Facing The Past – A bit of me exposed

I believe that every writer puts a bit of himself or herself into everything they write. I also believe that for every writer, there is that one piece…that one story…that hits a little closer to home than the rest. The one that takes more of you…exposes more of you than you are comfortable with.

For me, that story is Church: Defining Moment.

First off, that was two too many ellipses in that first paragraph.

But, I digress.

When I sat down and began writing a journal in the early 90s, I was a military intelligence soldier in the Central American country of Panama. At the time, I was recovering from a nasty injury, I was training my replacement and I was prepping to leave the country, back to the good old U.S. of A. If I were to be absolutely honest, I was a bit of a mess.

I’d seen somewhere (probably a film or television program) that writing shit down can be a sort of therapy. I had already written quite a bit of fiction, but this was different. This was my life. My thoughts. My (gasp) feelings.

Me being me – I wrote the journal to a fictional character, Mr. Stone. I chose “stone” because it was the most unemotional thing I could think of. As you can probably tell, emotions were not my strong suit at the time. Anything deeper that basic friendship scared the living hell out of me. For various and sundry reasons.

The things that I wrote about in the journal began in good faith and eventually turned into a sarcastic persective of the life I thought I was fated for. It turns out, a couple of decades later, that looking back on that time…well, it sort of turned me into the man I was destined to be. Or, at least, got the ball rolling.

So, twenty years later. After a dozen or so attempts to turn the journal into something of some literary value, after failure after failure…something hit me in the middle of the night one night. My Wife had gone to bed and I was sitting in front of the computer – as I am wont to do – and there was this moment. All of a sudden, I was back in the jungle. We were coming off mission one afternoon. Days of humping 70-pound rucksacks full of survival gear and radio equipment ended with me standing in the shower and this line rose up from the steam:

I stood there, the hot water falling on my head and shoulders, in a desperate and futile attempt to wash the jungle off me. I swear I could feel the rain sloshing around in my bones, weighing me down. Where was I going? Where was the light at the end of this muggy fucking tunnel?

With those words jotted down, I had the “feel” of what I wanted to do. It felt more like a film than a book. Or, perhaps, a televisions series? Nah. That would never work.

Still, I’ve never been one to give up easily. I guess that’s what made me a good soldier. I have to try. It’s in my DNA.

For just a minute, while I sat there and reread those words…I was back there. I could feel the sweat on the small of my back, rolling down my face. I could smell the jungle, the leaves, the wet earth. I could feel that weight on me once again. I had it easy, don’t get me wrong. A lot easier than thousands of others who saw combat on a day-to-day basis. The combat that we saw, down there, was a different kind of struggle. It was a sneaky, hiding in the shadows kind of thing. But, it could still get someone killed.

It took months for me to shake that off, that feeling of loneliness and pressure.

Back then, it was specific and torturous in its own way. There were moments when I did not think I could take it any more. I almost gave up. Once. For just a second. Then, I came back to myself. I stood up once more.

I remember all of that. I remember it like it was yesterday, but I do not make a habit of dwelling there very often. Until now.

I felt that I needed to channel all of that, all the emotions, all those moments and set them free. So, I began building something. A story.

I built Church.

On Friday, May 15th, 2015, I will debut the story for the world. Few will read it initially, of this I am certain. I will continue to tell the tale. And, we shall see. We shall see how many people have been there. We shall see with whom Church connects. We shall see if I can relate it all in a befitting manner. We shall see if the story is worthy.

We. Shall. See.