First of all, I wasn’t sure I was ready to see “American Sniper.” There’s an interesting conundrum for me as a veteran involved with veteran advocacy—especially in aspects of post-traumatic stress and suicide. As a survivor and now champion of issues that almost choked my joy from me, I make it a priority to do everything I can to maintain my mental health so that I have the strength to pull other struggling veterans from the dark places they sometimes fall into.
That means, not reading every suicide story, not watching every war film, not hearing every sexual assault testimony. They’re important. Every one. But the battle is bigger than I am. And long ago my mentor taught me about “battle rhythm.” Time to fight; time to rest. And so I save myself for the calls that come at midnight. I save my energy for my brothers and sisters right here in my Iowa community that I give my cell phone number to in case they need to talk now—whenever their now is. If it rings, I answer.
But out of the blue, a friend, Michael Libbie, the incredibly educated, talented, worldly and … yeah, he’s got one of those makes-butter-melt radio voices … called me up and said “hey, what do you think about American Sniper?”
“Uh … I haven’t seen it … yet,” I said.
After a few minutes of chatting about the emotional upheaval on all fronts over the movie, I agreed to see it in two weeks and be a guest on his show.
Honestly, I faced it with some dread and anxiety. I wasn’t certain how seeing a dramatic depiction of the streets of Iraq, the streets I drove and patrolled, would make me feel. I wasn’t sure what my reaction would be to seeing dead Iraqis. I had no idea what would well up inside me when seeing Bradley Cooper, an actor, pretend to be Chris Kyle, the deadliest American soldier sniper of our time.
It went to a Sunday matinee at the Carmike Wynnsong Theatre in Johnston. The rows were all more than half filled. I sat in an aisle seat, near an exit, and to my right was a family of four that included two elementary-age kids. Everyone was nestled in with their theatre fare. I was surprised knowing what was about to be shown on the screen that folks had any kind of appetite.
A passage from my book jumped to the forefront of my mind. I described my experience in Iraq as a shitty “full color, 3-D, surround sound” movie that had been running for 137 days without a “single barrel of extra-butter popcorn or quart-sized Coke.”
When the screen came to life with too-bright light and too-loud sound, I slumped down into my seat and felt myself fall into the story and back into desert camo.
February 17th at 5:30pm when, “Insight on Business” 1350 KRNT, began I read through the reflections I’d jotted down after the credits rolled. Michael and I talked about “American Sniper” and a few other veteran issues in those few minutes of airtime. And because we only had a few minutes, I had to return to the page to share more depth and detail.
I remember Bradley Cooper fondly from one of my favorite movies, “Silver Linings Playbook,” where he plays a character challenged by a mental disorder. I thought his portrayal was brilliant and breathtaking in that film and I thought his performance was even more superb in “American Sniper. He was a believable character, who wore body armor and the soldier spirit convincingly. He was tough. I felt he accurately showed the real human side of both combat and post-deployment.
When he used the term “savages,” as Chris Kyle did in his memoir, I did not take it as a generalization of the Iraqi people or the Islamic faith. If the audience really pays attention, it’s seems he uses the word to describe the organized, funded sociopaths that tortured and murdered their own people and people they considered decenters. If we look at the activity of ISIS (or ISIL) I think we can all agree it is exactly that: savagery.
I didn’t find glorification of war in this film. Such an absolute conclusion is too superficial for my way of thinking. Every story has a hero, and personally, if any writer cannot make her (or his) character the heroine of her story, then frankly, I don’t know who else will. Hollywood productions are entertainment. “American Sniper” was not produced to be a documentary or the definitive summation of the Iraq war—politically or historically. I believe that American audiences are savvy enough to not place that expectation on anything that is over in two hours.
Was Chris Kyle a hero? To me, yes. And to his fellow service members as well. It was evidenced in the film—being called “The Legend” or their “Hero.” It was not a way for filmmaker Clint Eastwood to persuade the audience that that’s what snipers are. These honorary titles were reflections of how Chris’ brothers in arms felt about him. It demonstrated their admiration and respect. Hooah!
I didn’t view the film as particularly political. However, like Sebastian Wen shouts in the poem “Maggie’s Farm:”
Everything is political, all art is political and everything is art!
