Susan Rogers: You and I have both written several poems together with a group of poets organized by Kathabela Wilson called POETS ON SITE. One focus of this group is writing poetry inspired by the artwork in local galleries and museums and then performing these poems in the location of the artwork. These ekphrastic poems are always an interesting collaboration with the poet and the artist and are part of a long tradition of poets engaging artwork. Sometimes ekphrastic poems are narratives about the artists who created the artwork. Sometimes ekphrastic poems are interpretations of the story that seems to be held within the artwork. I really love your poem “Still Life with Bird” that you wrote for Susan Dobay’s painting “Still Life With Bird.” This poem will be published soon in the POETS ON SITE collection, “On Awakening.” In this poem you manage to engage both visual art and music, spinning a riff on Charlie Parker. The poem is written in a very fluid, jazzy style that resonates both with the painting and with Parker. What was the process you used to engage Susan Dobay’s painting and write that poem?

Millicent Accardi: I looked at the painting and tried to see what it was telling me and, from the table and the feeling of falling from the perspective as well as the title. It reminded me of the music and the life of Charlie Parker. So I went with that, like I “go with” a jazz piece. From that premise, I tried to build an adlib solo impromptu response to both the painting and the music and how they tied into each other.

SR: You have created a wonderful forum for poets to get together and workshop their poetry: The Westside Women Writers. This group both encourages the creation of new poetry and facilitates the process of revision, in that it provides constructive feedback to the poets on their poems. In addition to bringing your poems to this group, what else do you do to craft your poems? Do you have any personal guidelines you follow in revising your work and how do you decide whether a poem you have written is “finished” and ready for publication?

MA: I write in purple notebooks; I write on the computer; I write in my mind, in the shower, while driving. It depends. Poems beget more poems and I find when I am “on a roll,” the poems come easily and frequently. When I am not, they are non-existent and I do not press myself to produce work. There are times when I set the stage for poetry to “be possible,” like when I participate in poetry prompt exercises. One that is sponsored by Molly Fisk has been of particular use to me. She posts one prompt per day and a group of writers write to that prompt every day for a month. Early in 2011, I did 3 or 4 solid months of these prompts. Then, I felt I needed a break. And my day job called out to me to get to work to earn money for the mortgage and taxes. Writing is like that for me, either feast or famine!

As far as completion, sometimes I feel as if a poem is never finished, but, for me, it is usually one of two things: either I have nothing left to add or take away to make it better and I give up and surrender that it is complete, OR what I have written matches what I have in my mind. When it matches, then my job, for whatever it is worth, is finished. Done. Otherwise, every poem I have ever written is open to change, open and available for revision. Even after a poem has been in print.

Here’s a quote that comes to mind, “Some poems are very hard to write, must be carved into granite with a feather. Others burst out of the head armored and ready to command a chariot drawn by swans.” –Dean Young

SR: Which three poets would you say have had the most influence on your poetry and why?

MA: I think I will go with contemporary poets first: citing Lynda Hull, Ralph Angel, Pablo Neruda, WS Merwin, William Stafford, CK Williams, ai, Michael S Harper, CD Wright, Ruth Stone, and a wonderful Portuguese poet, Nuno Júdice. From other times: Yeats, TS Eliot, and Christina Rossetti. In particular I appreciate and am amazed by poets who transport me to new worlds, new places either inside their heads or in a literary landscape.

SR: Imagine you are sitting in a coffee shop in a city where you do not know anyone. You are quietly reading a book of poetry and you overhear a conversation at the next table between two people. They are talking about poetry and you hear them mention your name and one of your books of poems. It could be “Injuring Eternity,” “Woman on a Shaky Bridge,” or your soon to be published book, “Only More So.” Or it could be the unwritten book you will publish after that one. They say something very complimentary about this book of poems. What would you most like to hear them say about your poetry? What would you consider to be the highest praise for a poet?

MA: My answer is very simple; that they are reading the work. This is all a writer can ask, except perhaps that the work affects them in some way, either by actions in their life or causing them to sit and stare into space for a moment to think, to ponder, to see the world or their lives in a new way.

