Mary's Writing House

I'm a loser with a capital "L"

2011-03-12T14:16:00.000-05:00

My publisher submitted my book, I’m Still Standing, From Captured U.S. Soldier to Free Citizen, My Journey Home, to the NAACP Image Awards. Shoshana Johnson and I were nominated in the literary category for best Bio/autobiography.

This is one of those Hollywood, red carpet -- get the best damn dress you can afford -- kind of things and it took WEEKS, I mean WEEKS of worry and preparation and frankly, lots of money, to participate in the awards events.

Our publisher, bless them, didn’t contribute a penny to the trip and it was an expensive endeavor. There wasn’t just an awards show to consider. There was a preshow Gala reception that required cocktail attire, plus the awards show complete with a red carpet gauntlet, not to mention airfare, hotel and rental car. All coming out of the void that was my pocketbook. Now, I truly understand why people complain about publishers not participating in the marketing efforts of their authors! If they wouldn’t help us promote the book at this event, just what the heck WOULD they be willing to throw down for? It was even worse to find out that Simon & Schuster was a sponsor of the event! I have to wonder how many thousands went into the glitz and glamour of the awards presentations, but didn’t help out the starving writer that was me.

But this was a once in a lifetime event that couldn’t be missed, so throwing all common sense to the wind and drawing on the resources of my brother for large parts of the expenses -- who not only had the means to afford the trip, but looks damn good in a suit – off we went.

I am so very glad we did.

Sure, when it came time for my category, the THIRD one announced in the show, I couldn’t help but feel disappointed that I wouldn’t be going home with the prize. Just before they made the announcement and ripped open the envelope, my brother turned to me and said, “If you win, what the hell are you going to say?!”

The truth was I had practiced. In the shower, as I lay in bed at night, out loud in front of a mirror, over and over again. I knew exactly what I would say if they announced my name as the winner, but I hadn’t needed the preparation after all. For five minutes, the feeling of disappointment lurked in my belly. It really kind of sucked.

But after that, I shook off the disappointment and the party was on! The show was great, we had fantastic seats, the food and drinks at both the gala the night before and the after party were unbelievably good and best of all, FREE!

The after party, held at the SLS Hotel, featured food I had never imagined could be done on such a scale! Foie gras done in the form of cotton candy (sounds very strange, but was fantastic), American caviar served in tiny waffle cones, almond bites that literally exploded like a party in your mouth, black ink paella, filet mignon and a tremendous assortment of amuse bouche loaded with blasts of flavor. The variety and supply seemed never ending.

My brother and I met so many people, from stars to talent agents, to film directors to awestruck nominees just like me. Everyone was gracious, friendly and perfectly willing to pose with us for pictures. I met stars from some of my all time favorite TV shows and they seemed as genuinely happy to meet me as I was to meet them.

Simply put, even though I was a loser with a capital “L”, my brother and I left the events exhausted, happy and filled with memories that will linger, long after that trophy would be collecting dust on a shelf somewhere. I may be a loser, but for a few nights, it didn’t matter one bit.

Who would you place your bets on?

2011-02-06T16:43:00.002-05:00

The five books nominated for an NAACP Image Award in Autobiography/Biography are:

Conversations with Myself
Authors, Ruth Hobday, Nelson Mandela
Published by Farrar, Straus and Giroux

Decoded
Author, Jay-Z
Published by Spiegel & Garn, a division of Random House

Extraordinary, Ordinary People
Author, Condoleezza Rice
Published by Crown Archetype

You Don’t Know Me: Reflections of My Father, Ray Charles
Author, Ray Charles Robinson, Jr.

Published by Crown

And finally,

I’m Still Standing: From Captive U.S. Soldier to Free Citizen – My Journey Home
Authors, Shoshana Johnson, Mary Doyle
Touchstone, an Imprint of Simon & Schuster
(Had to throw the cover art in here just to remind you of what I'm talking about.)

I’ve heard great things about Decoded and Extraordinary, Ordinary People. The winner is determined by votes cast by members of the NAACP. If I had to guess, I would think that Jay-Z, because of his popularity and because he’s written a great book, is probably the favorite in this category. Condoleezza Rice is also a contender.

I’m excited about going to the awards ceremony and meeting all of these people. I plan to bring a camera with plenty of memory and batteries. I’ll be taking pictures like crazy.

It is true that just being nominated is thrilling and I’m having fun planning to make the trip to L.A. for the big event, but I can’t lie. It sure would be cool to win! : )

Oh and, buy the paperback version of I'm Still Standing here.

Nomination

2011-01-22T16:01:00.000-05:00

Two years ago, my agent asked me if I’d be interested in ghost writing a memoir. I’d never considered doing such a thing but the project seemed like a good match, so I agreed to try it. I wrote a couple of sample chapters. The client and her editor liked them so they hired me.

The entire time I worked on the project, I worried. Could I tell the story well enough that people would want to read it? What if I do a bad job? What if the book is ignored? What if I don’t have the writing skill to do justice to the story? Every day I worked on the memoir I worried.

Shoshana Johnson was the first black female POW. Her harrowing experience had been largely ignored by the press. If I didn’t do a good job, I would have contributed to her story being forgotten. People wouldn’t know how brave she had been. They wouldn’t know how harrowing the ambush was, how frightening each day of her captivity had been, what it took for her to get through the experience. I took the responsibility seriously. For nine months, every weekend, most evenings, every spare moment, I worked on that book.

Finally, in February 2010, I’M STILL STANDING, FROM CAPTURED SOLDIER TO FREE CITIZEN, was published by Touchstone. Still I worried. What would people think?

The first reviews were good. The reviews readers posted on Amazon were also very good. Still, I wondered if I had done everything I could.

Last week, when I heard the book had been nominated for an NAACP Image Award, I finally relaxed. It felt like a nod, acknowledgement that I had done her justice. It makes me smile. I couldn’t be more proud.

The Paperback Version

2010-10-10T12:26:00.000-04:00

I’ve been bad about keeping current with my postings, but I’m blogging with some great news! I just learned that Shana’s book will be published in paperback! If you’ve been looking for the book on the shelves and haven’t found it, that’s because most of the major book stores have sold out all of their original purchases and only have it available by special order or online. So getting the paperback out there will be great.

Of course you can still order it on Amazon.com, which continues to have a five star rating and great new reviews. It is available on Kindle and in audio book style. You'll notice that the paperback cover has the words, "National Best Seller." Makes me smile.

Here is the cover. According to Amazon.com, the paperback will be available Feb. 2011, but it could come out sooner than that. If I learn anything new, I will post it here.

Chat Roulette is Freaky!

2010-04-02T18:22:00.000-04:00

I think I am totally FREAKED out by Shuffle People! Have you tried this thing called Chat Roulette? I heard about it on the news and there are some funny Youtube posts about it, so I had to give it a try and see what the fuss was about.