When I was in Iraq (and I get this question a lot) I didn’t think much about politics. At least, I don’t remember giving it deep thoughts. I’m not sure I always had deep thoughts or complete thoughts. I had feelings and reflections that were quickly swept aside when I tapped a magazine into my M16. My thoughts were hair trigger decisions on two things only: keeping my buddy alive and accomplishing the mission. The deeper reflections come post-deployment.
My journey home has been lined with previous war veterans, especially those of the Vietnam era. One of the most valuable lessons these brothers and sisters have exemplified (and one they’re begging this generation to grasp) is that you don’t have to agree with the war to support those that fight it. The American military is the made up of some of America’s finest citizens and Patriots. They deserve our respect and support from the day they enlist until the day the bugle plays Taps. Another lesson they taught me is that the wrongs of the past hurt less when you do your part to correct them for the next generation.
I was up all night after seeing “American Sniper.” I was pumped up. Amped. There will always be an urge in me that wants to be a physical force for good that gets the bad guys. But the real fuel for my midnight fire was thinking on how Chris Kyle maximized his God-given talents through his profession. There is an authenticity that rides the line between being your true and best self and doing your best with your gifts. To me, that’s what Chris Kyle did. And the result was nothing short of electric.
The challenge then, to me, and all of us, is to find that line for ourselves. We should feel encouraged by the proof that greatness is a personal journey that every person can reach. It’s not about being a sniper or doing a dangerous job or being a “tough guy.” It’s all about being bold enough to go after with all your might, that which means the most to you. It’s about finding your passion and embodying it.
One of the important wins of “American Sniper” to me was that it opened up a nationwide dialogue about war, multiple deployments, military families and post-traumatic stress. On my first mission in Iraq in 2003, an insurgency group fired on my convoy at dusk as we were pulling in the gates of a forward operating base after the bridge we were supposed to cross had been blown up. My adrenaline was like razor blades in my veins and I hesitated to take my Kevlar off to sleep. I turned to my co-driver and asked, “does anybody back home know what we’re going through right now?”
Chris Kyle said something similar in the film after his first deployment. He was amazed at how his community had gone on almost unchanged. Couples were watching sports and families were having picnics and he couldn’t be fully present at home when he knew what was happening in Iraq. He said, how can anybody do this … don’t they know there’s a war going on?
Not always. War for a new generation of young people is something that you can turn off with the click of a button. I think that speaks to just how uninvolved we are as a community—really un-invested—in these wars. I think when it’s personal, when it not just media, when it’s your daughter and your father, things can suddenly look differently. “American Sniper” made Chris Kyle our brother and father and son.
Finally, there is a forum for a discussion about American troops because an American veteran became worthy of being center stage. We readily usher athletes, entertainers and serial killers into the spotlight all the time. So when the credits role, I do not feel the greatest merit is in inspecting personal or historical inaccuracies, arguing fact over truth, or searching for political agenda threads. We should not leave our emotions or thoughts in the theatres, nor should we post them on social media in a way that discourages comments. We should simply ask, “what does Chris Kyle’s life and narrative mean to me?” and “how does his example guide the community in the tougher conversations that must be had?”
For the past decade, when I’d think back to the music of the 60’s, like CCR singing “Fortunate Son” or “My Boyfriends Back” by The Angels, I’d ask myself, where are the songs about Iraq and Afghanistan? What’s our country’s cultural response to these wars? “American Sniper” is one response. What’s yours? I’m listening.
For all the speaking lecterns and book tables I’ve held down in the past year, one thing I haven’t been acquainted enough with is my own pen. It was time to get back to writing and releasing a book-length work is still many months away. So, I’m experimenting with poetry. This one I submitted to the “Our Voices” on the American Legion website.
Tip of the Spear
I’ve been coming to your office for probably a decade now, for my bi-annual cleanings and some other minor dental work. I’m fortunate to have a good smile and few issues. One of my first visits there was after coming home from Iraq. I talked to you about the yellowish stains on my teeth—the result of taking an antibiotic for a year, one of the many pills, vaccines and precautions that are prescribed during deployment.
I don’t know if you noticed, but I was nervous as hell at that appointment. You see, doctors make me nervous, so do bright lights. Your exam space is efficient, but a tiny bit claustrophobic for me, and the chair facing the window? Well, that’s not tactical at all. People continuously walked and talked in the hallways at my back—my “fighting position” was useless. A good indicator of enemy activity is the watching the locals. So in you came wearing a perpetual smile. You were then, and have been since, kind, personable and professional. So I assumed there was nothing real to fear; your office was “all clear.”