I am continually astonished when I “meet” someone in cyberspace who has read my work. The other day, Carlo Matos, a poet in Chicago, posted a line from one of my poems “Spitting Nails” as his Facebook Status. Now, THAT made my day!

SR: On September 24th 2011 you participated along with your Westside Women Writers group in a 100 Thousand Poets for Change event. This event was a global initiative to use poetry as a vehicle to promote peace as well as positive social, environmental and political change. The Westside Women Writers wrote poems about peace and recited them on that day. Then afterwards you posted the poems the group had written online as part of this global event. The poem that you included in this event, “Renovation” is a beautifully written and very poignant contribution describing a veteran’s painful journey to reconstruct his life. I felt it was a very apt choice for this purpose as it eloquently speaks to the lingering pain and the wounds that never heal inflicted by war and thus speaks to the importance of maintaining peace in the world. Is this role of poetry as a force for change in the world important to you?

MA: “Renovation” was originally written as a piece about a man who had lived through a way (I was thinking of the Vietnam War) and who had returned home to mundane chores and a daily life that, while it felt familiar and safe, was also seen through new eyes, that everything was or had been transformed because it was now seen through a new veil, a veil of war and having served overseas and having seen horrific things and that he was not or no longer capable of existing as the same person he was before; incapable of putting in tile or a floor or even hugging his wife. There was this wall of separation. He’s been to a place of pain that he could not talk about or express and it clouded every aspect of his daily life. And he could do nothing and felt helpless to change it.

As a teacher a community college I had many students in my night classes who had returned from the Middle East, who had served in the Army or the Marines and were back home, many of them with young families and new marriages and they were making their way as grocery checkers or working in gun factories or making deliveries. They were plodding along, trying to do the right thing, but in their minds they were back in the sand, nervous, alone, in a place of killing that no amount of normal life back home could erase. I saw many of them end up in jail for odd reasons, drunk driving, abuse, petty thieving. They did not know or understand how to “be” normal as they were.

SR: Just as there are many different forms and types of poetry there are also many different reasons for both writing and reading poetry. Poems can be inspiring, informative, transformational and even therapeutic. Reading poetry can help us recover a part of ourselves that we have lost and writing poetry can help us process and recover what we once knew but has been buried deep within. In what way has poetry been an action of “recovery” for you? In what way do you hope it will serve as a sense of “recovery” for your readers?

MA: Recovery, to me is recovering one’s life. Plain and simple. It is getting back or unearthing what a soul should be, before whatever happened that took away livelihood and free will. Recovery may be recovering from drugs or alcohol or grief. It could be recovering from a sickness? It could be a healing from a place of artificiality to a place of real. Recovery is a process of peeling back the layers to get to “self.” To return to or to find for the first time the person you were or were or are meant to be. To be not in recovery is to deny life, to cover life up and bear false witness to your own being.

SUSAN ROGERS considers poetry a vehicle for light and a tool for the exchange of positive energy. She is a practitioner of Sukyo Mahikari— a spiritual practice that promotes positive thoughts, words and action. She is also a photographer and a licensed attorney. Her work can be found in the book Chopin and Cherries, numerous journals, anthologies and chapbooks including the forthcoming San Diego Annual: The Best Poems of San Diego 2011-2012. In 2011, her comments about poetry and poetry workshops were published in an essay on the national site, Women’s Voices for Change. Her poetry can be heard online or in person as part of two audio tours for the Pacific Asia Museum in Pasadena, California. She has also been interviewed by Lois P. Jones for KPFK’s Poets Café. This interview is archived at http://www.timothy-green.org/blog/susanrogers/.·

Sukyo Mahikari North America – www.sukyomahikari.org

Kevin Jones: A lot of people join the military for a new life or to make a fresh start. Rudy, the main character in your story Last Battle Aboard the Old Pro, seems to be one of these people (even if he’s making a hash out of it). Why did you join the Navy? What were you looking for? Did you find it?