In the first five minutes, as I shuffled through several people staring at me from dark rooms, I must have seen at least seven penises! Floppy ones, hard ones, big ones and little ones, all close up and central to the camera. The interesting thing is you don’t just get video. Audio is exchanged as well, so if one wanted to, you could shuffle along, shouting out scores. “TEN! Two. Ohhh definitely a one.” Of course, I didn’t do that. I politely shuffled to the next person, always wondering if it would be someone wearing clothes.

Most often, the people I saw in the brief minutes I could stand the experience, looked like shy teenage boys, the type who would have a hard time talking to anyone face to face.

I’ve spent some time in chat rooms before and I have no doubt. I much prefer chatting with only the written word than seeing so many faces … and penises.

Writing Critique Groups - Listening vs Reading

2010-03-25T18:52:00.002-04:00

I’ve been reading some ‘how to run a writer’s group’ blogs and I’ve been really surprised. Many of the how to’s say reading work out loud on the night of the session, “brings the work to life.”

What?

MAYBE, if you’re writing poetry, or drama, a screenplay or a heavy-on-the-literary-type literary novel. But for your everyday literature or genre novel, I strongly disagree.

IMO, reading is a completely different experience and requires different comprehension skills from listening. Some say reading uses one part of the brain (the smarter part) while listening uses the outer ear (a dumber part) and never really sinks into the meat of the brain. Blah, blah, blah.

I’ve worked with a number of writing and critique groups and I’ve always found that groups that send work ahead of time, and then spend their meeting time providing constructive, supportive critiques, work the best for me. Not to mention, that when I can get other eyes on my pages to fix the misspellings I’ve missed, like the -- their and they’re -- mistakes, or to have a voice of reason who can highlight the holes in my plot points, are abundantly helpful.

But that’s just my opinion. What do you think?

What the papers are saying about "I'm Still Standing"

2010-02-27T11:55:00.005-05:00

Forgotten female POW's story told

Fort Meade media director helps African-American soldier write autobiography
By RYAN JUSTIN FOX, Staff Writer
Published 02/16/10

In helping former U.S. Army Spc. Shoshana Johnson write her autobiography, Fort George G. Meade Media Relations Chief Mary L. Doyle not only exposed the world to the plight of the country's first African-American female prisoner of war, but furthered Doyle's own budding literary career.

It tells the story of Johnson, a single mother from Texas who was a part of a supply detail when her company was ambushed in Iraq just days after the U.S. invasion began.

Eleven members of Johnson's company were killed. Six others, including Johnson and then 19-year-old soldier Jessica Lynch, were assaulted and taken prisoner by Iraqi forces on March 23, 2003. Johnson was shot in both legs during the attack. The American prisoners were freed by Marines several weeks later.

Though Johnson was awarded a Bronze Star and Purple Heart, her capture was largely ignored and overshadowed in the media and among military leadership by Lynch's captivity.

The incident touched off a firestorm of controversy about racism in the military and the media. Reports surfaced that Lynch received a more lucrative book deal and larger disability payments than Johnson.

"I was shocked at how open (Johnson) was," Doyle said. "She really bared her soul about the ambush and her captivity."

Doyle, 50, spent several days at Johnson's El Paso, Texas, home while preparing to write the book. Doyle was not the first choice to write Johnson's autobiography.

Johnson originally signed a deal with another publishing company and author before parting ways with them and signing with publishing giant Simon & Schuster.

Doyle, an Army reservist for 17 years who spent time in Bosnia, had just returned to work for Fort Meade's Public Affairs Office after working in Korea for the Armed Forces Network. She was also putting the finishing touches on her own novel.

Writing has long been a passion for Doyle. She said she always wrote short stories and screenplays. She has a personal blog dedicated to writing.

The Minneapolis native signed with a book agent to shop her novel around. Doyle's agent wasn't having much luck with her murder mystery but was able to land the deal with Simon & Schuster to pen Johnson's story last year.

Doyle said the book details the unimaginable emotional stress Johnson suffered from the ambush and capture.

"People don't realize how a military unit is like a family," Doyle said.

She also describes the relationship between Johnson and Lynch. There have been reports that Johnson has animosity toward Lynch, but Doyle said that isn't true. The two travel to memorial services and other events together, she said.

But Johnson said in the book that several commanders and fellow soldiers at Fort Bliss, where she was assigned, began resenting the star treatment she and other POWs received when they returned home. The ordeal forced Johnson to resign from the Army. She was eventually granted an honorable discharge.

"I'm Still Standing" has already been featured on the "Today Show" and other major media outlets.

Doyle said she hopes to eventually be able to write books and novels full-time.

"I love working for Fort Meade, but I love writing," she said.

2010-02-04T07:02:00.006-05:00

Shana is doing her thing and promoting the book. She's doing a fantastic job and making me proud. Its hard to believe the book is FINALLY out and people are actually buying it. Eventually, the dream happen! Watch the entire interview here:

Shoshana Johnson on the Today Show

Mr. Raymond's Poetry

2010-01-02T18:54:00.003-05:00

I went to the post office today. The mailman left me a pink notice just after Christmas but I hadn’t found the time to pick up the package it described. The second notice said if I didn’t pick up the package today, the day after New Year’s, they would return it to sender.

I knew what it was. My stepsister, Tracy sent me a pound of wild rice from Minnesota. Nothing reminded me of home as much as chicken wild rice soup, and Tracy, knowing that I wasn’t going home for Christmas, sent me a pound of wild rice. I knew it would be the real stuff, the kind you can only find in my midwestern home state. I could already taste the soup I was going to make and I didn’t want the package sent back to Tracy. Not after she had gone to so much trouble for me.

So off to the post office I went. It was only a couple of miles from my house, but wind advisories issued that day were accurate and my little car was rocked by the strong gusts as I drove the short distance. Driving down the road, there were few people on the sidewalks. One usually sees a lot of pedestrians in Baltimore, but the wind and the cold kept most of them indoors it seemed.

Just before I reached the post office parking lot, I saw an old man, bent against the wind, making his way painfully down the street. He was tall and very thin. He used a cane and dragged one leg.

Step, cane, drag. Step, cane, drag he went. It was agonizing to watch him. I drove by and went into the post office.

My timing was good. Not too many people were in line. I stood and waited my turn. When I was next in line, I glanced out the door and there was the old man, continuing on his painful journey. Step, cane, drag. He stopped once, to catch his breath, then continued again, making slow but determined progress.

I wondered where he was going. It was cold out, and the wind was nothing to trifle with. It has to be something important I thought, to bring him out in such conditions. He was dark, that kind of blue black skin that reminded me of my dad and his Mississippi roots. The man’s jacket looked warm but hung loosely on him. His shoulders had been broader, his legs wider and stronger once. He looked closer to seventy than sixty, but it was hard to tell. Untrimmed whiskers over his lips were white and wisps of white hair stuck out from the knit cap pulled down around his ears.