Then, maybe two summers ago, my post-traumatic stress injury flared up and I had what I’d characterize as a “disgruntled vet” moment in my car in your office parking lot. I was screaming into my cell phone and possibly banging on my steering wheel. I was for a moment, very distressed. And what that all looked like or sounded like (if in fact, anyone at all saw or heard me), is hard for me to know. But I have noticed that the short, brown-haired lady in your office that makes my appointments and checks me in has never treated me the same since. She seems cold toward me, very unfriendly in fact, and in a hurry to rush me from the counter. Could I be imagining this? It’s possible. After all I’ve seen, I believe anything is.
My point in writing to you is this: to raise community awareness of reintegrating veterans. Your receptionist probably doesn’t think I look like a veteran or a soldier; hell I get that everyday. But most of us out of uniform can’t be identified accept by some old and inaccurate stereotypes. Only 1% of the American population currently wears a military uniform, yet there are about 10,000 Guardsmen and women in Iowa alone and as close to Camp Dodge as your office is, I imagine several of them are your patients. For women vets, well, nationwide nearly 300,000 of us have deployed to the Middle East since 2001.
The Veterans Administration cannot give returning veterans everything we need to find our way back home and neither can the military-family community. It’s the people in our workplaces and businesses we visit each day that make such a critical impact.
You see, I got a lot of bars of soap in Iraq in troop care packages. And the fact that I didn’t have to arrange a trip to the Post Exchange to get them was truly a gift. Communities should keep doing that. But if that’s where it ends, we’re failing to take care of those that protect our way of life. I was only deployed for 14 months of my life; I will hopefully have 40 or more years to live.
The lather of this letter is this. If you as a professional doctor, as a businessman, as a community leader, or Iowan, or American patriot want to “Support the Troops,” then what veterans and service members need is respect and compassion in your office, in our neighborhoods, in all the places we meet the non-uniformed citizen. It is, really what each of us owes one another as decent human beings, regardless of veteran status. I think, however, putting it through the “Support the Troops” lens magnifies both the need and the call for action. No one really knows who a veteran is, and no one can tell what each of us has been through and if we’re triggered by something that reminds us of our past in your presence, we don’t want to be judged or stigmatized or ignored. Reintegration is dependent on acceptance. Should your receptionist have witnessed me melt down, she simply could have asked, “Are you ok? Is there anything you need?” And we both would have marched on with our days.
It has been my experience, as an injured veteran and veterans’ advocate that the simplest reasonable accommodations can keep a good day going well, or take a bad day and turn it around. You see, an unfortunately high number of us are still “fighting” everyday and 22 of us each day lose that battle to suicide but, we can all stand up and be counted for doing our best where we’re at to be a part of the cause. If every business leader had this conversation with his or her employees and thought of reasonable accommodations they could activate if needed, can you imagine how communities could be serving those that made a great sacrifice? I think about this all the time.
It’s as simple as asking. Some things you can change, others maybe not. Many veterans with post-traumatic stress injury have light and sound sensitivities. They may need to wear sunglasses or headphones or have an appointment time when the fewest number of patients are being seen. They may need to sit up and take a break in the middle of a cleaning. I don’t know all the solutions—every veteran is unique and most don’t have post-traumatic stress or a traumatic brain injury. Some vets could take offense to being offered an accommodation, even when accepting it may reduce their stress level because we are hard-wired to suffer through a lot of physical and psychological pain. That “toughness” is one of our weaknesses and it makes it difficult for us to seek the help we need.
So, there it is Doc. Writing this letter has kept me up several nights so now your receiving it will have reduced my stress over you knowing these things prior to my next appointment.
(Outside the dental chair I am a freelance writer and the author of All I Could Be: My Story as a Woman Warrior in Iraq, the Project Director for the Military Sexual Trauma Initiative at the non-profit group Veterans National Recovery Center and a speaker with the National Women Veterans Speakers Bureau. The folks at Stars and Stripes, Marie Claire, USA Today, Armed Forces Radio and NPR have been kind enough to share my message around the world).
