The Long Way Home

by Scott, Jessica

  Because the Black Knight family has worked their asses off to get where they are and they deserve to have a seamless transition. It’s my last task before heading off for parts unknown.

  Military Service in the Family Tree

  May 28, 2010

  I’VE BEEN PASSIVELY WORKING on my family tree for a decade or so. Around 2000, when my last grandmother became sick, I developed an obsession with finding out more about my grandparents and their lives.

  Then I stopped because I was overcome by events. The folder went to my mom’s where it sat. When Gramma passed away, I was given boxes of pictures which I put into albums and made my parents sit down and label.

  So I’m pretty lucky. I’ve got two ginormous albums of my grandparents and their brothers and sisters. Pictures of my parents and their siblings as kids.

  But the coolest thing, I think, was having pictures of my grandfathers in World War II. I’ve got Grampa Scott’s basic training graduation picture. I’ve got Grampa Cupero’s enlistment records from Ancestry.com. Before he passed away, my Great-Uncle Anthony told me that Grampa Cupero had been in the 9th Infantry Division, so I went and did some history. They were part of the invasion of North Africa during World War II.

  I don’t have a ton. I’ve got pictures of my grandfathers posing in those typical GI photos with their buddies. Their friend’s names have been lost to history.

  I think it’s pretty cool to be able to look back on my family’s history and see military service in there. My daughters will one day be able to look up their dad and me and find our military records out there. My grandfathers were part of World War II. My husband and I are both part of Operation Iraqi Freedom.

  With any luck, by the time they’re old enough to understand all that, the wars will be viewed as having been worth it. As having been the right thing to do. We’re too close right now to be able to make those judgments. Maybe with time, we’ll be able to see things more clearly.

  Remember that this weekend is not about barbecue and picnics. Take some time to teach your kids about our military traditions. Teach them to say thank you to the grizzled Vietnam vet you pass in the store. Teach them that there are those who gave the ultimate sacrifice in the last century so that their moms and dads could live in peace and raise them, knowing that there are wolves guarding the gates.

  But above all, remember the fallen this weekend. Remember those who have served. Their names might have been lost in the sands of time, but their sacrifice has not been.

  Why I Didn’t Write About Memorial Day

  June 1, 2010

  I DELIBERATELY DID NOT blog about Memorial Day yesterday. I was going to. I was going to write about how when I was a junior in high school, my band took a trip to DC and I saw the Vietnam War Memorial and broke down into tears even though I knew no one who’d been in the war. But the names and the overwhelming sadness of the place hit me then and it hit me hard.

  I couldn’t explain why I cried then nor can I explain the tears of my seventeen year old self now.

  I was going to write about how I took my daughters to the 1st Cavalry Division Operation Iraqi Freedom memorial. About how I showed them the 3rd Brigade patch that their Daddy and I wore now and the patch that Daddy wore the last two times he deployed. I was going to write about how as I approached the memorial, my heart clenched and the tears came and I didn’t bother to stop them. I simply kept explaining things to my daughters with a new respect for the veterans who came before me and shed their own tears at memorials for their wars. I showed my daughters on a map where Mommy and Daddy were last year. Where Daddy was before my youngest was born and before my oldest could remember.

  But I didn’t write about it.

  I didn’t write because it hurts too damn much to watch the Twitter feeds about Dennis Hopper and Gary Coleman and sales and white shoes. It hurts because of the scant crowd at the Memorial Day parade and at the ceremony in Harker Heights where two of Fort Hood’s finest laid a wreath at the memorial.

  It hurts because we pay lip service to honor our troops but when soldiers talk about childcare issues or veterans issues at the VA, we hear people say we volunteered. We hear talk in Congress about cutting back medical payments for family members, failing to realize that, yes, we volunteered but if our families are not taken care of, we won’t do so. It’s too hard being in a combat zone wondering if you’re going to come home to medical bills or worse, wondering if your family will even be able to get the medical attention they need.

  The support for soldiers has been phenomenal on the surface. On the surface, people say “Thank you for your service,” and shake our hands. But what happens when the wars end and we’ve got thousands and thousands of people needing treatment for anxiety and depression and anger. What happens when employers won’t hire former soldiers with combat experience because they won’t take the risk that someone might snap? Where’s the support for the soldiers then?

  We talk a good game about supporting the troops but that’s now. If we’re really going to support our soldiers, regardless of how we feel about the military, about the nation’s foreign policy, or the justifications for going to war, we need to dig in and understand that the war isn’t over when all the troops come home.

  For many, it will just be beginning.

  How Should I Have Responded?

  June 2, 2010

  SO TODAY I WAS having a conversation with someone who shall remain nameless but let’s just say it was someone I’m close to.

  I remarked how I’d gotten irritated over the weekend about the commercialization of Memorial Day and how so many folks seemed more concerned with sales than with remembering the fallen.

  This person said “What, the whole country sucks because we didn’t all bow down and kiss your feet yesterday?”

  This struck me rather forcefully. I understand that forceful opinions incite forceful responses and I’m self-aware enough to realize that my opinions about how people were acting was a strong one.