The customer at the counter was sending a package overseas and the clerk was having a hard time processing the postage. It was taking a long time and the line was growing longer. Several postal customers passed the old man, as he made his way down the sidewalk. Step, cane, drag.

I thought he would keep going, but he made his way down the handicap ramp and entered the post office. He turned to the area where the post office boxes were and I wondered if that was really his intended location, or did he just come inside to get out of the cold and the wind.

Then I thought, if he is going to check his mail box, I hope something is in there. What if he came all this way, in the cold and wind, only to find an empty box? I hoped he found a card from a grandchild, or a package from an old friend, better yet a check from some government agency. Something that would make his trip worthwhile.

I still waited my turn, not in any real hurry and decided, if the old man was still in the post office when I was done, I’d ask him where he was heading and offer him a ride. In Baltimore, you don’t offer strangers rides, especially if you’re a woman, but I didn’t want to watch him walking anymore.

A few minutes later, the old man was at the door and leaving the post office, and off he went going in the opposite direction he had been headed, returning home probably, after getting his mail. Step, cane, drag.

Now there was no question. When I left, I would offer him a ride.

Finally, it was my turn. I picked up my package, bought some stamps and hurried out the door after him, wondering how he would react. I caught up to him easily. He was headed into the wind now, and the going was harder. He was concentrating on the sidewalk just in front of him, his shoulders hunched up around his ears.

“Excuse me, sir,” I said.

He stopped and turned to me, a look of surprise on his face. His dark face was lined in experience. His eyes yellowed with age.

“I saw you on your way here. Can I offer you a ride?”

“Really?” he said. His shoulders drooping slightly in a sign I took for relief.

“Yes. I bet you’re not going far.”

“No, just over by the Bayview Liquor store, you know.” He said. That made me pause for a second. Was he headed there to buy a bottle of something? It didn’t matter. I would take him.

“Yes, my car is just over here.”

He smiled, all of his crooked yellow teeth revealed. “That would be great,” he said.

I walked, at my normal pace back to my car. I wanted to push the passenger seat of my two-door car back as far as it would go. He was taller than I had thought, and I knew it would be hard to fold himself into the seat. By the time I got the seat adjusted, he had made it to the car.

“A pretty lady offered me a ride,” he said, smiling as he handed me his cane, sat down on the seat and struggled to get his legs in the car.

“A pretty lady offered me a ride,” he repeated, finally getting himself settled. “It reminds me of a poem I wrote.”

A poem? I thought. It was the last thing in the world I expected him to say.

“You’re a poet?” I asked.

“No, no,” he said. “I just dabble, you know.”

“Well, I’d love to hear it,” I said.

So he told me his poem, six or seven lines of rhythmic, surprising words. I pulled out of the parking lot, smiling now too. I glanced at the man, his weathered, ashy dry face, his eyes so yellow and aged. And he had just told me that I reminded him of a poem, one that was beautiful and pretty damn good.

“That’s lovely,” I said. “You wrote that?”

“Yeah, I just dabble, you know,” he said. “I wrote it after I read one of Shakespeare’s plays again.” And he quoted a few lines of Shakespeare, saying the words as if he truly understood the meaning, felt the purpose of the phrasing. I wondered who the hell this man was.

“You’ll have to tell me where to go,” I said.

“Just up here, couple blocks,” he said. “Let me tell you another one.” And he gave me six or seven more lines, lovely words with meanings I would understand better if I could see them in print and could contemplate them more fully.

“I’m a writer,” I said. “But I’ve never written poetry.”

“Oh, I’m not a poet.” He said. “I just dabble, you know.”

By this time, I could see the Bayview Liquore store. It had only been three blocks. Three blocks that probably would have taken him twenty minutes to walk and I wished it had taken us twenty minutes to drive it. I wanted to hear more from him. What had he done for a living? What other things had he written? What did he get in his mail box?

I turned the corner by the liquor store, wanting to get off the busy street so he could take his time getting out of the car.

“My name is, Mary,” I said.

He turned his yellow gaze to me. “Raymond,” he said, offering me his large and calloused hand. A working man, I thought, or maybe it was just from gripping his cane.

“I thank you for the ride, Miss Mary,” he said, unfolding himself from the car.

“You’re welcome, Mr. Raymond. Happy New Year.” I said.

He smiled and waved and didn’t go in the liquor store. Instead he went to the neat little row house next door, gripping the stair railing as he made his way to the door.

I drove away, so glad the line at the post office had been slow. Glad that I had offered Mr. Raymond a ride. It was a good thing to do. I’m not a big do-gooder or anything. But I dabble, you know.

Happy Holidays

2009-12-25T17:54:00.001-05:00

I have a new book contract. I never EVER would have predicted that, a year after the first one, I would get another contract to write another memoir. It’s exciting. Its pressure filled! It’s the start of another interesting year.

So I decided to spend the holidays alone. I needed the time to write -- I’m under contract to produce some chapters after all -- so I decided not to fly to Minnesota to be with family. I put up my tree and have a Jenny-O, turkey breast in the oven, au-gratin potatoes, and will make a nice vegetable stir fry. I’ve been at the keyboard most of the day, and have produced some readable words, but it’s strange. Home alone. Christmas happening in homes all around me. Weird.

Was this the right thing to do? I have so much trouble writing in the evenings. Weekends just don’t seem long enough. I felt like the holidays would be my only opportunity to really get into this story.

Now there is icy rain falling outside and its chilly here. I feel a little lonely but then again, if I had gone home, I’d be worried about getting the work done anyway.

Tomorrow will be a better day. It will be the day AFTER Christmas and I’ll be able to write without feeling strange about it.

Right now, dinner is almost ready, the cat is curled up behind me on the chair, the rain is slapping against the windows and I’m feeling okay. Happy Holidays!

The Groove

2009-11-25T11:05:00.003-05:00

There are those times when sitting at the keyboard feels like something other than work. It is very close to magic. You feel your characters. You know your story. You find the words. You’re in the groove.

It’s been a long time since I’ve found the groove. I’ve searched for it. I pretended I’d found it but I wasn’t fooling myself.

Last weekend I found it again. Not sure where I found it, but it was there. It took me a long time to realize where I was but when I did, I knew I couldn’t let it get away again. So I took an extra day off for this long holiday weekend and I’m hoping I can keep it for an entire five days. If I can keep it, this will be a very good weekend indeed.

I know why I lost it before. I wasn’t writing every day and I let it get away. In fact there were weeks when I didn’t write and you can’t find the groove if you stay away from it for so long.

Now that I have it again, I hope I can be smarter and keep it and write. Every day.

2009-11-21T10:54:00.000-05:00

Another beautiful Saturday and I’m stuck at my computer, writing. I shouldn’t complain, I know. I am doing this because I want to but it does make me feel a little guilty that I’m sitting here in the semi-darkness typing away. There’s a whole world of possibilities out there …

The answer to this dilemma is that I need to earn enough of a living with WRITING so I can quit my day job. What a luxury to write without restricting that creative time to evenings and weekends. Maybe. Someday.