From today’s press conference:
Over the past two years, we have watched the highest ranking officers in almost every branch of the military with sexual assault prevention assignments, dismissed from their duties for committing crimes of sexual assault and harassment that they were supposed to provide the leadership and training to prevent.
Over the past 12 years, we have watched women service members come forward with their personal Military Sexual Trauma stories, from inside the wire of the forward operating bases in Iraq and Afghanistan and within the gates of military bases and training school here in America.
Eighteen of those women, featured in the military rape documentary “The Invisible War” sued the government for its system of handling MST cases that stripped their constitutional rights that as military members they’d sworn to defend for others. Their case was dismissed, citing that “rape was an occupational hazard of military service.”
Meanwhile, every military commander and politician on camera has echoed the same sentiment: zero tolerance.
That phrase has been put to the test, and it has failed, miserably, year after year after year. This is not just the military’s problem or a women’s issue. It’s a human rights issue. Every person has the right to live and work in a safe environment, free from sexual harassment, predation, assault and rape.
Our country has some big numbers to face: between 360,000 and half million service women have been sexually assaulted at some point in their military career which is at least 1 in 5 women in the military. 1 in 3 women that file a claim with the VA for any reason, report Military Sexual Trauma when asked. Maybe only about 15% of MST incidents are reported. But that report rate has increased by 50% in the last year alone.
What does our state face: the VNRC hasn’t found any solid data. But we’re certain that Iowa is not too far outside the national trend. In fact, the proposed MST Amendment would make it a military leaders “duty to report” MST incidents, therefore allowing us to begin tracking the status of MST crimes in the Iowa Guard and Reserves. That’s a powerful start. From a survivor standpoint, it explicitly protects her (or him) from retaliation. And for a perpetrator, it holds him accountable for his crime in civilian court, with a conviction that cannot be overturned by his chain of command.
I honorably served my country in the active duty Army and Iowa Army National Guard from 1995-2004, including one tour in Iraq. I was a victim of both military justice systems that ignored my reports, threatened my career and protected my perpetrators. You see, it didn’t matter that MST was a relatively small issue when it happened to me. It didn’t matter if I was 1 in 3 or 4 or 5 women traumatized during my military career or if I was part of only 8 or 15% that chose to report it. What counted was that it happened at all and that my chain of command appeared to have a systematic method to ignore and conceal my report and re-victimize me in the process. What is crushing is that the greatest professional Army in the world and one of the most ready and well trained Guard units in the country, made me one of its own—a sister among brothers, trained and battle tested. Proud of the uniform I wore. And from within the tightest woven threads of trust and loyalty, it unraveled everything it had taught me to believe in.
And I’m not alone. Whenever I speak about my military service, at women’s groups, book clubs, service organization meetings and veteran events, one woman will stay afterward to tell me her sexual assault story. At almost every event.
Military Sexual Trauma is NOT an occupational hazard of the military. It is not simply the by-product of women training, living and fighting alongside men. It’s not about young people, in an isolated and emotionally charged environment, being indiscreet. MST is NOT about normal, consensual sex. It’s a crime of coercion and power that is a temporary pain of the body and a lifetime disfigurement of the soul.
The MST Amendment to the Iowa Code of Military Justice is an opportunity for our state to lead the nation’s charge against this egregious crime, to take action against perpetrators that do not stand for the values of the Iowa Guard and Reserves, and to protect the women and men that voluntarily give their best and if necessary, their life, in faithful service.
Only 1% of our citizens wear a military uniform, yet all of us enjoy the benefits, luxuries and liberties paid for by their sacrifice. We owe them more than we can ever repay. But we can start, with the MST Amendment today.
I’ve heard from several members of the Veterans Affairs Committee that there is no Republican or Democratic way to treat veterans, just a right way. And the MST Amendment is a right step.
Dear Representative or Senator ____________,
I’m writing to express my need for your support in making changes to the Iowa Code of Military Justice that help protect our defenders at a state level, in the midst of the national crisis of sexual assault against women in the military.
Unfortunately, Sen. Gillibrand’s Military Justice Improvement Act was not included in the defense bill. But as she and her supporters continue to advocate at the national level, there are still ways that Iowans can take action to protect Iowa’s military team by supporting the Amendment to the Iowa Code of Military Justice drafted by the Veterans National Recovery Center.
