AIR FORCE BRAT

AIR FORCE BRAT
Hope Clark

AIR FORCE BRAT

By C. Hope Clark

 

Growing up on military bases in the 1960’s and 1970’s, we brats shared the bond of our fathers devoted to careers protecting democracy and world peace.  We shared the roars of B-52s on a strategic Air Command Air Force Base flight line, and the realization that at any moment, an “alert” would scramble our fathers to their positions in response to a world emergency.  We knew our Pledge of Allegiance from the time we could talk and we said it with fervor.

 

Military families were close.  We held our collective breath when orders came through for Southeast Asia assignments.  A year seemed forever for a child to live in limbo while dad did his tour and mom held the family together.  We knew many mothers struggling with the load of temporary single parent. Our family enjoyed the luxury of our father’s presence for longer than most, and feeling lucky in this regard, I became complacent in the knowledge that my father had not received such menacing orders…until 1969.  I froze when Daddy announced his orders for Danang, South Vietnam.

 

Daddy did not serve on the front line as an NCO in fuels maintenance, but his job did not remove him from harm’s way. The Viet Cong shelled bases frequently and fuel was volatile.  Vietnam’s name meant danger in any capacity at any locale. The country’s soil was contaminated with fear and instability.

 

The eldest of two sisters, I possessed a particular closeness to my dad that I did not realize, or share, until after he left.  Daddy stood tall and strong, in my eyes, as the Superman that stopped all bullets. The ache in my heart matched nothing experienced in my short teenage life, and I groped for balance and sought comfort the entire time, never finding peace.

That year was very long and particularly difficult.  Mom tried but never quite filled the void left by my Daddy. She held my hand as he stepped onto the plane to leave – her tears dropping on my fingers but no sobs. I remember her strength.

 

Like shells against our soldiers, the television bombarded us each evening on the six o’clock news.  Few households exempted the torment of knowing someone injured, traumatized or lost. Lists of casualties scrolled slowly down the television screen, and even though we knew we’d be contacted before seeing a loss broadcast to the country, we still held our breath until the alphabetical listing passed our family’s initial. Those were haunting newscasts unlike the theatrical, orchestrated displays of modern day.

 

With Daddy writing Mom daily, and my sister and I weekly, we slowly endured the chasm of time and place.  Gifts of jade, teak and bronze arrived frequently along with photos of green uniformed GI’s posing in barracks, planes and jeeps. In turn, we packaged sweets and treats for Daddy, his buddies, and Vietnamese orphans located near the base. One photo showed Daddy with a group of cohorts; one of which sported a head bandage.  For one horrific moment we envisioned rifle fire, bombs, shrapnel and grenades, until we read the caption stating he had fallen out of his bunk.

 

The year drew to a close.  Shopping for hours in pursuit of the perfect fashions, we wanted Daddy to cast his eyes on three exquisitely stunning ladies.  Mom spent an unbelievable $100 on a pantsuit, a healthy price tag in 1970.

 

A phone call.  A plane carrying troops returning from Danang crashed into the sea shortly after takeoff, but identities of the injured and dead remained unconfirmed.  Authorities said someone would be in touch as soon as possible. We waited in shock wanting the phone to ring yet dreading it, too.

I could not imagine life without my Daddy. I could not understand how a God could protect him from bullets and kill him coming home.

 

For a year he existed on another continent, but at least he lived on my world. The thought of his complete absence from my life was intolerable, and I cried like I had not allowed myself to do for a year.

 

The phone call chilled my blood but only for a moment.  The plane that crashed had preceded Daddy’s flight, and he flew en route to his girls at that very moment. The agony was over, replaced by a rushing thrill made all the more extraordinary by the scare.

 

Daddy retired at the young age of 40 with 22 years service, over half his life.  I recall the pomp and circumstance of his retirement on a breezy, warm December midday in 1974 on Charleston Air Force Base.  In dress blues under a coordinated bright blue cloudless sky, he received his commendation for military service.

 

A handsome man, tall and lean with nary a gray hair at the time, I beamed watching him march, stop, and crisply salute.  Proud not only of him, but of the loyalty, dedication, and service he represented, I thought deeply, as I am sure he did, about this closing chapter in all our lives.  Recalling the people and places, the opportunities and the experiences, the pride and responsibility, I haughtily deduced that now and evermore…I was an Air Force brat.

 

Veterans Day means much more than putting on a uniform. It’s thanks to the families that support those uniforms as well. I understand all their sacrifice, and wish all the best for the current military and their blessed families.