My First Review

2009-11-16T18:25:00.005-05:00

I read my first review today. It was published in the online version of Publisher’s Weekly. When I learned the book had been reviewed by PW, I got very nervous. PW can be mean. Down right nasty actually, and I had no idea what to expect. They didn’t gush over the book. I didn’t expect that. But they did say a couple of nice things and even mentioned my name. I can’t complain. In fact, I’m quite giddy about it. I know the next one could be completely opposite but for now, I’m deciding to be happy about this.

Here is the review:

I'm Still Standing: From Captive Soldier to Free Citizen—My Journey Home Shoshana Johnson with M.L. Doyle. Touchstone, $23.99 (288p) ISBN 978-1-4165-6748-6

Johnson gained national attention as America's first black female prisoner of war. She was in the 507th Maintenance Company convoy ambushed on March 23, 2003, in Nasiriyah, and captured with five other soldiers including Jessica Lynch. One might call Johnson's presence in a firefight a compound accident. She was a cook who had enlisted in 1998 hoping to earn money for her education and perhaps “meet a nice guy,” and was a cook with the 507th, which existed to maintain Patriot missiles. But she was sent with the convoy, and the bullets Johnson took in both ankles did not ask for her military occupational specialty. Though objectively treated well enough by her Iraqi captors, she was wounded, female, and black: three reasons for being afraid. Rescued three weeks later in a daring raid, Johnson emerged with a Bronze Star, a case of post-traumatic stress disorder, and an unwanted celebrity status sufficiently resented by the system that she left the army. Johnson endured her captivity with courage and emerged with honor. With the help of former army reservist Doyle, she vividly, simply, and unpretentiously tells her tale . (Feb.)

Chatting with a friend

2009-09-20T12:41:00.003-04:00

I just spent the last hour and a half chatting with a friend who is deployed to Afghanistan. We tried to do a video call but I could hear her but not see her. She could see me and not hear me. Frustrating!

But the cool thing was that we were having a conversation from opposite sides of the world. I miss her and I’ve been so curious about what her life is like. I now feel like I have a better idea of what she is dealing with there in the desert. I worry about her because danger is just around the corner and it bothers me that she will be there until the end of the summer next year. A lot can happen in all that time.

At least now I know I can get in touch with her when I want. I look forward to chatting with her again. One thing I did learn was that they are having a hard time getting videos and books to keep them occupied. I'll definately be sending her a box of good things to read and watch. My tiny bit for the cause.

What Success Looks Like!

2009-09-11T18:17:00.011-04:00

I’m pretty sure this is what writing success looks like. You haven't heard of her yet, but you may very soon. This is Tracy Kiely, a talented Maryland native who has finally seen the culmination of her hard work appear in hardcover and on the front aisles of your neighborhood book store. Tracy's first novel, Murder at Longbourn is now in stores. I simply had to attend her first book signing at the Barnes and Noble at Annapolis Harbor Mall and I have to say, I was a bit surprised at the number of people there. Folks in Annapolis know how to support one of their own!

Tracy and I participated in a writing group a couple of years ago. I was working on my first novel. Tracy was looking for input on her second book. At the time, she was looking for an agent, looking for a publisher and it was easy to see that sooner or later, someone would figure out that her work was worthy of publication. Once she finally found an agent, it only took about three weeks before St. Martin’s Press, one of the biggies in publishing, wrote her a two-book contract. WAY TO GO TRACY!

Her writing is witty, sharp and entirely entertaining. If you like an Agatha Christie type murder mystery, you’ll enjoy this book. And for those Jane Austin fans out there, you’ll love the books too. You’ll find all kinds of ties to Pride and Prejudice in Murder at Longbourn. It’s tons of fun.
And when you buy your copy, take a look at the acknowledgements! It’s the first time EVER yours truly has been mentioned in one of those. Makes me blush!

Publishing. AT LAST!

2009-09-06T13:36:00.007-04:00

To blog or not to blog? I seem to continually choose not to blog. I’ve had a lot to keep me busy and away from the blogging key board. I bought a house and the search, closing, moving were huge time suckers. Now that I’m in my new home, I have to say that as difficult as the entire process was at times, it was all worth it. I sit now in my new office in a beautiful row house in Baltimore. A place I plan to spend countless hours in working and creating. More on all of that later.

The biggest task that kept me away from blogging was finishing my first published book. For more than a year, I have been working on writing the memoir for Shoshana Johnson which chronicles the story of the ambush of her convoy in the early days of the war in Iraq, her capture and her 22 days in captivity. The book also covers her return home, her treatment in the press, her difficulties with the military medical system, and the challenges of trying to live a normal life after such an extraordinary experience. It’s a powerful story. It’s hard to believe I was given the opportunity to help tell it.

When I received the pages from the line editor I thought someone was joking. The pages were covered in red. Every single page, every single one, had red all over it. Sometimes there were as many as 10 corrections on a single page. It was proof that, any English training I may have had in the past, simply didn’t take. It was humiliating. I kept picturing that poor editor as she corrected the same mistakes over and over again, cussing me out and shaking her head and thinking, “We paid her to write this crap?”

I made the corrections and returned the pages and just weeks later; I was looking at the pages as they would be type set in the book. It was beautiful. I loved the titles for each chapter. Loved the way everything seemed to read differently now that they weren’t simply words on a page I created. These pages had been printed, by someone in a publishing house, had been read by editors and line editors and the guy in the printing room who was responsible for printing the thing so that it could be wrapped in a hardcover and bound. Heady stuff.

I had been thrill to see the printed pages. What I really wanted to see was what they had planned for the cover. I imagined many different possibilities. None of my imaginings came close to how great the cover really is. I love it. Simply love it!

Shana likes it too and that’s the most important thing. She loves the book. Her family, well, I know there are things in there that are hard for them to read, but I they appreciate that finally, her story will be told in its entirety.

Now, I wait for February when it will finally come out. Its hard to believe that I‘m done with it. In the mean time, I’m back to work on the second novel in the Master Sergeant Harper series. I found a new writing group and I know they will be helpful. More, much more on them later.

This is just NUTS!

2008-12-29T14:44:00.003-05:00

Okay, I'm dedicated to my craft and all, but this guy? This is just nuts. And has anyone ever heard of him? This video was shot in 1993 while he wrote his first novel, "Bombidiers." Ooookkkaaay. So, has anyone ever read it? I had to do a little research and found it was a black comedy about bond traders in San Francisco. Maybe he locked himself in a closet to protect himself from earthquakes.

Writing Group

2008-12-29T14:38:00.000-05:00

I’ve decided to form a writing group close to home to gain opinions and advice about my work. I find it motivating to have input from others and to see and hear how others work. Now that I’ve decided to do that, I’ve looked into different ways of going about the endeavor.

