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..........