become symbols of our nation. We give up our rights as individuals and become Soldier. That does not mean our deaths should be impersonal or turned into a symbol. Because each one of those Soldiers being mourned today was a brother or a sister, a son or a daughter, a wife or a husband.

So I’m conflicted. My gut says this is ours but my head says we need to show the world that we’re better than what that bastard tried to make us out to be.

My heart and prayers go out to the families of the victims and to the victims still recovering. Get well, get strong, we still need you.

The person, not the symbol.

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Okay, first off, if you’re looking for a ranty post about the poor writer versus big New York, this is not the post for you. If you want to see where potential problems arise with, what else, communications, please continue.

 My agent and I decided to part ways yesterday.

I will say it now: I am incredibly grateful for my agent to have picked me out of the slush pile and spent time working with me. She’s a fantastic agent and I wish her all the best. It was an amicable parting of ways, which is always what you want in this business.

But here’s the learning point, which kept me up last night til about 4 AM.

I’m in the army, which at this point, you know. So I am very much a lean forward type of person. I’m also a signal officer, which is about expectation management. If I tell my brigade commander (which trust me, if you think you know type A personalities, you’ve never met this guy), that he’s going to have internet in Iraq, damn it, that’s what he expects. Conversely, if he tells me he wants high speed internet, if I can’t provide it, I have to go to him with a plan that says, I can’t do that but this is what I can do.
It’s called course of action development and it’s how we do planning in the army. It’s also how we officers keep from getting our faces ripped off by our very high needs commanders. The army is not publishing, it’s life and death. So when I get focused on something, I’m focused. But here’s the thing: we also tend to do planning in range terminology.

What I mean by that is this: when you go to the rifle range, you have 50 meter targets, which are the closest, 100m, 150, etc all the way out 300 m targets. Ninety nine percent of the time, you spend all your time knocking down a 50 m target so that you can’t focus on the 100m until it becomes the next 50m. I can work like that, though, because I can look on my calendar and see the other targets approaching.

For example, when we go home from Iraq (and by we, I mean me and my husband, not the unit), we’ve got to get a new washer and dryer, get our oldest enrolled in school, go on leave, get to Maine. There’s all these things that we have to do and I focus on them in a way that I hit the closest priority target then move on to the next thing. This gets me into trouble with the kids as they have no concept of mommy’s target range and sometimes they want something now that’s not even on the radar yet.

So with my agent, my biggest challenge was that I didn’t know where I was on her target range. I kept being assured that I was but I didn’t know and I wasn’t able to clearly articulate my need to know to her. I’m all the way on or all the way off. There is no cruise control with me. We basically had two different ways of operating and that’s not a bad thing. I’m glad that she felt what I felt in that basically, we have different ideas of where I was heading. We parted ways with a thank you very much and she gave me a couple of recommendations. I’m grateful that she even gave me the time of day but ultimately, things were not working out and rather than continue, we opted to separate.

Folks, if you have to part ways with someone, I’d hope it would be like this. No recrimination, no blame, no hurt feelings. I think that my needs and hers were not in sync. I’m really okay with it and I hope she is too.

And now that decision is made, I can’t change it. I’m happy to say that my first round of queries for War’s Darkest Fear has already had requests for fulls right off the bat and there is still an editor interested in the project, so that’s gratifying for my wounded writer’s soul (trust me, deciding to leave an agent when it’s so damn hard to get one in the first place is a really hard decision and one that kept me up for more than just last night).

So I’d love to hear what you think. Have you ever left an agent? Why or why not? What are you looking for in an agent? Agents, what do you look for in an ideal client?

And agents, if you’re looking for a client who’s got 11 books written, is fast (probably too fast at times), focused, has a built in platform and believes in too much information is better than none, I’m your girl.

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We in romance have a unique power as writers. We write characters for women who dare to step outside the norm. We have characters who defy convention and do what’s right, regardless of what people think.

We as a society have a different problem right now. In Richmond California, a crowd on onlookers stood by and participated in the gang rape of a young woman. No one called police. No one tried to stop it. No one alerted the teachers.

No one acted, and the reigning theory is the fear of what the mob might do or think.

It’s damn hard to stand up to a crowd of people and try to stop something. It’s damn hard to stand up and say this is wrong, or I don’t care what you think. Think of the scandal. The whole crowd might have called you names or turned on you or worse. So you sold your soul and remained quiet while evil had its way once more.