  What should I have said? Would it matter if this person was a stranger versus someone I’m close to?

  What’s the right way to handle this?

  A Family Milestone

  June 3, 2010

  IN THE LAST TWO days, I’ve had two people say that I expect other people to raise my kids for me because I’m in the military. Those words hurt and they offend me deeply.

  But they are also somewhat true, to an extent. In my family, as many families with both parents working, there is no one to pick up the slack. One family member commented on how wrong I was to say that my kids stressed me out and stressed out my husband. But said family member has never had to deploy away from his kids for a year and then come home and actually stick around for the rebuilding process.

  Yesterday also marked the six month mark since my husband and I came home from Iraq. Maybe it was fitting that these comments were made. Maybe they were the harsh truth that I was supposed to hear.

  I’m a military mom and like all military moms, whether single, divorced, married to another service member, or married to a civilian, I need help. I have my best friend here who can pick up the kids if there’s an issue and she knows she can count on me. What life would she have if she were not in the military, working to give her kids a better life? What life would I have if I wasn’t here, working to give my kids a better life than I had? I don’t want someone else to raise my kids, but I do need help, just like every working mom needs help.

  There are milestones I’ve missed and moments I will never get back. But the thing that I got back today was a sense of enjoyment of my kids when I watched my kindergartener walk across the stage and graduate. Now it was only a kindergarten graduation but regardless of what you feel about people making a big deal out of every milestone, this was a big deal for my husband and me. We sat and watched our little girl who we’ve seen grow up via webcam sing on the stage and wave shyly at us from the crowd.

  Today was a big deal because we struggled through a rough six m
onths, learning to be a family again. And today marked a huge milestone because we were there for her to finish kindergarten, even if we weren’t there for her first day of school.

  There have been days over the last few months where I wished I didn’t have housework and dishes and crying kids to deal with. There were days when I could honestly admit that my kids caused me more stress than pleasure.

  But today, when I hugged my little girl and felt the pride in her that she struggled through to be reading above her grade level, that she struggled through making new friends in a big school with new teachers to actually enjoy going to school every day—today, everything was ok.

  Today, we were a family and we were together for a milestone.

  To Our Vietnam Vets: Thank You

  June 10, 2010

  THE OTHER NIGHT, I made it to Austin’s RWA meeting. I feel continually horrible because I don’t get down there nearly enough and I’ve been struggling through so much crap at home that the thought of driving over an hour each way has been enough to keep me away. But the stars aligned that morning, I managed to get down there. Emily McKay and Robyn DeHart gave a fantastic workshop on revisions, which is exactly where I’m at right now. If you haven’t had a chance to hear them stop by and definitely sit in on one. It’s both hysterical and informative.

  But afterwards, when we were all heading home, one of the gals (and I won’t name her because I haven’t asked her permission) stopped me. She said she knows that everyone always says thanks to the troops but she wanted to tell me herself how much she admired my service. She mentioned that her dad had served in Vietnam and her grandfather had served in World War II. I asked her to pass along my thanks to her family’s soldiers but then something else hit me.

  I asked her to say particular thanks to her dad because when he came home, there were no parades and thank yous. No celebrations. Even now, more than three decades since our soldiers finally came home, we as a nation look back on that war and the warriors who were part of it with a bag of mixed emotions. Today, politicians lie about having served but back then they were heading for the halls of education instead of the airplanes taking them to war.

  I didn’t live during that time but my parents did and several folks that I talk to regularly. I’ve asked for help on research during that time period for a book that I will someday finish and get into revising but still, understanding a society that was so hostile to our soldiers who, at that time, were drafted. Some volunteered but most were there because they didn’t have a way into the Guard or to get a college deferment.

  I’m not here to comment on the war or the way that administration carried it out or the politics behind it.

  Today, I just want to say thank you to our Vietnam veterans. You bore the weight of an unpopular battle and did what you had to do to come home to your families. You were asked to fight a war our people did not support and became the focus of rage toward a government that refused to listen to its people. Thank you. Thank you for your service. You stood back when protesters spit on you and called you names that they should be ashamed of because while they were sitting back home, safely doing pot and getting in touch with nature, you were in touch with nature in the jungles and the heat and the rain.

  Thank you. You more than any other group of our soldiers deserve our thanks because you, more than any other group, have borne the heaviest legacy.

  Thank you.

  Back to the Books

  June 14, 2010

  BET YOU THOUGHT THAT was going to say basics, huh? Well in the last few weeks, I’ve been conducting a little experiment.

  I’ve been reading ebooks on my iPhone. I know, after the last time I spoke about ebooks and confessed I wasn’t particularly fond of them, I went and did a little trial run. I read a few books, just to get a feel for it. I read a bunch of sample chapters, which is currently my favorite feature of the ebook/Kindle format.

  But what I don’t have is hard copies of the books I enjoyed in my library. Oh, they’re on my to-buy list, but to date, they have not yet been purchased. Between us? I doubt they ever will be purchased, even though I enjoyed them and they probably would have made it to my keeper shelf.

