Waiting, resistance and .... and distraction

I am waiting for Michelle to return from NZ with some new source material for me. I have run out of "memories"............kind of. Having spoken to her several times I think that some of the info she is bringing back will triggar new memories (well and also she is bringing back the letters we sent to one another..........that will trigger lots of memories!). I am also waiting to hear from publishers............which is a strange feeling as I haven't stopped writing but would like some certainty or something back to get an idea how the book might (or might not) be recieved.
I am resisting contacting "Wendy", who was the British Sergeant I shared a room with in Bosnia. I think I have a possible home address for her........so have done some research and yet..........resisting. I am not sure why.........I can't/won't tell all I could about our time in Bosnia together if I can't contact her.........then if I do does it matter if she says yes or no - is that why I am resisting? Hmmm actually, no, I don't think it does matter. I don't expect her to be hostile (I have been wrong about these things before).......I did visit her in the UK after Bosnia so know she isn't a phycho...........I don't know - damn it I should just get out of bed early enough to try the telephone number I have or write the letter.......alright alright (see this is what resistance sounds like in my head). I will try calling this weekend - what's the worst that can happen!
Distraction is doing a thousand other things, not writing, not calling, surfing the net, blogging - it's all just a product of my being at some "tipping point" in all aspects of my life..........

Overwhelmed?

Someone the other day told me they would be "overwhelmed" to write a book. I thought about it. I'm not. Writing the book isn't overwhelming, it's busting to get out of me. Sometimes I feel overwhelmed by:
- the thought of not getting it published. It's not a diary, it's a book, I want people to read it, I need people to read it..........I want them to read it.....even if they hate it and disagree
- the boldness of the choice to write it and what it has meant for my life and lifestyle. Most of the time it shocks me how happy I am to be writing this book. Other times it scares me. In the strictest sense of the word I am doing it alone. I feel the quiet support of my family (this matters to me), the genuine support of my friends and, some days, the enthusiasm and excitement of strangers whom I happen to tell. But only I write the book, it comes from me.
- what happens next? Life after the book. This taps at the back of my mind. I have nine draft chapters; more than most would expect. I can smell it if not yet see the finish line and there is nothing but haze on the horizon. I can committ to tomorrow, next week, maybe next month....I don't know. If I am asked for more I will simply say no - at least I have gained the courage to just say "I don't know where I will be".
A year and more of uncertainty was preceded by three and a half years of certainty........although now I recognise that time was no less certain than what I am doing now - it was just framed differently, packaged in a way that had me not see the uncertainty of it and that I created and generated alot of the uncertainty, as I do today. Staying still, it scares me......much much more than I really understood. What I am doing now is more honest, more real, no pretense and no facade. I toy with future possibilities; it's a privillege and a pain. The choices are all mine.
I am less overwhelmed and occassionally disturbed as I watch my bank balance go down, and feel my ego stay static - writing a book that is to be published is about deferred gratification - I'm good at that. Risk and reward - no easy life for me.
I wander what happens tomorrow?

Biography vs history

As much as I am enjoying telling my story the book isn't all about me. As I've progressed in my writing and thinking I've focused on the other side of the story. Well really it is the very foundation of the story and that is the history of the conflict in Bosnia. Politically I've taken a stand that some things must be told in the book to give everyone a broader perspective and remind people about some of the things that occured. I traverse ethnic cleansing, rape as a war crime.......how the UNs idea of "Safe Areas" failed to save 8000 Bosnians in Srebrenica. It's not preachy nor are these passages long. Some are told in the context of things I saw post the events themselves, others based on things I heard and still others based on things that emerged post the war. They are designed as simple statements of fact and, I think, to focus solely on my narrow view of the world would be overly self indulgent and downright dispectful. I've learnt so much more about the conflict through writing the book than I actually knew at the time. As I've researched some of the stories behind the stories I heard while there I've gained a richer insight and an even sader perspective on it all. It's strangely rewarding though to wade through some of the complexities and be invited to boil them down, while determined to keep the readers attention.