Jeffery Hess: My high school senior trip was a seven-day cruise to two ports in Mexico and Key West. I was seventeen years old in international waters on a cruise ship full of alcohol and high school seniors. It was a non-stop party. A couple buddies with me were already signed up for the Navy. I might have been thinking about the Navy before the cruise, but I enlisted just two months after graduation. It seemed to me that a job that took you places couldn’t be all bad.

On some level, I believe I also joined the Navy out of some noble call to defend my country and I’m very happy that that was the result. But the pressing motivation for enlisting was that I wasn’t ready for college and I didn’t want to spend all my time at a job at a point in my life when I didn’t know what else was out there in the world. That senior cruise gave me a taste and I wanted more.

Beyond the cliché of seeing the world through a porthole, though, the Navy offered honest, hard work, the potential to advance incrementally in rank, while serving my country and making my parents proud, all with the opportunity to see at least part of the world. I couldn’t pass that up. During my six-year enlistment, I saw a fair amount of the northern hemisphere. I worked hard and played hard and made a lot of great friends. It was as productive a gig as I could imagine between high school and college. So, yes. I’ve never really thought about it before, but I suppose I did find what I was looking for.

KJ: The Old Pro in the story is a relic in an otherwise high tech Navy (I was particularly taken with the comparison between the ship’s minimal defenses and the Soviet Union’s high powered naval forces). How does that fit into the narrative? Were you making a conscious decision by placing the events on a ship that’s basically waiting to be decomissioned?

JH: I served two years aboard the very ship named in the story. The USS Proteus. We called her The Old Pro because she was the oldest ship in the fleet — she had been present at the Japanese Surrender with six Japanese submarines moored on each side. When I arrived for duty in her homeport of Apra Harbor, Guam, forty years later, the ship was in dry dock. Various repairs were being made and a number of equipment upgrades were getting installed, but the ship was a weathered hulk built during the Roosevelt administration whose sole purpose was to serve as lactating sow for all her submarine pups.

The Proteus was a submarine tender with barely enough fire power to make a balloon burst by shooting into a clown’s mouth. At the time, I resented the thought that my ship was equipped with undersized weaponry. I felt trapped on the little island when we were in port and vulnerable to the enemy while we were at sea. Years later in civilian life, I realized that our weapons weren’t the guns aboard our ship, but rather the submarines that we tended were. Each sub that stopped by for refueling, restocking, or repairing was like a giant torpedo filled with missiles and more torpedoes. Collectively we were a powerful and important factor in the Cold War. (I spent the last three years of my enlistment aboard the newest ship in the fleet, a guided-missile cruiser, with all the latest and greatest firepower. My enlistment ended about a month after the Berlin wall came down.)

Of course, the crew didn’t know the Old Pro would be decommissioned a few years later. And I can’t say I set the story there for any greater reason than it’s loosely based on actual events and it all seemed to fit.

KJ: This feels to me like the first chapter (or certainly an early chapter) in a novel. Is it? Was it meant to be at one point? We read a lot about short stories growing into novels, but the reverse also happens (the novel that hits a dead end and becomes a short story or two). On a larger level, how do you deal with stories that end up in different forms than you’d hoped they’d be when you started?

JH: This story was written as a stand-alone story, but now that you bring it up, I’m amazed to consider the fact that this story is exactly the kind of backstory the protagonist would have in the novel I just completed, which grew out of a totally different short story. As for this story, I wouldn’t be surprised if it ended up the basis of a chapter or a large flashback in my next novel.

As for the forms stories take as they’re being written, I’d say that I’m pretty flexible. The story I’m working on now changed recently from being about an Ensign aboard a ship to being about his wife back in their homeport. All the hardcore Navy stuff I had from this guy’s point of view had to be scrapped in favor of this woman who doesn’t deal well with time alone. It’s a totally different story than the one I began writing, but the character was so real to me that she took over and demanded to be written about. I’m pleased with the direction it’s going, but I wouldn’t have discovered all this crazy stuff about her if I had forced myself to write about her Ensign husband out at sea. So, in a sense, the character directed the form, the focus, whatever. If it doesn’t work, I can always go back to the ship with her husband at sea.