A local writers association will post the new group on their website and I think I will find members pretty quickly. The trick will be to find people that have the same level of interest that I have. I figured, anyone who was willing to meet weekly must be pretty serious about their craft, so to start out with at least, I’ll ask for weekly meetings. I’ll also limit the writing to fiction, preferably novels of any genre, but short fiction will be acceptable. I figure that will mean only folks who have been writing for a while or at least trying to write for a while will respond. Also, it will mean I’ll have a goal each week or every other week.

I’m told that folks drop out pretty quickly. I figure, if we start out with ten or twelve, we’ll whittle it down to 8 or 6 which would mean we could really spend time and attention to those that are really working on their craft.

We could agree on a set of rules for critiquing, agree on times to meet and what to do if you don’t have work that needs input. We could also have sessions that talk about publishing, how to get an agent. Maybe have talks with agents or writers online or via speaker phone.

Then the question is where to meet. The clubhouse of my apartment building will allow us to meet there. It has a kitchen and large living room area and has recently been renovated. I would have to put down a $250.00 cleaning deposit that would only be used if we didn’t keep the place clean, so I don’t think that would be a problem.

I’m excited about this and look forward to the new endeavor for the new year!

2008-12-20T09:16:00.003-05:00

I post this photo of an over dressed holiday room because I don't have a single Christmas decoration up in my apartment. Too much going on! The good news is, my offer on a townhouse was accepted. Sometime early in the new year, I'll be moving into my new home. The other good news is ... wait for it ... the book is DONE! I am sending it to the publisher today!! I can't wait to see what happens in 2009!

What I'm Thankful for - a New Home

2008-11-28T09:06:00.004-05:00

Today I establish a new home, a temporary apartment I will keep until I can close on the townhouse I found after searching and searching and searching. The temporary apartment is a cute little place filled with rental furniture. The one luxury I insisted on was a fireplace. If I'm going to be here for the next six months or so, I wanted a little bit of warmth to keep me happy.

The main thing is, my moving turmoil will slow down some and I can get back to the 2nd rewrite of the manuscript I have been hired to write. Almost a year ago, I was hired to ghostwrite the true life story of a black female soldier taken prisoner during the start of the Iraq war. For the last several months I've been listening to her story and trying to tell it the best way I could. I LOVE this book! I think it’s powerful and raw and I'm so proud of her and the story she has to tell. It’s still hard to believe that I’ve been given the opportunity to help tell her story.

I’ve been working all along, through the turmoil of this move but getting settled will help. Once I’m settled in the apartment, I will be able to concentrate on the rewrite so we can get this book to the publisher before the end of the year. If we can do that and we can get all their edits done right away, we can maybe publish by the fall of 2009. I so want that to happen. I think a lot of people will be surprised by her story and all that she survived and is still surviving.

This year, I’m thankful for this writing project, for my new apartment, for being back in the USA, for my new friend Sojue, the cutest little Siamese cat you could imagine, for being closer to my family, for the health of my family and for a new President.

I Moved

2008-10-18T22:18:00.002-04:00

I moved. Which never sounds easy, but my move was from Seoul, Korea to Annapolis, Maryland. Stress does not even begin to describe my world over the last few weeks.

Now, I’m working on establishing my new life in a new place. I go house hunting tomorrow.

The sooner I find a place and settle down, the sooner I can get started working on the edits for the book. My editor has suggested some very reasonable and doable changes and I can hardly wait to dig in and start working on them.

Actually, the fact that she read the manuscript, had suggestions for changes, is scheduling time to “work” on the pages, was a validation I never expected EVER in my lifetime to have. This is that huge NY city muckity, muck editor I talked about before. I feel like, even if she wants changes, I’ve finally been officially dubbed, a writer. I’ll be working with an editor! I’ll be working hand in hand with her to improve the manuscript. The good thing is, at this point, I have little, to no ego to be hurt by her suggestions or desires. I think this is going to be great.

But first, I have to find a place to live. At least my timing is right. It is a buyers market…

The coolest video

2008-10-03T23:05:00.005-04:00

I love this video. I've been so wrapped up in the debates and the election coverage and the financial bailout and just the news in general. I’m not sure why. Maybe because it sort of feels like I’m watching a train wreck.

If the bail out bill didn’t pass … train wreck. The whole Palin/Biden debate … possible train wreck. If we elect the wrong guy … the one just like the one we have now … train wreck! I watch and read everything I can get my hands on because it’s exciting and interesting and dangerous and more than likely, will look away right before the crash if it were to happen. There’s no question though, that these are important times for the future of our country.
That’s why I think this video is so cool. Its all about the vote.

Do I know stress?

2008-09-18T05:34:00.001-04:00

I’ve never been so nervous and stressed out in my life! In March, I was given an opportunity of a lifetime -- to write someone’s memoir FOR MONEY. Yes, cold, hard cash. The story had already been sold to a publisher, so all I had to do was write the damn thing. I jumped at the chance, especially since I was very interested in the story, the woman who went through the experience and heck, who doesn’t want to get published? Not only was it a great story to tell, it was a great publisher! I mean, who doesn’t want to have a hard cover book published by a huge New York City publisher with YOUR NAME on it??

Plus, a nice fat paycheck. The largest amount of money I’ve EVER been paid for ANYTHING, EVER. I’m talking $$$ Ben-JA-mins.
So for six months, I toiled away on this project. Mostly, it was pretty easy. It was a subject I knew a lot about, I enjoyed telling the story, it seemed to flow from my fingers.

Now I’m done.

I just sent the manuscript to the editor. Now I wait to see what she says. This high-powered, I heart NY, high-falutin editor for a big muckity-muck publisher is reading my book. She could hate it. She could LAUGH at me. She could be using the pages to line her cat’s litter box!

Or she could make all my dreams come true. You think I’m sleeping!?

In light of my present state of mind, I give you this...

SNL Gets it Right

2008-09-15T01:43:00.001-04:00

I didn't want this blog to get political but in these days, it's hard not to say SOMETHING about the election. At least we can still laugh about somethings..

Book Segregation – An Authors Civil Rights Movement

2008-09-05T18:15:00.002-04:00

My lead character is a black woman but will that mean that my book will end up hidden past the front aisles of a bookstore? Why are all books featuring someone other than a white protagonist stuck on the “Ethnic” shelves? Who decides what goes there?
I for one don’t want my books in the ethnic section. Maya Angelou and Walter Mosley get to be on the common shelves, but most others aren’t. I don’t get it. I don’t like the ethnic shelves. I say we protest. Ask your bookstore why that segregation is necessary. Who are they trying to kid?

A Good Book

2008-08-24T04:35:00.003-04:00

When I have enjoyed a book, I often go look up the website associated with it. I recently read “The Gargoyle” by Andrew Davidson, a saga about a man who had been beautiful and ugly, then learns to love when he is ugly and beautiful. It’s a great story about books and love and fire and pain. There's a lot in there about fire.