Bridging

I'm emmersed in the bridging chapters at the moment. They are the ones that have me complete pre.deployment training, travel to Croatia and then into central Bosnia. They are a challenge because they set the scene for my experiences in Bosnia. At best they will have people appreciate or understand how I was while there - the choices I made, good and bad. They also begin the process of establishing how I managed my emotional self. I didn't mean it to be that way but my voice in the book reinforces a theme. I won't share what I think it is, readers can and will decide in the end. But there is a thread, sometimes it is thick and very tangible, other times it is fine and delicate.........but it's there.

At a basic level these chapters provide some of the "facts" of the deployment, where we were, what we were to do, the brief history of the conflict itself. It's actually quite complex to write these things simply. But it's important. There are some historical facts that, I believe, should inform any discussion of the Bosnian war; I will explain rape as a war crime and ethnic cleansing as an action..........without losing the reader..........it's ambitious, I want and need to do it well. I am glad to have the intellect, commitment and political drivers of my ghost editor - she won't let me tell half a story nor tell any of it badly.

A fools errand

As a subtext to writing the book I have been trying to "discover" if I am a writer. In much the same way I don't think carrying a rifle and wearing a uniform makes a soldier I don't think writing one book makes you a writer - although I will happily claim the title of "published author" if it is offered. That aside I've been reading the blogs of "writers". Those who claim the title of writer without hesitation. I found one - no I'm not sending you there, the content may not be to everyone's taste - who says that when she is being a writer the words pour out of her, in a torrent, without hesitation. On the flip side she has days where she wanders around the house idylly picking up things, reading randomly, unable to settle to the task. These things are true for me. Her personal view was that if writing is an agony and always a struggle then you should give it up...........I'm not so sure that is fair but I think I understood her point.
I've never read Virginia Woolf's "A Room of One's Own" but have shamelessly referenced the title in other places. I am reading it now, or at the very least I have started reading it. I am interested, her premise seems to be (and it is an historical text) that woman can only write if they have a personal space to do it, of course the counter (not mine but offered in the text) is that this would mean only woman of independent means can write as the "poor" or working class woman, who had to work, were unable to stop and have a room of their own.
Combined perhaps that is why, in modern day times, we still have so few service woman's stories - there is no time to stop and tell the story, having the room is irrelevant if you have no time to use it..........

The day of reckoning

I've been given the nod........it's time to throw the dice and discover if anyone will publish this book. Draft chapters to be sent by the end of the week, several more to be withheld. It's a winner or a loser, to be published or not. More may be required to convince. I'm ready - complete defeat, I hope not............for the first time NZAlien and "This must be hard for you ma'am" find a meeting ground. Let's hope or believe both will briefly merge. I seldom accept defeat in the first round....unless I see it as something not worth fighting for. Games on.

Writing about War is intense

I have now well and truly landed in the war. As I am writing I am researching more and more about the conflict itself. There was so much I didn't know about the war and so much I want to say about it in the book. Some moments of history are well know (Mostar) and some are not. Writing about it expands my mind and senses hugely. It is as if I can see it all again (and I haven't yet got any of my photos from NZ). It brings me to life in a strangely disturbing way. Stories I've never told are pouring out of me. I was reading a writers blog the other day - she said you should only be a writer if, when the moment is right, you sit at your computer and the story literally flies out of you..........that is what happens for me......other times, as she said, you wander around the house, lifting things up, reading random things, surf the net and the like........waiting for the story to arrive. She is a fiction writer but the principles seem the same. Or maybe it is just that this is the story I am supposed to tell so it is pouring out of me.
On days like today, when I stop writing, I have to bring myself back to "this world", shake the images of the past and the wave of different feelings, thoughts and emotions it brings to me. It is the privillege I have - my life is my own, no demands of a daily job (although some small fears about the future), friends far from me so few immediate interactions (although new ones emerging slowly changing the flow of my daily life) and the quiet easy peace of my home that is, in the end, the perfect "Room of one's own".