 

C. Hope Clark is author of The Carolina Slade Mystery Series, from beautiful Lake Murray, South Carolina. Lowcountry Bribe released February 12, with Tidewater Murder coming out in early 2013. www.chopeclark.com

I ALWAYS VOTE

I ALWAYS VOTE
Veteran
Cheryl Reavis

I ALWAYS VOTE

BY CHERYL REAVIS

This is a photograph of my mother, my aunt, and my two cousins, once removed. It was taken one Sunday afternoon during the early days of World War II.

 

The young man (my cousin) was home on leave. He was in the navy, and I believe it was his last chance to see everyone before he “shipped out.”

 

This was “before my time,” but I’m still struck by the emotions I sense whenever I look at the photograph. Part of it has to do with the way my mother and her sister and cousin are standing, as if they are trying to shield him from things to come, and part of it has to do with my mother’s sad face.

 

He returned from the War safely. His brother, who was also there that Sunday but not in this photograph, did not. People in the family have told me that his mother believed he was incapable of taking the life of another human being, under any circumstances, and that he knew, in the way soldiers sometimes do, that he would not return.

 

This is my own personal connection to Veterans Day, and it’s a big part of the reason why I always, always vote.

 

–Cheryl Reavis

PLAYING DRESS-UP

PLAYING DRESS-UP
Me as the Tenth Doctor in his brown suit.
Me (next to the guy in the middle) as Kahlan Amnell, along with the rest of the Legend of the Seeker group in 2010
Me as the Tenth Doctor in his blue suit taking on a Weeping Angel
Time Lords from Doctor Who.
Trish Milburn

 

 

PLAYING DRESS-UP

By Trish Milburn

 

Little girls often like playing dress-up, and I was no exception even though I was a tomboy. And here’s the thing – I still like playing dress-up, only now it’s called cosplay (costume play). I really only get to do this once a year, at the huge Dragon*Con conference in Atlanta every Labor Day weekend, but it’s a load of fun when I do. Imagine about 40,000-50,000 people milling around downtown Atlanta, a great many of them in costume.

 

Time Lords from Doctor Who.

To date, I’ve dressed up as Alice Cullen from the Twilight series, Kahlan Amnell from Legend of the Seeker, a waitress from True Blood’s Merlotte’s and the Tenth Doctor from Doctor Who. And I’m already spinning ideas in my head of what I want to dress up as next year. It’s great fun meeting up with other people who are dressed as characters from the same fan universes. And that’s what it boils down to – we’re celebrating characters we love, shows and writing that have captured our imaginations. That’s no surprise for a writer who immerses herself in characters and writing on a daily basis.

 

Me as the Tenth Doctor in his blue suit taking on a Weeping Angel.

This year, I was all about Doctor Who since I had just raced through watching all of the episodes from six seasons of the rebooted show. Suddenly, as my friend Lara told me I would, an entirely different slice of Dragon*Con opened up to me. Because of my recent viewing and tremendous love for the show, I was able to pick out other Who-inspired costumes, even ones from secondary characters. It’s no surprise to see a zillion Tenth and Eleventh Doctors, and even a couple of Ninth and previous incarnations, but it’s extra exciting when you see costumes depicting the Time Lords or Cassandra, the last human.

 

Me (next to the guy in the middle) as Kahlan Amnell, along with the rest of the Legend of the Seeker group in 2010.

That’s what I want to do for next year, come up with a Who costume that anyone would think is cool but only other Whovians will truly get. And hopefully I’ll be at my goal weight by then and perhaps be able to pull off a Selene from Underworld costume. I already have the totally awesome boots.

 

 

 

 

 

Me as the Tenth Doctor in his brown suit.

 

With Halloween just around the corner, lots of people will be attending Halloween parties or dressing up to greet trick-or-treaters. Are you one of them? If so, what are you dressing as? And would you ever consider cosplay? If so, what fictional characters would you want to inhabit?

 

 

 

 

 

 Check out The Coven Series by Trish Milburn featured in USA Today!

http://www.usatoday.com/story/happyeverafter/2012/10/24/recommended-ya-assassins-curse-guardian-the-coven-series/1656159/

 

YOU GOT IT WHERE?

YOU GOT IT WHERE?
Trish Jensen
For a Good Time Call 200x300x72

YOU GOT IT WHERE?