  The other thing I’ve discovered is that I retain more of the book when I read the physical book. I couldn’t recall the character names of one I’d read on ebook but the physical book I had waiting for me in time for my morning workout, I simply could not put down. Whether format had something to do with it or not, I can’t say but I do know there was a difference.

  So I’m not sure whether the ebook thing is for me. I just ordered physical copies of two books I’m dying to read: Allison Brennan’s Cardinal Sin and Laura Griffin’s Unspeakable. Both are autobuys for me, as is Sherry Thomas. And Sherry’s latest, His At Night, nearly had me in tears this morning while I was working out. I loved it, I loved that I had my hand on the physical copy more. I also love that I can look at my shelf and see all of Sherry and Laura’s books, sitting neatly in order of publication. I can’t do that with a file. The files are too easy to lose.

  This is just me. I know there have been times I wished I had a digital copy of a book, like when I was in Iraq. But just like it would be easier for me to have carried a hard drive full of books (I had a full disk of just music), instead I hauled a tat box full of books. The only place I felt even remotely normal in Iraq was at the CAC (community activities center) where all the free books were.

  So while I won’t say I’ll never have an ebook reader (or an iPad) I will say that I’m going to encourage my kids to read physical books and I will do the same. The experience, for me, is different and one that is too integral to who I am to be ignored.

  Honesty: It Sucks Sometimes

  June 15, 2010

  SO ONCE MORE I find myself at a crossroads in my writing career, trying to find a way forward with something that will sell. Hell at this point, I’m thrilled to have sold a freakin’ article.

  If anyone had suggested to me that I would still be unsold at this point (four years and eleven manuscripts later) I would have said “No way.” It can’t be that hard. And to be fair, of all eleven manuscripts, only two have gone out (and quite honestly, neither should have, but I couldn’t see it at the time).

  See, here’s the thing. At one point in every writer’s career, but more than likely before the honesty truck has hit them, they all think their stuff is brilliant (raises hand). Of course, I don’t think I’m a crappy writer, but I can honestly sit here and tell you that writing fiction is a world different from writing nonfiction and I’ve learned an incredible amount in the last four years. Until I could look at my manuscript and truly see the issues there, I wasn’t ready to go.

  Hell, I might still not be. I’m not giving up, but I am trying something new.

  Brace for it.

  I’m trying synopses. Before I write the book.

  While that might not surprise those of you who plot, when I sit down and write, I’m definitely a seat-of-the-pants, let’s-see-where-the-story-takes-me kind of girl. The end result? I throw the whole thing out and start over, often keeping nothing more than a single scene and character names. That’s it.

  That’s time consuming. In Iraq last year, I rewrote all four of my military series books (I have not revised any of them) because the originals were all over the place. I have no idea what the second drafts look like because I haven’t gone back and looked at them. Funny thing about writing a series, if the first one doesn’t sell, the rest probably won’t either. But that’s not where the honesty comes in.

  I’m sitting here today waiting on feedback from my agent on ideas. Blurbs if you will for what he thinks might be saleable. Because what I don’t want to do is spend another two years writing a book that may or may not fit the market and may or may not sell. I’m willing to do that, if that’s what it takes, but right now, I’m hoping he’ll look at my ideas and go “write this one.” The reason I sent him the idea sheet is because my amazingly brutal critique partner b
asically laid it out for me.

  She said, “You are married to this idea. I’ve got a ton of boxes filled with ideas that my agent said won’t sell.”

  And wow, was she right on the money. I’ve spent the last few months working on my paranormal, my end of the world, apocalypse book that plays to my military strengths and my religious studies background (and my perennial obsession with the apocalypse). But if it doesn’t sell, what good is it? I love it but I’m hoping to someday make a living at writing, right? I mean, that’s what I’m telling the IRS, so I think it kind of has to be true.

  So if I want to write for a living, guess what? I need to write something that sells. And I can’t justify spending time on a project that is essentially a hobby (granted, I love this story but still).

  But the brutal honesty came in the form of my critique partner, lovingly and harshly telling me “get over it.”

  Sucks, but it’s true. We have a different way of saying it in the Army: suck it up and drive on. So now, I’m waiting, hopeful that all of my ideas don’t suck. Because if I’m willing to suck it up for this long, I can’t very well ignore the honesty that forces me to face reality. I’m a pragmatist. Which means I’m waiting to hear back from my agent and we’ll see where we go from there.

  Polishing a Turd

  June 16, 2010

  YEAH, YEAH, I KNOW I said I wasn’t going to be online much as I’m in a self-enforced deadline and must work if I ever hope to make writing, oh, I don’t know, a career.

  But as I was driving to work today, something about my conversation with my old brigade commander a couple of weeks ago struck me. Actually, it hit me in the head. But first, a tangent.

  I’m a soldier. That doesn’t mean that being a soldier and being a girlie girl are mutually exclusive; it just means that for me, I’m more comfortable in combat boots than high heels. Yesterday, I registered for the RWA National Conference in Orlando. Now, for those who are part of the fantastic Austin RWA group, I usually show up in uniform because I leave straight from work to get down to Austin in a reasonable amount of time (I’ve been terrible about going this year and I’m trying to get better). But I always sit with my back to the door and I’m almost always terribly uncomfortable.