Girls need not apply

I went out of town for a few days to a job interview and since coming back have been in a bit of a fug. To help shove me along I went back to reading Antony Loyds book. He's quite "poetic" in some ways around how he expresses himself. Drives me a bit nuts when I'm reading it but every now and then he hits the mark - describing some feeling he had. Particularly around being isolated and how he felt as an observer of the war. Anyway it shoved me along quite unexpectedly. I've been writing about the lead up to deploying. I really had forgotten some of the subtle and not so subtle barriers that were put in front of me. I really really hated the pre.deployment phase it really was one of the worst times of my life, in fact I am tempted to say it was the worst time of my life. And that's saying something - my little senstive self has had some very unpleasant times! If there is any point in writing the book that prompts a quiet fury in me it is here. Some senior officers were just bastards (none of whom were actually deploying). I think I'll write the quietly furious version of this chapter and see how it turns out. Well it's not like writing is that contrived. It really does just pour out of me unbidden and without effort on those days it's meant to.

It's been a while

It is true I've been distracted by other parts of life. Or at least trying to create one outside of writing the book.....but that's not all. I've been stuck on exactly how to talk about Bosnia. I have lots of snippits of stories but have been struggling to bring them together. Then I read Anthony Loyds book "My War Gone By, I Miss It So". Anthony was a journalist when I was in Bosnia and features in one of my "tales". His book talks about his time in Bosnia et al. Reading his book cracked open the egg. His stories brought memories flooding back and, importantly, reminded me of some stories I had missed. Incidents that were minor in his world are big in mine - largely because he has much bigger stories to tell, being in the war at its height and, importantly based in the area we ended up in. I've just written a whole chapter prompted by these memories. It seems to be how it works......nothing, bored, think there's nothing more to say.......wham prompted to new insights and reminded that context is all. It's not just about me it's also about the war itself. Today is a good day to be a writer.

Yes it is hard....

There are days when the words just flow. Stories coming flooding out of me, funny and sad. These days I love and when I read back on what I have written I feel good. This week has brought two big and unexpected things. Firstly I have been talking to a Bosnian woman. I have heard and learnt more about her experience of the war (among other things). She was in the US at the time but has since spent time back home. She hated the peacekeepers - I can understand why and we knew we were far from loved by everyone. It's been good to chat with her.
I am not sure if it will go in the book exactly as it is written yet but I have also written about Michelle and I breaking up (this process started while I was still in Bosnia). It made me cry - alot. While we've long ago mended those bridges writing about it had me so vividly recall how I felt at the time and how I destroyed that relationship. It also had me realise that I have never forgiven myself for the way I behaved. Nothing she or anyone else can say will change this -sometimes we just get to live with the past - this is one of those times. If anyone is concerned Michelle is heavily involved in writing the book (not actually writing it but she is my ghost editor). While it seems so very personal our story is an important part of the book and she will have read everything I say. Autobiography is both self indugent and cathartic. I am, surprisingly for me, very up for the whole emotional journey.

Details details details

In the absence of the background material I need I had thought I was all but finished writing up the "stories" - mad, sad, bad, funny - or at least the ones I could remember. Nada, that is clearly not how biography works. Ticking in the back of my mind was a comment made several weeks ago about how people, especially women, will be interested in the detail. What were the bathroom facilities like, how did you get tampons, shampoo, how did you wash your clothes? That is what I have been writing about today. There were very good reasons why our uniforms went from bright, fresh green to a dull, dusty grey. There are very good reasons why,when it comes to bathrooms, I have an extremely high tolerance for filth - in all its forms. Procuring tampons and shampoo is less mysterious. Sitting in my nice tidy room, clean clothes and a functioning bathroom I am writing about what it is like not to have those niceties. In these moments I can smell and taste it, sometimes, when I am deeply emersed in it I can feel the grime in my pores. Reading some of the Gulf War and Iraq bios it is those moments I really relate to - they are the hidden deprivations, the things that have us awed when we return to the real world. Now, suddenly, I am "us" - these are the things we have in common, regardless of gender or sexuality.

A room of one's own

This entire post has been prompted by a conversation with a near stranger who, by the end of the conversation, no longer felt like one. Her simple inquiry was "where do I write" prompting me to reflect on being right here. Variously known as "A Writers Den" or "El Cheapo Accommodation in Santa Cruz", depending on how romantic you want to be about it all. Because I have long ago accepted that I am right where I am supposed to be I can also appreciate that hanging on my walls is the very same art that hung in my home from 1993 to 1995. The art belongs to my first girlfriend who was with me when I was sent to Bosnia and, in a strange twist, I am now storing it for her! It was also through her that I found a home from which to write. For now it is in everyway perfect. When it is no longer what I need I will leave.
I've also been in touch again with one of my old Officer Cadet classmates - they are making a DVD of the 20th reunion (held last year) and including photos from our time at OCS. Having opened the door the past rushes in and prompts me to continue the path I have chosen.
At every turn the world feels right and ripe to be whatever I choose. My ambitions are twofold but, at this minute, the priority is to write "the" book and I am.