 By Trish Jensen

 

One of the many groaner questions asked of authors (or at least this author) is the ever present, “Where do you get your ideas?” Many of my author friends have had fun making up comebacks to that question, almost none of which are printable. But a couple that can be printed are, “From that guy from Mars, whenever I put on my foil hat.” Or, “From my dog. He’s got such an imagination.”

But the truth is, we do get our ideas from everywhere. And it’s hard to answer, “Everywhere.”

For example, I received the inspiration for Against His Will from my bud and critique partner, who handed me a newspaper piece about a dog spa. She said, “You’re an animal lover. This is right up your alley.” And she was right. I had a ball writing that book.

My next book out from Bell Bridge is For A Good Time, Call… And once again my inspiration came from a critique partner, who came breezing in holding out a dollar bill and saying, “Look what I got from the gas station!” I took one look at it and said, “Dibs on that for a book!”

Her twenty dollar bill didn’t have a phone number on it, but it had a message to some guy. Apparently the guy wasn’t interested in responding to her message, as he used the money to buy gas. But it most definitely got my mental juices flowing. The true “what if?”

And that’s where For A Good Time, Call… was truly born.

What if a man and woman met through a message on a twenty dollar bill? What if she called him, they met, and during the meeting to exchange money he realizes she’s going to pitch her ad campaign the next day to him? And he can’t wait for that, because she already drives him crazy, and he wants to fire her on the spot? And then she tells him off at the meeting, calling him an idiot?

Disaster, yes? Oh, yes. But she drives him so crazy, he won’t let her go.

So there you have it. A friend walking in with a dollar bill, and it set my synapses on fire. And thus, a book was born.

And that is where I got the idea. And I love my friend for that day.

Look for Trish Jensens’ FOR A GOOD TIME CALL in stores late October 2012!

 

 

 

 

 

THE PLEASURE, PAIN, AND PROCESS OF AUDIOBOOK NARRATION

THE PLEASURE, PAIN, AND PROCESS OF AUDIOBOOK NARRATION
jane-singer

The Pleasure, Pain and Process of Audiobook Narration

By Jane Singer

 

When Deb Smith and Deb Dixon asked if I’d be interested in producing and narrating an audiobook of Booth’s Sister, I jumped at the chance. It was my first novel and in many ways, the work of my heart. And as a professional actor with years of experience as a voiceover artist I thought narrating my novel would be yes, a challenge, but not terribly hard. Or so I thought. Turns out it was difficult, emotionally and physically exhausting but ultimately—with a bit of a brag here— I think it is the best work I’ve ever done.

 

John Wilkes Booth’s sister Asia spoke in the first person, telling the ragged, tragic story of a beloved brother who changed history with a single gunshot. In gasps and stutters, off-tune harmonies, snippets of Shakespeare and reveries, she tumbles through memories of a childhood of madness, betrayal and fierce love. Now I was to give her a voice, take her from the page to the ear. And produce, not just narrate. And be objective! I read the novel aloud over and over, trying to decide how much I should change my voice to be the numerous characters that people the book. Should I perform the characters in a completely different voice? Or would it be better to stay with Asia and let her “do” the characters? Finally, just before I went in for my first three-hour session, I made a decision. Asia would tell the reader/listener a story, a sister’s tale in her voice —mine really with a few tweaks—and become the various characters with some differentiation but without too much exaggeration.

 

Once I began to record, it felt right, really right. The sound engineer agreed, gave feedback, but really encouraged me to soar. “You are producing this,” he said, “there are no wrong choices. If you make a mistake, just stop and go back a few words.” We listened to playbacks of the first chapter over and over.  It sounded good, truthful, and emotionally raw when it needed to be. I scheduled six more sessions, each one two to three hours, drank a lot of tea with honey before opening my mouth and kept telling myself I was on the right track. “You are the producer,” kept ringing in my ears.

 

Producing an audiobook means you are responsible for the whole package from laying down voice tracks—chapter after chapter—resulting in a final up-loadable product. I had two choices: record the book myself, or go to a studio and have sound engineers record, edit and master

A bit about these terms:

 

Recording? Yes, reading pages into a microphone in a soundproof setting. Kind of like talking to yourself, except you are talking to your reader.

 

Editing? Listening hard to what you’ve done, starting again if you make mistakes, taking out extra breaths, strange noises (stomach growling comes to mind), and ultimately having clean take after clean take.

 

Mastering? Well, this step is huge. Making sure sound levels are right and everything flows and matches.  If you have to yell, cry or whisper (I did all of that)  you don’t want the listener to be shocked, stunned, unable to hear or turned off.