It addresses two important aspects: accountability and reporting. 1 in 5 service women are sexually assaulted during their time of duty and 1 in 3 that seek treatment at the VA for any condition “test positive” for MST when surveyed. Our state can do better.
Can I count on your support in co-sponsoring the amendment?
My female veteran friend and lobbyist Miyoko Hikiji is advocating on behalf of the VNRC for these changes because of how she knows both personally and anecdotally how this issue has effected women warriors in our state.
Contact her to get more information at: firstname.lastname@example.org. She will also be at the Capitol, Senate Room 206, next Tuesday January 21st at 10am to outline the amendment and answer questions.
Thank you for pledging to protect our defenders.
Fellow female vet Kristin Delfs asked me about my brooch. Here is (of course) … the whole story. Women veterans don’t have a lot of feminine or fashionable ways to show they served. The hats and tees or actual ribbon bar some men wear on their suit coats don’t work on women’s dresses or blouses. I knew sometime last summer I’d be spending a lot of time talking about my service and I needed the appropriate gear. I went to Sheena Thomas, a jewelry designer, metalsmith and co-owner of Elements, Ltd. She let me talk, and she listened intently. I needed it to be more than pretty; it had to be symbolic too. These are the concepts we came up with together.
1. It’s outer ring and the ribbons inside it are circular instead of rectangular to represent the shape of a woman, with balance and harmony, and how that doesn’t match the Army’s hypermasculine, rigid ideals.
2. The ribbons are not fixed, but are free flowing and dynamic. Instead of being pinned on in a static position to represent one past event, they are meant to show the power of those qualities in the present moment.
3. They are anchored, however, by the U.S. pin, for my country and it’s values will always be my foundation.
4. I picked 7 awards plus my unit award from my 14 decorations (without noting any second awards or devices). They are (left to right): Army Achievement Medal, Army Commendation Medal, Good Conduct Medal, Reserve Components Achievement Medal, Armed Forces Reserve Medal, Global War on Terrorism Expeditionary Medal, Global War on Terrorism Service Medal, Valorous Unit Award.
I can’t resist this final note, for the naysayers (whom I abhor) that claim I destroyed or disrespected military property … the military nearly destroyed me and for much of my career it didn’t give me much respect. I love it still, always will. But I am the commander of my own life now. I decide. And that freedom, which I partly paid for, is my privilege and right to exercise.
Last week I drove out to Van Meter, Iowa, where I’m scheduled to deliver my first Veterans Day speech of the year: Friday, November 8th at 0930 hours. It’ll be in the school’s gym—a K-12 facility that is both the pride and center of the community … the kind of community that when I stopped at the Casey’s General Store to ask for directions I got, “follow the road into town, around the bend, you’ll see it on the right.” It’s just that simple.
Van Meter, population just over 1,000, is only about a 20-minute drive west from where I commune with 200,000 others living in and around the state’s capitol. Now it seems trite to say driving to Van Meter was like a going “back in time” or to “another world” and inaccurate as well, for the community didn’t feel “behind the times” or strange at all. It was more like a smaller version of everything good and right in the Heartland.
Now I don’t want to idealize, but it’s only fair to brag a bit about this small Iowa town where one morning I stopped, breathed and just let things be. It’s an easy place, and quiet, and it reminded me of why I’m proud to be an Iowan and an American, living at the core of our country.
Now they say nothing is more American than baseball and apple pie. I didn’t find any dessert (there’s always next Friday) but I did pass the Bob Feller Museum. For those of you that don’t know, I was admittedly one of them, Bob Feller made his major league baseball debut in 1936 at the age of 17. Fans and players recall “Rapid Robert” as having a helluva fastball and TIME magazine agreed, putting him on one of its covers that following spring. NBC Radio covered Feller’s graduation from Van Meter High School in 1937 and in 1962 he was inducted into the Baseball Hall of Fame. His 18 loyal seasons with the Cleveland Indians was interrupted only by his Navy service during WWII. Feller was the sole provider for his family, but was so compelled to join the war he waved his draft deferment, becoming the first major league player to join the service. Feller died three Decembers ago at the age of 92.