Life gets in the way

I haven't written for the last nine days as I was too busy celebrating a friend getting her phd, so today I have spent most of the day reading through what I have written. It's a good process. Best of all I am reasonably happy with two of the chapters I had been working hard on before the celebrations began. It makes me nervous when I haven't written for a while. You lose focus and your stream of thought - your voice disappears and it takes time to get it back. Next month I am planning to get some chapters to the publishers so really need to get my focus back. I am also going to get some of the background material I need from NZ as my memory is fading. It's easy to remember the big stories (you know, funny, sad, bad, mad) but not so easy to get the dates and times right and I know there are some things I have forgotten..........

Happier times

Okay this is chirpier. I have remodelled an entire chapter, it didn't work and now I think it does! Simple simple simple - it pays to remind myself. To help keep me on track there are two things I have been doing. One, I have a notebook, everytime a forgotten story or idea pops into my head I write it down. It is proving to be a great resource for story telling. The other thing I do is read other women's autobiographies. I've just finished "Love my rifle more than you". It's very different from the last biography I read, which was written from the perspective of an officer. Kayla (the author), who ultimately becomes a sergeant, gives a lot of insight into what life was like in Iraq but what really gets in the way is that it isn't very well written. She leaves us hanging in places.......I want to know about what she thought and felt. Still it's worth a read and gave me new fodder for my own blockbuster! Oh and I reserve being too critical - hers has been published.

The past and the future

Today I cried. I was writing and momentarily transported back in time. Autobiography is a very personal process. It’s not enough to simply chronicle the journey, it’s not even enough to tell a story; it must be told in a particular way and it must be told honestly, with feeling. I cried because I was telling the story of coming home, how afraid I had been to leave a place I knew to return to place I didn’t. In the simple telling of the story I was transported back in time and feeling. It also grounded me in the present. Right now, today, I am afraid to return to New Zealand. I haven’t yet discovered who I am. I feel exactly the way I did 12 years ago – I feel like I have completed a second tour and that I am at the beginning of my life again - only this time I am in charge.

A beginning

As I find myself increasingly introduced as "Jody, who is writing a book" I have begun to realise that writing the book is a beginning not an end. I am very aware of myself as someone in transition - I am not who I was - the past months could hardly have left me untouched - but I am not yet sure who I am. Of course I write the book from who I am today not who I was when I was 15 (when I decided to join the Army), 19 (when I did) or 26 (when I went to Bosnia). The clarity of the memories that have brought me to today surprise me. It's in those moments when I remember the smell and taste of Army life and life in Bosnia that I sit easy as it reminds me that I do have an essential core. It was there then and it is here now, it is the subtext to everything I write, it is part of the way I write.
Perhaps that is why I am called to write the book today, to remind me, to bring me back to the simple truths. I wasn't a hero then and I am not now, I am driven to know and understand my world, can be concurrently intense while lacking interpersonal engagement and, sometimes, I am funny, lite and delight in the oddness of life. Best discovery, as I write, I really do want to be candid, to not withhold, to be honest about how I saw things and how I saw myself.
Mostly too I am reminded that I have always enjoyed the previllige (with some notable exceptions) of surrounding myself with remarkable people. Is it possible that the book becomes the tangible output but it is really the intangible rewards that will be worth celebrating?

Hrumpf

Today I am writing feelings.................it makes me feel odd and takes me back in time in a new and different way.