KJ: Military-themed fiction runs the very real risk of turning into cliché, but yours avoids this entirely. How do you maintain the conventions of the genre while keeping the story fresh?

JH: I’m flattered that you consider my writing fresh. That’s a huge compliment. I hate to answer your question with self-deprecation, but I don’t know. I think I just try to tell a story as close to the way it would have happened. I’ve never deconstructed or analyzed one of my stories for this sense of freshness, but I think my characters tend to be put-upon, or somehow downtrodden and fighting against circumstances to get what they want, even when they don’t succeed. This is often set in the shadow of the Navy or prior Navy service because that was a formative time in my life and it’s vivid to me and fertile ground for such stories that entertain me and hopefully others as well.

KJ: Do you see yourself as a military writer or a writer who just happens to write characters and stories with military backgrounds? Are you concerned about being thought of as a military writer?

JH: I think this ties into your previous question, based on your compliment of my bringing a freshness to the stories. Most of my stories and even the novel I recently completed involve characters in or recently out of the Navy. There’s something unique about the confinement of ships out at sea and of the workshops on those ships. People of various ages from often very different backgrounds are thrown together and there’s no escape. You can’t call in sick on a ship. And you can’t quit. That can lead to all sorts of situations. And there are situations, decisions, and emotions to deal with after getting out, as well.

I don’t see myself with any kind of label though I’d be fine with someone considering me a military writer. I once described a story of mine as Navy Noir because of the dark characters and the elements of crime and violence. I’ve never seen that term anywhere, so perhaps that’s a new label. Who’s to say? Maybe I’m a crime writer. Many of my characters are also from Florida, so would that make me a Florida writer, too?

There’s a sense of expectation that comes from labels. Perhaps that’s a good way to keep writers on track. But when I’m banging away on my laptop, alone, at night, I’m not thinking of labels or expectations, I’m just writing variations of the stories I’d like to read.

KJ: You run a creative writing workshop for military veterans. How has that affected your work? What changes, if any, have you made in your writing process since forming this organization?

JH: I got the idea for the workshop while finishing my MFA program. The Navy was very good to me and we were in the middle of two wars. In an attempt to show my gratitude, I wanted to share my passion of writing and reading with others who have served.

In advance of the first workshop, a reporter from the Tampa Tribune interviewed me over the phone and one of her questions was, “Do you write about your own military experience?” The rest of the interview is a blur in my memory because I was so unprepared for that question. It seems stupid to me now that I wouldn’t have anticipated that question, but I didn’t and I had no ready answer. To that point, most of my writing contained main characters who had some past or even distant affiliation with the military, but I didn’t draw directly from my experiences in my writing, using the backdrop of my experiences aboard ship and in various ports. I’ve been making up for lost time ever since.

The workshop has affected my writing positively since we began in late 2007. We have a dedicated group of writers who inspire and challenge and entertain me. Being in that kind of creative environment and sharing comments on the work each week helps cement my writing knowledge and enables me to pursue new knowledge to share with the group. I’m constantly learning.

Jeffery Hess: I enjoyed reading your story The Edge of Water, about a veteran returning home from the war in Iraq. You and I both served in the military, and one thing I learned during my time in the service is that people enlist for very different reasons. Can you tell us when and why you enlisted?

Kevin Jones: I joined the Marine Corps in May of 1990. At the time I was living in a small, studio apartment and trying (unsuccessfully) to attend community college.  I worked for an art house movie theatre making minimum wage which, while very cool, did not let me eat as much or as often as I would have liked. I had several friends who joined the military right out of high school and they seemed to be doing well, so one day I went to visit a recruiter to see what he had to say. The biggest attraction to the Marines, as opposed to the other services, was that they were offering a challenge. Could I complete boot camp? The other services talked about bonuses or job training or college funds, but the Marine Corps offered none of that. They told me up front that boot camp would be the most difficult thing I’d ever done, if I even finished, and that had a strong, reverse-psychological way of attracting me. In short, I was looking for a way to prove myself, even if I didn’t know who I was trying to prove myself to. The Marine Corps offered that in a way, to me, that none of the other branches did.