Something happens to our daughters as they grow up. As children, they play and have a grand old time, and have opinions but as they transition from tweens to teenagers, social pressure plays an even bigger role on our daughters than our sons. By that I mean, our girls are expected to be cute and smart and popular and honestly, who doesn’t envy the head cheerleader when she gets to date the basketball team captain? I won’t even lie: my teenage years were spent buried in books reading about women who dared defy convention and marry who they wanted, damn the scandal.

That’s a pretty powerful thought. Damn what people think about you. Damn what society expects of you. Damn was your parents expect if its not going to make you happy. One of the greatest gifts my mom ever gave me was to raise me with the knowledge that whatever I decided to do, she’d support me so long as I was happy. I found out later in life that my dad thought I should be a lawyer but that was much after I’d already joined the army. Now, that’s not to say that my folks didn’t have some heartburn about me joining up. I was 18 years old, overweight and an average student who sucked at sports and worked at McDonalds. But, I joined anyway and they were there to kiss me goodbye and tell me they loved me, regardless if I was going to wear fatigues to work for the next few years.

But I digress. The whole point of that tanget was to point out that even though I had some pretty strong social fitting in issues, my folks supported me in doing what I wanted. A lot of women in today’s day and age don’t have that. I see mom’s pushing their daughters to have plastic surgery or daughters pushing for it because it will make them pretty and therefore popular.

In a romance novel, particularly historicals, the heroine defies convention in some way. She either ends up in an unconventional situation, like Maddy in Flowers from The Storm who is incredibly stubborn, or like Jocilyn in Savage Thunder, who falls in love with a man who’s a half Native American, half white. Both characters thumb their nose at what society expects in the end and both have some pretty powerful societal influence pushing them to conform.

The first time I picked up a historical over here, I rolled my eyes and thought: great another girl trying to get married.

Why, I wondered, was scandal such a big deal? I mean, honestly, as a female in the military, I’ve had plenty of rumors started about me, to include the pinnacle of my deployment, making the latrine wall. When I was younger, they used to really bother me but I learned quickly that not only can you not stop rumors, you’ll just lose sleep over them if you let them get to you. So to me, I’m like really? Scandal and rumors are a big deal?

Well, yeah, they are.

The refusal to conform is a testament to the romance heroine’s subversive power. They do the right thing, even when society says not to. The romance heroine would pick up the phone and try to stop the rape that occurred outside a high school rather than worry about what the crowd thought.

Maybe romance is a good thing for our daughters to read, to try and find a way to stand up to the crowd and what the popular kids are doing and dare to find their own way in the world.

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I’m not talking about the kids, either, though you might have assumed I wasn’t from the title. I’m talking about the animal diaspora that has gone along with my and my other half’s simultaneous tours in Iraq.

I miss my pets. I miss Lilly (the hundred plus pound lab/lap dog) and the way she absolutely destroys everything in the back yard. I miss my crazy ass cat Cookie who manages to sit on my lap despite the laptop. I miss Ms. Megan, our first puppy who hid under the couch and is the reason we had to get Robbie and then after he died, Lilly.

Ms. Megan has anxiety issues. When she was a puppy, she hated being alone. The neighbors said she would howl all day long until we got home. We ended up getting her her own puppy and she was perfectly happy afterwards. When Robbie was cruelly murdered (yes, he was actually murdered by some sick bastard who fed him antifreeze laced meat), Ms Megan went crazy once more. Six months out from deploying to Iraq, we started searching for another dog. It was either that or put her on anxiety meds. We opted for another dog.

Lilly fit in instantly, though we suspected she might have been part Greyhound because she was so skinny. Anyone who’s ever had a lab knows that didn’t last long. By the time we’d left her at my in law’s house, she was pushing ninety pounds. Thanks to my inlaws spoiling, the damn dog has topped 105 and growing.

And I’m grateful. I’m grateful that my husband’s parents took in our two dogs once again for over a year and treated them like their own (but seriously, the dogs are getting their feelings hurt: they are not sleeping on my furniture!). I’m grateful that my brother in law took two cats into his home and kept them well fed and happy (though Cookie is a little upset at the lack of hard liquor but that’s another post for another time).

I’m also glad that my mom got another dog this year because the thing my kids missed the most about going to Grammy’s (other than Mommy and Daddy of course) was all their pets. My kids have grown up in a zoo. Having a dog that’s taller than your head has probably impacted them but mostly in a good way. My kids love their animals and are really looking forward to rounding everyone up and driving home.