 

I’m sure that narrators with far more technical prowess than mine can do just fine. But even with my super-sensitive home microphone and a trained voice, I did not feel qualified to produce a product that would satisfy me, and my listeners. Because in my profession I rely on booth directors to record a perfect sound quality for auditions and give strong, honest, objective feedback, I decided to use a studio here in Los Angeles and pay an hourly rate for their time and expertise. I made an investment in myself as an author, and an artist.

 

If you are voicing someone else’s book and do not have to micro-manage the other details or fall in love with your own prose ( a pitfall, a blessing or a curse in my case)  the challenge is there, but because the words are not yours, I would imagine, and have heard, the pressure is less.

 

I hope Asia moves you. If so, we have succeeded.

 

http://www.audible.com/pd/ref=sr_1_1?asin=B0098OOIP2&qid=1349905807&sr=1-1

 

 

AND SO I DID

AND SO I DID
Katie Crawford

AND SO I DID  by Katherine Scott Crawford

Actress. Army Airborne Ranger. Rock star. Writer.

 

These were the career paths I debated as a 10 year-old tomboy growing up     in the South Carolina Upcountry.  And though it took me until age 16 to shake the acting bug, it was really at 10—after one summer gulping down the entire Anne of Green Gables series by L.M. Montgomery, and then precociously plowing through Pat Conroy’s The Prince of Tides—that I knew, beyond all else: I wanted to write.

 

There was no clap of thunder, no voice from above. The realization was a warmth in the pit of my belly, spreading out through my appendages—scraped knees and gangly arms, even into the white-blonde ends of my pig-tails. I think I’d known it all along.

 

I completed my first novel in a spiral notebook beneath my desk in 9th grade Biology. As an undergraduate English major at Clemson University, I started, but never finished, several others, and God bless my roommates for reading them. Before graduating, I’d tacked on a double major (Speech & Communications Studies), and come close to a third in History. These very different academic pursuits satisfied the distinct aspects of my personality—the introverted writer, and the extroverted girl who knew how to have a really, really good time.

 

So many things have shaped who I am as a writer, but none quite so much as the place where I grew up. The South Carolina Upcountry is a land of rolling foothills and blue mountains, of giant man-made lakes and wildwater rivers. The further you venture west, toward the Blue Ridge, the easier it is to look out over forest and mountain and think on just how close you are to the wild.

 

This was my playground. My family owns a lake house in Oconee County, South Carolina, situated on a lake that bumps right up to the Sumter National Forest. Every nearby mountain top, stream and road has a Cherokee Indian name. I grew up camping, hiking and river paddling throughout the ancient boundaries of the Cherokee nation, completely entranced by its beauty and seemingly lost history. I knew, one day, I’d write about it.

 

After stints as a camp counselor, outdoor/ experiential educator, backpacking guide, and newspaper reporter, I headed to the coast to earn a Master’s degree in English from a joint program between the College of Charleston and The Citadel. I lived on a sea island, studied in Italy, and raised a black lab puppy who’s still one of the great loves of my life. But something in the mountains called me back.

 

I was a college English instructor on a newlywed budget when the spark of my novel, Keowee Valley, came to me. I’d just forked over money my husband and I didn’t really have to attend a writers’ conference, and was debating over which of my many unfinished novel excerpts I’d send in to be critiqued. Sitting at my desk with the conference packet in hand, I couldn’t shake from my mind the image of a young woman in 18th century dress, looking out over the land where my family’s lake house sits now. Only there was no lake, just an untouched river valley, with mountains ringing it like a great blue crown. Her story, the land’s story: That was what I really wanted to write about, had always wanted to write about.

 

And so I did.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

WRITING YOUR PASSION

WRITING YOUR PASSION

WRITING YOUR PASSION

by Trish Jensen

 

In previous blogs I’ve argued for writing what you don’t know and writing what you know. Here’s a slightly different angle: writing your passion.

Here’s what I mean. Several years ago my long-time friend and critique partner watched me get down on the floor and lavish her new puppy with love. She was already well aware that I’m a fanatical animal lover, to the extent that at one point that when my then significant other said we couldn’t afford all of the bird feed I had on the grocery list, I told him, “Fine, don’t buy my milk, then, and use it to buy the bird feed.” I’m a milk guzzler. Alone I go through at least two gallons a week. So giving up milk in favor of watching the birds happily munch sunflower seed in my back yard will give you a hint of the lengths I’ll go to for any animals, including my spoiled brat black lab Cassie, whose weekly grocery bill easily doubles mine.