JH: When we were talking earlier, you mentioned that you had an epiphany while home on leave: your sister helped you discover Henry Rollins at an indie record shop and this made you realize you had to become a writer. Can you elaborate on this formative occasion?

KJ: After I graduated from the School of Infantry I was sent, almost immediately, to Saudi Arabia and Operation Desert Storm.  When I returned from the war, I had some block leave and went back to Sacramento (my home town) and tried to re-adjust. My sister was going to college and ran around with a group of actors and filmmakers and she had discovered Henry Rollins while I was overseas. While on leave she’d gone to Tower Books and bought me “Black Coffee Blues” and “See a Grown Man Cry.”  I’d been writing here and there all my life but without any real focus. Reading Rollins made me realize that if I wanted to write, I just needed to do it, and that there was no “wrong” way to write. It was the sort of muscular, no BS, no excuses kind of attitude that dovetailed perfectly with my service as a Marine, and I’ve pretty much been writing nonstop, in one form or another, since reading those books.

JH: Your characters often have military backgrounds but are not necessarily based on your experience. What is it about the military that you find makes for compelling characters?

KJ: I like the idea of characters thrust into situations they cannot get out of and forced to work with people they might otherwise not have anything to do with. I also like writing about organizations with very specific cultures, rules, and languages. The military, obviously, fits this interest, as do law enforcement, medicine, academia, and a host of other areas. For whatever reason, I’ve had more success with military themed stores than with other works I’ve written.

JH: Your current position in education involves the military. And your plans after completing your doctorate do as well. How so?

KJ: I’m finishing a PhD in Educational Policy at the University of Florida right now and I’m researching how military veterans make the transition from combat to higher education. What is that process? How do they adapt? How does the experience change them and how do they change the colleges and universities they attend? I founded the Student Veterans of America chapter at the university where I teach and am involved with several veterans groups at campuses across Florida as well. According to some estimates, there are going to be over a million and a half veterans of Iraq and Afghanistan leaving the military in the next few years. I’m a firm believer in higher education as a means to help these people successfully transition back to civilian life and move forward with their lives.

JH: That sounds like an excellent project, Kevin. Thanks for sharing your time with us. It’s been a very interesting discussion. And readers, stay tuned: on Wednesday we turn the tables and Kevin interviews me.

Kristine Ong Muslim: Hi, Stephen. Your short story, “Coffee,” in the Winter 2012 issue is a strong piece that deals with loss and mortality. I admire the way that you pulled it off without involving any tear-jerking scenes. The incredibly suggestive statement – “Her hip aches, there in the hollow beneath the ribs” – says it all. That is brilliant. I realize that this is a standard question for many writer interviews, but can you tell us if there is a particular incident that inspired you to write this story?

Stephen Ramey: Thanks for your kind comments. There was no specific incident that led me to this coffee shop and this counter clerk, but it does echo the impression I had when I first moved to New Castle. It’s a beautiful little city that has been crumbling for years. There’s a sense of hopelessness in people’s eyes as they hurry past recently remodeled store fronts that have been boarded over yet again. But once you meet local folks, you feel their pride of place and a resolute kindness that shines through. I believe that much of what came out in “Coffee” stems from that perceived tension between the city’s surface and its beating heart. It’s a very interesting place to live as a writer.

KOM: I love flash fiction, and I can’t help but rave at your stunning short story called Leaving the Garden at The Journal of Compressed Creative Arts. The visual overload is startling and unforgettable. I’ve also read several of your stories before reading “Coffee,” “Leaving the Garden,” and “A Formidable Joy.” I know that I’ve mentioned to you before that your writing reminds me of Terry Bisson. Another detail that I’ve noticed in your stories is that you excel at creating first lines.  So, can you let me in on your writing process? Do you usually finish your micro-shorts in one sitting? Do you normally start with a sentence in mind or an image perhaps?

SR: Thanks for reading! I’m humbled to be compared to a truly great writer like Terry Bisson.