Over here in Iraq, there are no unit mascots (at least not on our base). I got in trouble for leaving milk out that a stray cat (who was incidentally incredibly friendly) happened to drink because we’re not supposed to feed the vectors. Strays are called vectors because they’re not vaccinated and can carry a whole slew of diseased harmful to soldiers.

Despite living out of a duffle bag and having to walk to the showers, the thing I missed was having a cat sleeping on my head, licking the pillow and purring in my ear. I miss the sound of claws on the wood floor. I don’t miss the rabbit sized hairballs but I’ll live. I miss the constant sense of well being, surrounded by my animals and my kids. The noise and clutter that makes a house a home or in my case a zoo. So as we get ready to get out of here, it’s not just a home I’m heading back to. I’m going back to life as usual, with the hassle, the noise and the absolute adoration of the household pets.

I’ll be busy, but I can’t wait.

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I found out about what happened yesterday at Fort Hood on Twitter. I couldn’t access streaming video, so all I had for up to the minute news was the constant stream on Twitter.

For everyone who passed on the relevant news, to include the requests for blood donations, thank you.

Fort Hood is my home. When I first followed my then boyfriend (now DH) to Fort Hood almost eleven years ago, I was terrified. They’d just had a female gang leader arrested and court martialed. This was where I was going from my safe little base in Germany? This was where I was going to call home?

I found a small apartment outside the gate in Copperas Cove and got to know somewhere in the states other than my home in small town central Maine. When a neighbor was shot a couple of buildings over in my apartment complex, first I was scared. This kind of thing didn’t happen in Maine. Or in Germany. But when we realized that the woman was shot by a man she was involved with, it seemed less random and I moved on, without living in fear.

There are simple facts that most people who live at Fort Hood pay attention to. Don’t live on Rancier. Stay away from certain clubs. Don’t go down Rancier after dark.

But acts like what occurred yesterday bring an element of randomness into our lives once again. The shooting at Luby’s in Killeen in the 90s was an act of randomness. The killings by Hasan (I will not call him by his rank) are a randomness.

What I mean by the randomness is that we can’t stop everyone. There were warning signs. Perhaps. Perhaps not. I truly believe our commanders make the best decisions they can with the information they have. Maybe mistakes were made and Hasan never should have been made to deploy. Maybe he should have been identified.  I don’t know and I will not speculate as to the information that his commanders had available. But I do know that if we let everyone who does not wish to deploy to Iraq or Afghanistan NOT deploy, we would not be able to do our mission. I would not be here if I had a choice, but it’s my turn to be here, so that someone else gets to spend time with their families. This is what I signed up for, it is my responsibility and my duty.

We cannot live in fear that all Muslim soldiers will turn into a Hasan or an Akbar and turn on their fellow soldiers. We can listen, and watch and we can know what to do when bad things happen. The soldiers at the SRC reacted to the wounds immediately. More people might have died had they not reacted according to their training and immediately taken action to stop the bleeding. The first responders took him down.

The key to the resolution of the tragedy is training. Our soldiers were trained on how to deal with treating wounds in combat. They were trained on how to take out a shooter and control a crowd and secure a site. Our soldiers did this because they were trained.

We cannot stop a terrorist who is determined to blow himself up. We can, however, control how react to these situations when they occur. We cannot give up our freedoms because someone wishes to do us harm. We can plan, prepare and execute the mission when it happens.

What I’m getting at is last night on Twitter, while I was learning all I could and trying to responsibly retweet information and facts, I saw a lot of knee jerk reaction (some of which really pissed me off but that’s another post). Gun control came up immediately. So did base security. So did the fact that Hasan is a Muslim. These are the kind of reactions that are to be expected. But let’s take them for what they are and move forward. All Muslims are not terrorists. All gun owners are not going to walk into a place and start shooting. The base security is what it is and oh by the way, he did what thousands of us do every day when we go to work. We flash a badge and go on base. Searching ever car is not only impractical, it doesn’t make sense.

As we move forward, we must learn from this tragedy. Let’s focus on what went right: our soldiers reactions to what was essentially a combat situation. Let’s learn from what could be done better in the future.

But let’s not overreact and talk about taking away all guns or doing extra screenings on Muslims or  whoever commits this week’s act of random violence.

Bad things will happen. The question is not how to stop them (though we should take actions where we can), but how to react to them. Because being prepared to react will minimize the casualties and will help us maintain the free society that makes us great.

My thoughts and prayers are with the families of the victims. If you have not already done so, please donate blood, wherever you are in the world, because someone always needs it.

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