As much as I enjoyed the book, I LOVED the website. Burned by Love dot com is filled with stories of fast love and forever love and hatred and how love goes wrong. This video is just one of many on the site. I also wanted to post the story of the man who married his high school sweet heart only to find out that she was a kleptomaniac and drug addict. I fell in love with him watching him tell his story. You have to check out this site...and read the book. The Gargoyle, by Andrew Davidson. He's done a hell of a job with the marketing of his book with this website.

Agent Query dot Com

2008-08-24T04:05:00.003-04:00

I find myself repeating this website address to people all the time. For almost every question writing related I utter the address. How do you find an agent? Agentquery.com How do you write a query letter? Agentquery.com. How do you format a novel for submission? Agentquery.com.

If you are breaking into the writing world either as a fiction or non-fiction writer, the website can answer all of your quesitons. I used it when I was sending out queries to agents and I still check in with the chats and to see what's what in the writing world.

2008-08-22T22:07:00.001-04:00

Writing can be dangerous...and you gotta love the British!

Writers Conference

2008-08-22T21:52:00.001-04:00

A couple of years ago, I attend the Maryland Writers Association Conference and had a fantastic time. It was only a one day thing, but from beginning to end, it was simply a blast. I spent the entire day listening to people talk about how they write, why they write. I listened to panelists talk about what it takes to publish, what agents are looking for. I ate lunch with people just like me, who had written something but didn’t know if it was any good, didn’t know if they should even try to get it published. I learned I wasn’t alone in this strange world of writing.

Since living overseas, it’s been impossible for me to attend anything like that again. And since I now have an agent, I wasn’t sure what good would come of going to one. I’ll be moving back to the states in early October so I decided I needed to jump back into some writing networking. I’ve just signed up for a conference, this one three days long and sort of intimidating. There are tons of agents and publishers registered to attend. One of them is an editor I am working with on a non-fiction book. I want her to buy my fiction and I figured this would be a good way to finally meet her in person and try to get her to take another look at the stuff I REALLY like to write.

The conference is also holding a little contest and I’m submitting my book, “the Lethal Frame” in the novel category. I don’t think I’ll win anything, but my thinking is it wouldn’t hurt to enter since the judges will talk about what they’ve read. The contest calls for the submission of 4,000 words and since they don’t have a separate mystery category more then likely something very literary will win. Still, I figure it’s always good to have industry professional s reading your work. They will talk amongst themselves and who knows, maybe someone who knows someone, knows someone else who is looking for exactly the kind of thing I’ve written.

I added a link to the conference site here. The 18th Annual South Carolina Writers Workshop Conference is happening Oct. 24 through the 26th in Myrtle Beach, South Carolina. If nothing else, the beachside time will be great. I’ll just be getting back to the US then after a year and a half in Asia. I think it will be a great way to get back into the writing world. I can hardly wait!
Hopefully I’ll see you there…

To Agent or Not to Agent?

2008-08-13T18:59:00.001-04:00

Should you fork over a percentage of your hard earned money to someone else? Should you share the profits of your word work to someone who didn’t contribute to the writing?

And you’ll only share those profits with the person AFTER you’ve gone through all of the work to find them in the first place. Preparing query letters, researching agencies, putting together and mailing copies of your work to agencies takes time. Would you be better served putting that effort into sending your work directly to publishers instead of some middleman?

I’ve heard people complain about their agents and I suppose there are plenty of bad ones out there. All I can say is that in the two years I’ve worked with my agent, she has earned every penny.

The biggest advantage she offers is the ability to pick up the phone and have conversations with the editors I would never have access to. A manuscript I sent to publishers on my own would sit in a slush pile, maybe never making it past the mailroom. When my agent delivers the pages, I know someone who is a decision maker is reading them.

St. Martin’s Press rejected my book but it wasn’t rejected by some assistant to an assistant who stuck a form letter into an envelope having never read my words. It was a rejection written by someone who read it, made a decision about it and took the time to write a legitimate reason for the rejection and even included a line that sounded very much like praise. Somehow, getting rejections like that, from the real folks who can make decisions, let me know my work was taken seriously. The pages weren’t thrown out with the trash.

I'm baaaaaack!

2008-08-13T04:54:00.001-04:00

I should be ASHAMED of myself. I had no idea it was almost two years since I last posted to this blog. And I call myself a writer?

The truth is I have been writing -- chained to my computer actually. And for the first time, I actually got paid for it. It’s kind of a long story, and I’ll tell it here in pieces but first, I’m checking in just to say officially ….. I’m baaaaack!

My road to getting published – Should Friends and Family Read Your Writing? Part II

2006-12-30T11:34:00.000-05:00

One friend, one I was most anxious to share my accomplishment with, never read the book. Each time we talked, I held my breath…would she like it? Was she not bringing it up because she hated it? Did she think it was too stupid to comment on? After several weeks of not hearing a word from her about it, I finally lost all composure and blew up. Why hadn’t she read it? Didn’t she understand how important it was to me? She gave me several excuses…that she had been too busy, that she had started it but hadn’t had time to read it. I wonder now if she had been worried about having to be honest with me about it. What if she HAD read it and didn’t like it? What kind of position would she have been in then? How would she tell me?

Now the book has become a sensitive topic for both of us. I still don’t know if she’s read it. Now that I have an agent, and now that it seems the book could actually be published, we can’t seem to talk about it.

I never should have asked her to read it. I should have relied on my writing group, the trusted few whose work I admired, the ones who I could count on to comment and suggest in a way that didn’t make it a personal issue.

I know now who to ask to read. My sister, my writing group, my agent and that’s it.

Everyone else can wait.

My Road to Getting Published – Should Friends and Family Read Your Book?

2006-12-21T09:40:00.000-05:00

Everything I’ve read says not to ask friends and family to read your work. And as much as you read this advice, it’s still hard not to do it! You’re proud of your work and you want to share that pride with the people that mean the most to you. Sometimes, they give exactly the feedback you need, that extra enthusiastic push that keeps you working on your dream. Other times…it’s not so good.

I asked a friend of mine, who is a newspaper editor, to do me the favor of reading and editing the first draft of my book. She seemed excited and supportive of the idea, but then never read it. I never knew if she read it and hated it but didn’t have the courage to tell me she hated it, or if she simply didn’t have the time or inclination to read it. I would have been far better served to offer her money to do it, or to just hire an editor I didn’t know.

Others I asked to read, old writer friends, family members, seemed to take FOREVER to read it. They’d say they started it, and were enjoying it, but they never seemed to finish it. It made me think my ending sucked, or that I wasn’t able to maintain the interest of the reader. I made excuses for them like, it’s hard to read a huge, single-sided, double-spaced book in bed or no one wants to read an entire book on their computer screens…but I also thought, that if one of THEM had given me a book of theirs to read, I would have read it! Asking them to read and not getting a full response on the book did FAR worse for my confidence than good.