Van Meter is also home to the Iowa Veterans Cemetery. About 100,000 veterans live within about an hour’s drive of the location, where groundbreaking took place in 2006. Funds for the state-run burial grounds came from the State Cemetery Grants Program, established in 1978, by the US Department of Veterans Affairs National Cemetery Administration whose history dates back to 1862. It was during the Civil War that Congress recognized the need for designated resting places for soldiers that died serving their country. If you’ve ever been to Arlington you’ve had the privilege of experiencing our nation’s grandest gesture of gratitude for its heroes. And the Iowa Veterans Cemetery, well, it’s simply our version—smaller geography, same gratitude and honor.
A school staff member greeted me at the door when I arrived and walked me to the office to check in. My “tour guide,” special education teacher Colleen Tendall, showed me the gym and how it would be set up—marching band in this corner, students over here and veterans bused from the Iowa Veterans Home in Marshalltown in front of the bleachers here.
“People from town will show up too,” Tendall said. “Everything happens here. We’re one of those schools that still says the Pledge of Allegiance every morning.” I like those schools, I thought to myself.
We visited the student coffee shop, peeked into the cafeteria and cruised down the halls decorated with dozens of construction paper spiders and autumn leaves. I could hear tiny voices burst from tiny tots in the kindergarten room as their hands waved excitedly ‘pick me, pick me.’
It’ll be the first year in the school Veteran’s Day assembly tradition that a woman will speak. What will I tell such a diverse audience in such short time? I took one last glimpse into the gym on my way out, imagining the faces and their reactions to my attempt over the sound system to inform, inspire and entertain.
Ladies and gentlemen, boys and girls, teachers, parents, fellow veterans … (readers):
When I was 18 years old, and coincidentally knew everything, I couldn’t wait to get the heck out of Iowa. It was small and simple and there was never anything to do. I saw a commercial on television, two men riding on a tank, the “Be All That You Can Be” Army motto flashed across the screen and I thought, “Yes! I wanna do that!” Three weeks later, I landed in the red dirt of Fort Jackson, South Carolina, for basic training. While I was doing pushups and sweating and marching and picking cockleburs out of my socks and firing an M60 machine gun and shining my boots and screaming “Drill Sergeant, yes, Drill Sergeant” my senior class was adjusting pushup bras and sweating and dirty dancing in fashion heels and popping blisters and throwing glitter and screaming “We don’t need no education” while firing off bottle rockets in the parking lot. Essentially we all had basically the same senior torture—mine just lasted longer, I got to wear more comfortable shoes and I was hanging out with all the hot guys. <<fast forward>>
Over the next nine years I sojourned in four states and three countries. I met and conversed and ate meals and prayed with soldiers and citizens from all across the States and the Middle East. And in being about 6,000 miles away from the corn fields and hog confinements, I learned a few things about Iowans that I didn’t know when I was living among them.
First, Iowans are truly some of the friendliest folks around. Strangers to our ways often label our immediate kindness as weakness. But I see our gift of hospitality as strength. We are willing to be vulnerable in order to offer help because it is the right thing to do. It’s just that simple.
We offer good help. The year I was deployed to Iraq, I served in an Iowa National Guard unit. Our job during the war was to transport supplies and troops and supplement the security missions of other units. We kept watch in towers, trained Iraqi Border Police and guarded enemy prisoners. But back home our full time jobs included electrician, farmer, plumber, fire fighter, teacher … dozens of other jobs and skills and knowledge bases. So when the active duty units at our forward operating base needed help repairing or implementing something for their living quarters they knew to come to “Hawkeye Company.” That was our nickname—sorry Cyclones from the western part of the state. I’m a Cyclone grad myself but none of that mattered there. We were in Iraq as Americans first, then Iowans. After that, it didn’t seem to matter. It was just that simple.
In Van Meter, 2013, I’m not that far from where I started my adult life and military career 18 years ago. Things look different to me now that I realize I have a lot to learn. Iowa, from its small town to its larger cities, has enough art and culture and entertainment for a lifetime. Ten years ago when I deployed to Iraq, Iowa was the one place I couldn’t wait to get back to. So many of the people in its communities still believe in and live by the values I came to understand in the Army: loyalty, duty, respect, selfless service, honor, integrity and personal courage. It’s an amazing place to live. It’s just that simple.