A challenge

I've been offered an unexpected challenge. What is it people actually want to read in the book? A book that no one reads is not, for me, a book. Defintion 3 in the Mirriam Webster Dictionary is the book I want to write. A book is a published thing that people are invited to read, it hits the mark when it is read. If that isn't true then I have already written many books. They sit idle in my computer or hand written long ago. When I came back from Bosnia I quickly realised that people wanted a sad, bad and funny story. Nothing else. I dutifully delivered all three "stories" and could quietly walk away from conversation when I had delivered. The book is different. People who choose to read it want and need more than that. Nobody cares a damn about the historical facts. If you wanted historical facts you wouldn't read my book - although they are important to the book. People may be interested in the mechanical details, how I got there, what it took, all the glue that holds the story together. Arrrrrrrrrrrgh the other reader, the one I covert, really care to know how I felt and what it tasted like. A good yarn is a good yarn. A good autobiograhpy touches a nerve, it resonates, it leaves the reader with a feeling and a taste - that is what I want to write, that is what I am trying to write. The limit is clear (at least to me). While I do "feel things", when talking to others I intellectualise those feelings. I don't do it consciously but I can always see it retrospectively. My challenge is to have the reader be engaged with how I felt, not read it and feel nothing but vague intellectual engagement (okay some of the readers can - but not all). I am climbing my own Mt Everest.

Starting out

Having committed to writing the book.......and I am committed....... it's been surprisingly easy to get the early words on paper. It is as if the words have been brewing inside me, waiting to come out. It's proving to be much more than I expected. In the end it will cover not only my time in Bosnia but the path that lead me here. Given Michelle was there at the beginning it is ironic to have her here at the end - or the beginning of something new. She reminds me of somethings I have forgotten that are important to the story. Although she is still heavily emersed in writing her Phd being an observer has also reminded me of the need for rigour in my writing. Some stories I tell are as I remember them, there is no official record they are dredged up from my memories. The real challenge is recognizing how these stories need to be woven around the historical facts. As much as it is all about me, it is also all about what happened. How did the war begin? What are the important dates and times? Who were the key players? I'm not an historian so this all makes me a little nervous. I really don't care if people disagree with how I remember my stories (they are mine) but I do care that I get the facts right. I have an unofficial "military advisor" who will, I hope, help me with the military facts, I have a "ghost editor" who is making sure that the whole thing hangs together and I don't make a complete fool of myself. I think I need a "fact checker" - someone who will check my historical accounts, double check dates and make sure the text links to the official record. I am getting most of my facts from the internet and some will come with the papers I have in NZ; it is proving to be an unexpected addition to the writing process, athough as it dawned on me the importance of this detail, the detail is, I think, making the text more interesting.

"Life is too short to remain unnoticed"

Several years ago I was given a mouse pad with this Salvador Dali quote. It was a joke, but not. The full quote is "I'm an exhibitionist; life is too short to remain unnoticed". As canvases mouse pads don’t lend themselves to more than the briefest of insights. I’ve always loved this one.
I am writing an autobiography, which could lead people to think I am an exhibitionist……based on at least one definition:
*Someone with a compulsive desire to expose the genitals*……I don’t think so.
Based on the second definition I could be:
*The act or practice of behaving so as to attract attention to oneself.*
Like most people I like attention and, like most people, I am particular about the type of attention I like. I have an ego. Much of my professional life has most assuredly attracted attention. I’ve chosen or found myself in roles that have given me a public presence; not as me but as a spokesperson or by virtue of appointment. I’m not sure why that is. Most that know me would, I think, agree that I am mostly very private. I am a natural introvert. I draw my energy from my time alone. I like people, but not all the time. I am shy and not always sure how to be in a crowd. It takes me time to trust, to tell my deepest thoughts. I am also simple and like to laugh easily. I am not at all fragile, although easily hurt by those I love; in a child like way.
The autobiography I am writing is about me and my experience. Of the estimated 14,000 books written about the United Nations in Bosnia only a small fraction are personal stories. Less than an estimated 3% are first hand accounts, and none have been written by a woman soldier. As far as I know no other New Zealand female service woman has ever written a book (if you know her or of her, please let me know).
If I write well this book will, for a short time, bring attention, it will be noticed.
I am ready. I am more ready than I was ready to be the soldier that went to Bosnia; I am more ready than I was to be the spokesperson for all those other organizations that had me be their voice in public forums; I am more ready than I was when losing my job became so public; I am more ready than I have ever been to be noticed. Why? Because the past made me ready to commit to having serving women’s stories told as we would have them told. This is the beginning.