My sister, on the other hand, was fantastic help. She tore through the pages as quickly as I could send them. She gasped at the right places, gave me great advice for things to change and add, and motivated me to keep working.

But sometimes, you simply shouldn’t ever, ever, EVER ask! More on that next time…

My Road to Getting Published - The Novel Workshop

2006-12-17T10:15:00.000-05:00

I believe in the power of the workshop. The hard part is finding a group of writers you know and respect, and developing trust – trust that you will honestly comment on their work in exchange for an honest assessment of your own. If you’re lucky enough to have such a group, their help can be invaluable in pointing out the holes in your plot, the places where your characters are not acting true to form and of course, to red pen the thing to death so that stupid spelling and grammatical errors don’t get between you and a potential publisher.

I tried to find a group through the local writing association, but never did get connected with anyone. I eventually took a writing class at a community college and my group was pulled together from the students in that course.

We were a lucky group. The writers in our group are all very talented and reading their work was a joy. Because they were so talented, it was easy for me to take their wise comments and suggestions and put them to work in my book.

My group worked through email. None of us could find the time to meet and geographically we were too far apart to meet practically. Online may have provided the convenience we needed, but there were definite disadvantages to not seeing the faces of those who were giving feedback. You had to trust that the comments you were getting were honest.

There are many online workshop possibilities. Here are a couple. I haven’t tried them, but I might…

The Writers Online Workshop
http://www.writersonlineworkshops.com/index.asp

Writing 2 Sell
http://www.writing2sell.com/online.htm

My Road to Getting Published!

2006-12-15T18:04:00.000-05:00

I expect to make several posts on this subject in the coming weeks and months. Not that I KNOW I’ll be published anytime soon. One can’t know that until a deal is signed. However, I have managed to make a huge step in the right direction so I’m feeling far more confident then a few weeks ago at the prospect that some day, perhaps if I’m lucky, I will see my mystery in print.

What was the huge step?

I now have an agent! I’ve been working that into conversation when I can…my agent. My AGENT! It’s pretty darn exciting.

But I’m getting a little ahead of myself.

I first wrote a book. Sounds like a simple concept, but apparently there are folks out there who think they can sell an idea for a book. For non-fiction that may be true.

If you’re trying to sell a novel, you need to have written a novel. Until you finish step one, you’re not going to get published.

So, I wrote a book. I had many folks read the book. Some of my readers were writers, some were friends (more on that later) and some were family (also more to follow on that topic). I took much of their advice, passed on much of it and worked until the final product barely resembled the 1st draft. I’m pretty darn proud of how it turned out.

For several days, I sort of enjoyed that accomplishment. I had written a book!

Then I got to work.

BTW, if you're interested, you can read a portion of the 1st chapter of the book here: The Lethal Frame - a Mystery Chapter 1

Writing Contest...Get Published!

2006-11-14T20:56:00.000-05:00

Have you heard about this contest. Court TV is sponsoring a crime writing contest. Submit your entry and if you win, Harper Collins might publish your book.

You can't win if you don't enter.

http://getpublished.courttv.com/?link=mycrimenovel

Did He Know Then?

2006-11-09T08:48:00.000-05:00

Who is this guy? It’s Donald Rumsfeld from his days at Princeton. Did he know then that he would be at the center of such a whirlwind of debate? Did he know then that he would be the longest running Defense Secretary or that so many people would be happy to see him leave?

They say he tried to resign twice before and the President refused to accept it. Instead, Rumsfeld is invited to leave directly after an election that already had this town reeling. You can't buy a ticket to this kind of drama.

What will he do now? Retire to a life of fishing and golf? Or will he still be in the background giving “sage” advice like Jim Baker and the guy who is replacing him now…

If you didn't cast a vote in this election you missed out on being a part of something really big, really world changing. It may feel like a normal day, like everything is the same as it was, but its not. We may not know just how profound the changes are yet. Rumsfeld leaving is just the first sign that something major has taken place here. But much more will change now. Hopefully, most of what changes will be for the better.

Frame by Frame - exerpt from Chapter 2

2006-11-03T19:22:00.000-05:00

I looked up and Brigadier General Hank Paterson, the camp commander was headed toward me, his aide Major Keith Griffin in tow. I stood up and went to parade rest; my feet shoulder width apart, hands clasped behind my back at the waist, my eyes directed straight ahead. General Paterson stopped just inches from me, clearly invading my space and using his six foot three inches and 290 pound bulk to intimidate me. I wondered why he thought that was necessary.

“I’m sorry to hear about your soldier, Sergeant Harper,” he said. There were lots of people around and he used his command voice, like he wanted everyone in the room to hear, and they did. They all stopped what they were doing and watched us.

“Thank you, sir” I said.

“I considered Delbert one of my soldiers, you understand. She was your soldier but she was still under my care and part of my Army family.”

I wasn’t going to point out that he had gotten his family member’s name wrong.

“Yes, sir.” I said.

“A good leader is one who brings everyone home unharmed,” he bellowed.
So was he blaming me for this somehow?

“Yes, sir,” I repeated, hoping this wasn’t going to go on too much longer.

He put his hand on my shoulder and squeezed until it hurt. It might have looked like a comforting gesture, but it wasn’t at all. He was hurting me and I could see in his eyes that he meant to inflict pain.

“We’re going to find who did this thing, Harper. And I expect your full cooperation in this.” He kept squeezing. There was no question that something aggressive was going on here, and I had no idea what to think. I shifted my eyes quickly to Major Griffin to see if he understood what was going on but he was staring at his clipboard. I figured he was avoiding my eyes on purpose. I gritted my teeth, not wanting Paterson to know that I was about to scream in pain.

“No one wants this killer more then I do, General. No one.”

He kept the pressure on for a few seconds more, staring me down and waiting for me to blink. I didn’t. Finally he released the pressure, smiled and patted my shoulder in what I’m sure looked like a casual gesture.

“Good, Sergeant Harper. Very good.” And he looked around the room at everyone watching.

“Carry on,” he commanded and strode way, his little officer minion following behind.

I stayed at parade rest, watching him leave then released my hands from behind my back. My left shoulder was screaming, and my arm felt numb. I shook it out and rolled my shoulder and wondered what the hell that was all about.

I should have said something about his interview the next day with the Washington Post. I should have told him that by tomorrow morning the Post may have gotten the news that a soldier in the camp had been murdered and how we should handle it with the press. But my shoulder hurt too much and I was pissed that it hurt and I figured Colonel McCallen could deal with the General when he arrived, and I hoped that would be soon.

Vote to Write or Write to Vote

2006-11-02T20:55:00.000-05:00

Did John Kerry insult American Soldiers?

The hullabaloo about insults to American soldiers has two sides that will never come to an agreement. You either think he intended to insult the intellectual ability of the American soldier, or you think the opposition is using his verbal gaff to make pathetic political points.