My process is typically this. On Tuesday morning, I sit down with a prompt at Show Me Your Lits and write for 90 minutes. Sometimes, as in the case of each of the flash pieces you mention, something worthwhile results. I revise based on peer comments, then polish and let it sit for a time. When I’m ready to submit, I read the piece again, revise, and send it off. If I receive editorial comments, I revise again, polish again, and send it back out. Every work remains a work in progress until an editor says ‘yes’, or more rarely, ‘Yes!’. I find that prompts help me  to focus, or maybe it’s the challenge of constraint that pushes me to create these pieces. It seems the more I limit myself, the more strongly my imagination works to break “the rules” in creative ways.

It’s interesting that you mention first lines. That was a real weakness for me in the past. I tended to write static scene and character setting lines that provided context, but no spark for the reader. The key for me was to read tons (and I do mean tons) of opening lines. The really strong openings begin to jump out. Now, I probably work hardest on getting a reader into the story. I don’t let myself begin with simple context, but strive to command attention with a confident assertion that hints at what readers are about to experience. Then I move to more concrete context (in general). So, yes, I do often begin with a sentence that catches my interest. “Leaving the Garden” began in that manner. I was contemplating an image of a cemetery seen through a bomb scope, but it was that first sentence that launched the story. With that sentence the entire concept gelled.

KOM: What are your favorite themes?

SR: The issue that really interests me is the tension between self and other, e.g. our need for gratification pitted against a need to be acknowledged by others, our desire to remain individual against the requirement to participate in stable society. I’m also interested in the myriad ways we seek purpose in our lives. That said, I try not to write overtly about issues, but to create character driven story experiences. Theme inevitably leaks in.

KOM: What drives you to write?

SR: Now, you’ve touched a sore spot. The truth is that nothing drives me to write. I wish it were otherwise, believe me. I would be perfectly content to wile away my days reading books, watching television, playing video games. My driving force is to leave something of worth behind when I die. Sounds macabre, I know, but that has been my secret goal since I can remember. I think it’s because I read Asimov’s The Foundation Trilogy when I was deeply depressed in high school. It opened my eyes as nothing before had done. I’ve always longed to create-I do have that going for me-but had not understood the power of creation until that experience. It changed me in a positive way. I think I hope to do the same for some future depressed high school student. The problem is that in order to create a master work, one has to become a master first, and one does not do that by reading books, watching television, playing video games. Once I finally pounded that truth through my thick skull, I began writing regularly.

KOM: There are so many writers who choose to self-publish nowadays. The preponderance of those 99-cent self-published ebooks is becoming the norm. What are your thoughts about self-publishing?

SR: This is a complex issue for me. On the one hand, we live in a society that values distribution over creativity, and that is a very poor model for encouraging diverse creations. We worship the Creative, but we buy product. On that point, I’m very happy to see ebooks taking hold. They bypass to a large degree the necessities of the old business models.

On the other hand, self-publishing can be an excuse not to get better at one’s craft. My view is that an artist should  strive for perfection throughout his/her lifetime. Without a “quality” filter between me and publication, do I really have a an incentive to improve my craft? I don’t know. I guess, for now, I’m most interested in the legitimate small press that is emerging. I like the idea of having editorial involvement in the process of vetting works.

KOM: Can you tell us about your current writing projects?

SR: Right now, my focus is on editing the new Triangulation anthology, an annual speculative fiction collection from Parsec Ink. I’m revising an epic fantasy novel for my agent, and hope to start work this year on a literary novel that’s been brewing in my noggin for a while. For those who might want to keep up with my doings, I blog at RameyWrites.

Kristine Ong Muslim is the author of the forthcoming short fiction collection We Bury the Landscape (Queen’s Ferry Press) and several books and chapbooks, most recently Insomnia (Medulla Publishing). Her short fiction and poetry have appeared in many publications, from Boston Review to Southword. Her online home and blog: http://kristinemuslim.weebly.com

Joan Hanna: Patrick, we were thrilled to have your essay The End of the War as part of our military and war themed issue. One of the things that struck me while reading this piece was the correlation between your time in Vietnam and the death of your mother. Can you share with our readers how these two incidents came together in this story?