But getting back to the point, Sandra was watching me lavish love on her dog when she said, “You need to write a dog book.”

“Huh?”

“You need to write a book where the hero or heroine is involved with animals. A vet, a dog sitter, whatever. In fact, I read this article the other day about a dog spa.”

I instantly perked up. And my mind went to work. And Against His Will was born. A hardened, leery FBI guy inherits his aunt’s stubborn English Bulldog and is forced according to the terms of the will to take the brat mutt with an attitude to a dog spa run by, of all things, a certified Animal Psychologist.

He’s so sure it’s a scam, and that this woman has been scamming his beloved aunt for years that he’s actually looking forward to it, so he can expose this quack and shut her operation down for good. After all, that’s what he does. And what she deserves.

But when he gets there, his world is turned upside down, which kind of happens to be my modus operandi when it comes to my heroes. And then her world is turned upside down when his dangerous world intrudes on the serenity of hers.

The point being, though, is that Sandra hit it on the head by telling me to write my passion. Mine happens to be animals. There are tons of books about knitting (I tried that, I really did, but couldn’t even finish a scarf without dropping stitches at least once every couple of rows), music, painting, sailing, whatever. You can always tell when it’s an author’s passion.

So I write what I don’t know, write what I know, and write what I’m passionate about. Next time? Writing what I do and don’t know and what I’m passionate about all at once. Being Southern.  : )

MUSIC—DOES IT INSPIRE YOU?

MUSIC—DOES IT INSPIRE YOU?

Music—Does It Inspire You?
By Lindi Peterson

Music has always been a huge part of my life. Just like I can’t remember a time when I haven’t been reading a book, I can’t remember a time when I haven’t had a favorite song. Over the years I’ve listened to a wide variety of music. There are so many talented artists in every genre.

Music evokes a lot of emotion. A certain song can bring back memories, good or bad. There are certain songs I relate to certain events. When I hear the song, I Will Survive, I think of my step-daughter  Lisa’s wedding. All the ladies were in a circle and we would take turns dancing in the middle. My son, who was about 13 at the time, snuck in and had us all clapping and laughing.  Good memories.

Whenever I hear the song Babe, by Styx, I always remember crying in my family room and explaining to my grandma, who was just visiting from out of state, about how my boyfriend and I had broken up and hearing that song reminded me of him.

I wonder what Grandma was thinking?

Speaking of those angsty teenage years, my favorite band was The Rolling Stones.

Born in 1961, I’ve been listening to them since I was in elementary school. I never saw them in concert until the 90’s when my husband bought tickets to their show. I love me some Mick Jagger. (No comments on that statement please!! I know he’s not for everybody, but there’s something about him that makes me smile! And I know you have a favorite, too!)

Fast  forward  a lot of years. I am now a mom, grandma, (Gigi) and a novelist. And I still love my music.

When I start writing a novel I usually have a ‘novel’ song. A song that either inspires me, or has the words that encompasses  what my novel is about. I print the words out to the song and tack them to my bulletin board above my computer along with the visual images of my characters that I’ve found in magazines.

Here is a link to the song that inspired my June release, Summer’s Song.

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=wuAGfImZAq0

There is also a song in my book Summer’s Song, which I wrote.  A friend of mine put music to it and we sing it in church sometimes.  We made a video, but it’s not uploaded to You Tube yet. I can’t wait to see it.

Does music inspire you? If so, what’s your favorite now?

THAT GUY IN THE NEW BOOK IS ME

THAT GUY IN THE NEW BOOK IS ME

THAT GUY IN THE NEW BOOK IS ME
Kathleen Eagle

My standard answer—it’s usually to one of my brothers-in-law—is if you say so.  And very often they do say so, which means I’ve succeeded.  I’ve created a character readers not only can but willingly do identify with, a character that is both universal in his humanity and as individual as any of my brothers-in-law.  And, believe me, my dear brothers are individuals.  I’m so glad we have a huge Eagle family because they are some of my most loyal readers.  And, yes, I do put them in my books.  Not the whole person, of course, but bits and pieces.  A quip here, a trait there.  The more books I write, the more likely it becomes that anyone I’ve ever known can find a bit of himself somewhere on those pages.

That’s where good characters come from.  They don’t come third-hand from Hollywood.  They don’t come floating through the office ready to be plucked out of thin air and plugged into a plot.  They come from a writer’s life, from people we’ve known.  We chop them up and make fiction salad.  Maybe not by design—probably more by instinct—but that’s how it works.  When a character is fully fleshed out, when the book is finished and I’m working on some stage of edits, that’s when I’ll fully realize where details of character might have come from.