American soldiers are dying so that Iraqi and Afghani civilians can vote. The greatest insult to American soldiers would be if Americans take that right we have grown accustomed to for granted. If the right to cast a free and fare vote is worth dying for, then each and every one of us needs to exercise the vote that is inherent in being an American citizen.

If you don’t plan to vote on Tuesday, you’re a loser. If you plan to vote the wrong way, then
you’re a loser.
What’s the right way? Well…to put it simply, MY WAY.

But seriously, it would be great if you voted my way. But, no matter how you vote, just vote.

Furry friends and inspiration

2006-10-31T21:01:00.000-05:00

Okay, so I have a soft spot for a furry animal. He looks mean and he can be if his bowl is empty, but most of the time he's just a big softy.

What he hates is to see me writing. He climbs in my lap, whines, rubs against me knocking my fingers off the keyboard. He's just a big, spoiled, knucklehead.

On the other hand, he's pretty darn cute.

Characters are people too.

2006-10-28T09:27:00.000-04:00

Chances are, if you’ve ever allowed friends or family to read your fiction, they’ve wondered if one of your characters were based on them.

I sent a close friend a copy of my novel and she immediately assumed the person who was murdered—described as a relatively empty headed, annoying person—was herself. I had based the murder victim on someone I knew, but it wasn’t my close friend and I was surprised that she would see herself in the character.

I’ve also had family members ask me, “When did that happen to you?” Of course, the event may have loosely happened to me or to someone I knew, but I’m always shocked that people, knowing they’re reading a novel, assume that I’m writing a journal rather then a complete work of fiction.

One of the novels I’m working on is about three sisters, murder and an abusive father. I have two sisters who I know will assume the characters are all about them. My father, who will never read the book unless and until it’s published, will without a doubt, assume the story is all about him. He will be furious. He will also be wrong.

Part of my enjoyment in writing is to create things that I haven’t seen, to shape a world that I can control and to meet people I don’t know. I take a little bit of this, a little bit of that and mix it together to hopefully create something enjoyable to read. Parts of me, parts of my friends, parts of the truth and parts of what never would or could happen. I use it all.

And if anyone did ask me, “Is that character me?” and it was-- I’d quickly and easily lie.

Wanna Hear the Truth?

2006-10-27T12:19:00.000-04:00

Do you just want to have your ego stroked or do you want to hear the truth? If you give someone one of your stories to read do you only want to hear that it’s great? Or do you want to know that you’ve switched POVs a zillion times, that your descriptions are cliché or that your plot is full of holes?

Criticism is not always easy to take but I’d rather hear that my plot is full of holes then to go around thinking I’ve written something brilliant when its crap. Unfortunately, most people who are willing to read your work are less likely to say they don’t like it because they don’t want to hurt your feelings. Personally, I’d rather have my feelings hurt then to not know that the work sucks. Hurt my feelings already. Tell me it’s boring. Tell me it’s unlikely. Tell me you were annoyed reading the junk.

The Lethal Frame - a Mystery Chapter 1

2006-10-27T09:29:00.000-04:00

In Bosnia, we can and will succeed because our mission is clear and limited and our troops are strong and very well prepared. But my fellow Americans, no deployment of American troops is risk free, and this one may well involve casualties. There may be accidents in the field or incidents with people who have not gn up theirive hatred. I will take every measure possible to minimize these risks, but we must be prepared for that possibility.
President Bill Clinton November 27, 1995

Looking back on it now, it’s hard to believe how long it took me to realize she was dead.

I opened the door of the trailer, kicking my boots against the outside wall trying to knock off some of the thick, gooey mud. I stepped inside and glanced to my left where her cot is tucked next to the wall. That’s when I saw her feet, my eyes drawn to her toes with the bright pink polish. I recognized the color since it was the same color on my toes, the polish I had let her borrow a few days before. You have to do something to make yourself feel like a woman when you wear combat boots everyday.

As soon as I saw her feet I got pissed off. I thought she was asleep. She knew that if I ever caught her napping in the middle of the day, she would catch hell.

“Get your ass up, Delray,” I grumbled.

I didn’t raise my voice or anything. Just said it like I meant it and assumed she would scramble up and make an excuse.

I went to the edit desk and hefted my Betacam onto the table, pushing aside the keyboard and mouse and propping the tripod against the wall. I pulled my Kevlar helmet off without undoing the chin strap and had that momentary feeling of floating that happens each time the helmet weight is removed from my head. With my right hand, I pulled the M16 from where it was slung over my back and stuck it into the weapons rack by the door. With my left hand, ripped the Velcro closure of my flak vest open and just let the damn thing slide down my arms onto the floor with a hollow thud. I felt the immediate cold shock of the air-conditioned coolness of the trailer hitting my sweat soaked BDU jacket, and I took my first unencumbered breath.
My video editing equipment and Delray’s graphics computers were the reasons we rated an air-conditioned trailer. It was one of the perks of our jobs.

By this time, with all the noise and commotion in the trailer, I figured she would have been up and working on a good story for why she had been lazing around. But when I looked toward her rack, her feet hadn’t moved. Then I was really pissed.

“Damn it, Delray. Get yer ass up!”

I took a step toward her cot and realized in an instant that she wasn’t ever getting up.

Most of her body had been hidden by the make-shift closet she had fashioned from old wooden crates. When I moved closer, I had my first look at her face. I almost didn’t recognize her. Her entire face was bloated and grayish white, except for her lips, which were blue. She didn’t look at all human, almost like a freaky mannequin with short bleached blond hair spiked wildly around her head. Her eyes bulged open and had little red dots of blood throughout the whites. She wore her PT uniform, the one we are issued for physical training sessions, a grey hooded sweatshirt jacket. and grey sweatpants. Her shower shoes, cheap black flip-flops, were kicked to the end of the cot, her towel stuck underneath her body. She lay on top of her sleeping bag but it was bunched up at the end of the cot, as if she had been kicking and fighting. Her hands were at her throat and I immediately saw the blood and flesh and gunk under her fingernails. Many of her nails were broken. She had been clawing at her throat in a desperate attempt to stop what killed her.

A yellow safety reflector belt, issued as part of our PT uniform, was knotted impossibly tight around her throat. Usually we wear the belt draped diagonally over the right shoulder and then clipped on the left side at the waist. Delray wore the belt like a tourniquet, cutting off her blood, her breath, her life.

I stood there for what seemed like hours but was probably just seconds, staring at her. Gentle rain tinkled against the roof. I heard a group of people outside, one laughing loudly and several others joining in. I wanted to shout at them to shut up, didn’t they know what had happened here? But obviously, no one knew. My pulse slammed through my veins. I must have been holding my breath, because when I finally did inhale, I got a strong whiff of urine and realized she must have pissed herself in the struggle.

That’s when it finally registered that Virginia had been murdered.