Now a brief morning time speech that ties that reflection together for a diverse audience: not that simple. So if you want to see how it’s done, you’ll have to plop yourself down in the bleachers among the crowd on Friday November 8th. The full speech will appear as a blog after the event. Here’s your teaser: There will be a test, after all it’s mostly school kids. There will be four questions. Three answers will be ideals that begin with “to be.” And because it wouldn’t be fun without a visual aid, expect a stuffed, striped bumblebee to be a part of it all. It’s a great day to “bee” an Iowan! Happy Veterans Day!
Who writes book reviews? For any author, the answer is everyone that reads her book … please. Now I know a lot of readers don’t feel “qualified” to pen a review but think about it like this. When your sister or your best friend goes to a new movie or checks out a new sports bar, do you really care how they phrase their “review” of it? Of course not! You want to know the gist of the plot, whether the action was entertaining or dragged on, maybe a detail about one of the actors … could someone that normally did comedies play a serious role well? Did he get really ripped for the part? Or, in the case of the sports bar you would want to know if the beer selection was unique, if the servers were fast, if the appetizers were tasty and if they played your team on the big screen.
Why the pressure friends? Book reviews drive book sales. For the same reason you end up going to that movie or that bar because it was recommended, a reader will purchase a book that’s recommended because they trust they will get their money’s worth. There’s a lot of competition out there and that’s the bottom line for all of us not living as independently wealthy heirs. We have, at some point, a limited amount of funds to spend on entertainment so we’d rather take a risk on something someone else liked than on something no one knows anything about.
A review can be a few sentences long. Believe me, “I liked it overall. It was not what I expected but would recommend it to anyone, especially young women,” is more powerful than (silence). There are a lot of questions you can address in a book review but here are a few starting points:
1. How do you know the author? Are you in the same industry that the book is about? (That can validate her expertise on the subject matter).
2. What did you learn? Did anything in particular surprise or amaze you?
3. Were you entertained? Was it a “good read,” “fast read,” “easy read,” etc.
4. What was the writing style? Was there a lot of dialogue, dictionary words, long sentences, or references to other literature?
5. Was it honest, objective and relatable to a common reader’s life experiences?
6. What was the goal or purpose of the work, do you think? Was it achieved?
7. Does it fill a gap in books in the current marketplace? Is it a first account, unique perspective, discuss new or developing topic?
8. What was your overall feeling of it and because of that would you recommend it?
The best part is there are no right or wrong answers. You’re not submitting a thesis for a literature course and no one in spectacles and wool socks wrapped in Birkenstocks will reach for a red pen. In fact, less academic reviews are preferred. Everyone appreciates honest, everyday language. And no author expects a glowing review. Criticism is valued and helps writers move their craft to the next higher level. So, reviews that include some questions or parts they didn’t like, as long as they are balanced with positive aspects are highly beneficial to both a potential book buyer and the author.
So get real and get writing … then post your review first to barnesandnoble.com, Amazon.com and iTunes under the author’s book. Good secondary options to post your review include your website, and any of your social media accounts, including Facebook, Twitter, Google +, Tumblr, Goodreads, LinkedIn, Pinterest, You Tube or by simply emailing it to your contact list. If you want credit, tag or CC: the author so she can Forward it, Like it, Share it, Retweet it or Pin it. And more importantly, so the author has the opportunity to reciprocate heartfelt thanks to you for spending valuable time in order to help further her writing dreams.
June 7th, two weeks after the official publication date of my memoir, I had a book launch party at the Gold Star Military Museum on Camp Dodge, in Johnston, Iowa. It was a evening of eat, drink and be merry. The guest list included the mayor of the city of Johnston, the state’s former and current public affairs officers, the museum’s board of directors, officers from my American Legion Post 663, actors from The Peak Agency, fellow writers, friends and family. Outreach Pastor Craig Ferguson of New Hope United Methodist Church provided the invocation and professional singer Sarah Stallman sung one of the most beautiful renditions of the National Anthem I’ve ever heard. Museum Curator Mike Vogt, “the best pilot I know” who provided the foreword in my book, told the audience about the museum and introduced me. This is what I said:
I hope that this event brings a touch of inspiration to your life tonight, because I am standing here as evidence that dreams can come true. Now they don’t always and they don’t automatically, but they can. And that tiny word “can,” gave me just enough conviction to decide to deploy to Iraq three days before the end of my enlistment contract, just enough resilience to get me through 403 days away from home, just enough hope to start a book that nearly everyone I talked to said would never be published, just enough faith to trust that God designed it all for a purpose higher than what I could ever anticipate.