YOU NEVER CAN TELL is about an American Indian activist and a journalist who wants to tell his story.  Having lived on the reservation and worked as a teacher during the heyday of the American Indian Movement, I’ve known lots of AIM members.  Hero Kole Kills Crow’s back story was inspired by a couple of people—one idealistic, another reckless—while his personality grew from the seeds planted by his fictitious but reality-based back story and fertilized by those bits and pieces I was talking about, bits that come from time well spent with interesting people.  The idea for the situation Kole finds himself in—he’s hiding out while his former rebel sidekick has made himself a career in Hollywood—has roots in reality, “ripped from the headlines,” as they say.  That’s a lot of juicy stuff to be mixed into the story pot, and that’s only one character.

Now I add the heroine, the successful journalist who’s a fish out of water when she barges into Kole’s territory.  She’s the idealist who’s just as reckless as Kole used to be.  She’s an outsider and a true believer and she serves as a catalyst.  I know her pretty well.  I like her, and I can identify with her.  Details of her character come from a variety of women I’ve known along with one I’ve seen in the mirror.  Not that any of them ever found herself in Heather’s situation, but a part of each of them could have and might still.  And really, it wouldn’t matter whether was a lady’s maid or a mermaid, Heather Reardon is a woman with whom readers willingly travel.  She’s a lot like us and then some.  We’re apt to say, “That woman could be me.”  And she’ll take us on an exhilarating journey.

Could our characters be related to real people?  You never can tell.

BOOTS ON THE GROUND

BOOTS ON THE GROUND

Boots on the Ground

By Donnell Ann Bell

During the fourth of July, we celebrate the brave men and women who have fought to make us free, and on this special day I without exception salute them as well.

But something’s going on in my community that makes me realize heroes (and heroines) exist all around us.  I’m from Colorado Springs and our recent Waldo Canyon wild fire recently made me look at boots on the ground in a whole new way.

On Friday, June 22, 2012, residents around Waldo Canyon, a popular hiking trail, complained of smelling smoke.  By Saturday, they were voicing that worry long and loud, and living in an area starved of rain, it wasn’t long until we no longer inhaled the smoke but saw the flames leaping into the sky at a starting point of approximately 4,300 acres.

I’ve participated in the Citizens Academy and volunteered for the sheriff’s office, so I had an idea of the emergency preparedness these people have put into effect since 9/11.  I also knew about all the “dress rehearsals” and evacuation plans they’ve gone through, e.g. City and County government, hospitals, Department of Transportation, Utilities, Colorado Springs Police Department, El Paso County Sheriff’s Office, Forest Service, FEMA—the members in charge to coin a cliché were determined to be a well-oiled machine in both action and communication.

They had an opportunity to prove it and have.

Colorado has notorious winds.  They can go anywhere from five to ten miles an hour to sixty-five in a matter of seconds, and on the night of June 26, the unthinkable happened.  Aided by these terrible winds, the fire cascaded down a mountain side into our residential area of Mountain Shadows.  Though police made a herculean effort to evacuate residents, 347 homes were lost and two people died.   We’re not out of danger yet.  As I write this the fire is 55 percent contained.

Through it all, our firefighters and law enforcement are taking a never say die attitude, so is our city and so is our country.  Firefighters have come from other states to battle this beast—last count 1,200 were fighting this blaze.  Last Friday, President Obama came to witness it firsthand and to declare our area a disaster area.

Yes, we’ve suffered devastation, but we’ve also come to know our city and county is in competent hands.  The Incident Commanders in their response to the public, their firm compassion and their strategy to take this thing out has been nothing short of daunting.  Our news media has been on air 24/7, an exhausting task, to keep people up to date.  Our charitable organizations, The Red Cross, the United Way, Care & Share, Catholic Charities, the Human Society, the El Pomar Foundation, the list goes on.  If you want a lesson in teamwork and commitment, the people who are battling the Waldo Canyon Fire should be a recommended study.

It warms my heart to see people standing on the sidewalks during firefighters’ shift changes to say thank you.  These people are literally battling hell to keep us safe.

Some have asked me if I plan ever to write a novel about a firefighter.  Right now the idea is too raw to consider, and I would be hard pressed to single out any one of them as my protagonist.  I’m surrounded by heroes in my community.  What’s more, I have a new respect for the term, “boots on the ground.”