“Be All You Can Be,” the Army slogan from 1980-2001, the slogan that drew me in on commercial breaks during M*A*S*H and the CBS Evening News with Dan Rather—two of the only television programs I watched growing up. I’m not sure which had a deeper influence on me, Rather’s reporting, his trustworthy voice and presence delivering what I assumed to be God’s truth, or Captain “Hawkeye” Pierce, the undeniably brilliant surgeon that never could quite play by the rules.
“Be All You Can Be” was the Army’s slogan for 21 years and for good reason. It worked. It inspired a nation of young people to become their best by entering into military service; what really could be more truthful. It certainly was for me.
Three years in the active duty Army, five years in the National Guard and one year deployed to Iraq made an indelible print on my life. That impression, like a fingerprint, shares characteristics with other military members’ impressions, including putting the mission above all, being prepared for and efficient in all working conditions—indoor or outdoor, physical and mental—adapting and overcoming in order to get the job done, never giving up, being a good leader and team member and always, always keeping that “can-do” spirit.
Yet my experience, and reflection back on it, like a fingerprint is unique to me. My story, “All I Could Be” a title derived from that old Army slogan, cannot begin to tell the whole story for women in the military or the entire truth of the 2133rd Transportation Company that I was deployed with. I accepted that limitation from the sketching of the first draft because of the benefit, I believe, that has come and will continue to develop from the final draft.
One benefit is that it starts the conversation. It’s a line of dialogue, a single descriptive scene, a character portrait that asks the reader first to walk alongside me for a while, endure the gritty desert environment, explore the uniqueness of the female soldier experience, envision the destruction of war and feel the camaraderie, friendship and love of the brother and sisterhood. It reminds the reader that young people go to war and while making the mistakes expected of their years, they also become hardened and old and wise beyond their years.
Many of you know that during my deployment part of my sanity was kept in recording my days in journals, letters, pictures, a mission log and calendar—hundreds of pages, thousands of details and memory joggers—that helped me piece my story back together one chapter at a time over the eight years following my deployment. Aside from my personal notes, when I wasn’t driving a truck, I worked as the designated unit correspondent. I wrote Family Support Group updates, the company newsletter, stories for my Squadron’s newsletter and penned a few articles for an Iowa newspaper. I completed all the required hours of my journalism internship while deployed and the public affairs officer of the Regiment choose me to be interviewed by Geraldo Rivera, a moment of excitement that I woke up at 0300 for that never even aired.
But I was not deterred from finding my place in front of the camera or in the sun. And that just enough conviction and resilience and hope and faith, well, it originated far before my military training. My story is not a new story, it’s a continuation from generations past that grew up from the sturdy roots of my parents. They passed to me a legacy of hard work and cultural literacy that I am responsible for carrying forward until my daughters are able to take it over.
Grace and Noelle, my two beautiful daughters, about to turn three and four are home playing with Dad tonight. Now they love books, but my husband and I both agreed they should not read mine until they are about 14. I hope they are proud of their mother that day they finally read it. To Tom, I reserve the utmost respect and admiration for. Being a writer’s spouse (I now think) must be something like being an officer’s spouse—it’s a lot of behind the scenes, tiring, often undervalued and thankless work. Tonight I recognize how his sacrifices contributed to my success and I will be forever grateful to him for that. To my family here tonight, my mother, my brother Lonnie and sister-in-law Lori, thank you for your support. To my fellow veterans, writers, artists, church members, friends: thank you for being here and for sharing in the pinnacle event of this book journey with me.
Be All You Can Be. It’s a motto that doesn’t require all of us to become doctors or generals or astronauts or best-selling authors (though some of us it will), but it does demand that we embrace our individual destiny. It insists we take our unique gifts and talents, add our hard work and dedication, deposit generously into the dream accounts of others so that combined with a little bit of magic, we can all rise to our very best, to further the larger story, pass along a greater legacy, and fulfill our part in life’s ultimate design, a plan we will never be privy to or fully understand.
But we don’t need to read ahead to the end of the book in order to be the author of our own lives. We need only enough light for the page we’re on.
[Thank you to everyone in attendance and those that were present in spirit for your encouraging words and generous support. When I was discouraged, your faith became the necessary footholds along my route to the publishing summit. I will be grateful, always, for each of you.]