Patrick Cook: Thanks for this opportunity, Joan. I don’t get published so often, so this is a big thrill. Of course the surface connection between my time as a hospital corpsman on the USS Sanctuary and my mother’s death is that these experiences were both nursing. The more important connection, though, is that they were both times of profound emotional involvement. I remember standing on the deck of the Sanctuary, looking at one of the glorious tropical sunsets. The way the light shone through the clouds, glowing dark red, reminded me of the deep exit wounds caused by an AK 47 round through a patient’s thigh. I had to turn away from the sunset. Too many /images like that were burned into my brain.

Incidents in my mom’s care, even things that weren’t that similar, inevitably reminded me of my time in Vietnam. Long watches in the night, seeing her in pain even through the morphine—the connections kept bubbling up. I felt the emotions again, remembered the scenes again.

JH: I love the parallels and contrasts in your story. There is a tactile sense of responsibility between the two memories. Can you elaborate a little on how you think that incident in Vietnam may have affected your response to your mother’s illness?

PC: I’m glad you picked up on the sense of responsibility that runs through the essay. Nursing is very important in the healing of wounded patients. For the first time in my life, things I did were truly vital, actions that could mean life or death. I wasn’t that young—I turned 24 that year—but it was the first time I had to act like an adult. In the same way, nursing my mother was a maturing event. Her death meant not only that she depended on me, but also that I could no longer depend on her. Again, it was time for another step into maturity, into responsibility.

JH: There are often conflicting emotions with siblings when a parent is ill and you illustrate this well in your story. You also have the added layer of your response to this incident shadowed by your experiences in Vietnam. Do you think your siblings understood how your service in Vietnam affected your reaction to your mother’s illness even though it was so many years later?

PC: We were concentrating on helping Mom get through this. I don’t think my extra private pain came into the picture. Actually, I hope it didn’t. I was impressed by my sisters-in-law, who demonstrated their kindness and love so clearly, by my brothers and my sister, who cooperated so well. I think we were all trying to be extra careful, because we knew this was one of those times when misunderstandings arise, and cause pain for years. One more thing to recover from, and we didn’t need that.

JH: Sometimes we feel that we are able to handle trauma with a certain sense of detachment because of experiences we have had. For instance, someone with medical training could be considered somewhat of an expert and is expected to handle a personal trauma more easily. Your story illustrates that our experiences don’t always give us a strong foundation for dealing with trauma in our own lives. Can you describe how personal trauma affects you as a writer?

PC: I’ll make one of those blanket statements, which is almost entirely true. Personal trauma is the only reason I write—to express a pain that readers can understand and recognize in their own lives. This is true even of my humor pieces. Yes, I write humor, too. It’s harder than a straight narrative. But even in a funny piece, my account of frustration with bureaucrats or my garden is ultimately based on some kind of pain.

JH: Do you have any other stories, publications or websites that you would like to share with our readers?

PC: Some years ago, I published a piece on the very different circumstances of my younger brother’s death. You can find “The Mayor of Gardenville.” at www.conteonline.net. For the funny stuff, go to www.fonsandporter.com for “Laments of a Quilter’s husband.”

JH: Patrick, thank you for sharing your story with our readers. We were delighted to have you as part of our winter issue and we especially thank you for sharing such personal thoughts and feelings about your essay. Just one final question: could you share with our readers what recovery means to you?

PC: I’ve had a lot of opportunities to recover. I handled some of them better than others. I’ve been sober for twenty-six years now. I was able to stop smoking. I don’t get a sinking feeling when I hear a helicopter any more. Most of all, I’m able to use traumatic experiences to make a kind of art. That helps a lot in my recovery. Thanks again for publishing my essay, and for giving me the opportunity to talk about it.

Mary Akers: Congratulations on the publication of your memoir Eyes Right: Confessions from a Woman Marine! And thanks so much for sharing an excerpt with us. Can you tell our readers a little bit about what the publication process was like for you? I know the journey was a long and winding one, so whatever you feel you want to share is fine.

Tracy Crow: Long and winding is right. I started the book ten years ago, worked on various drafts for a few years, and put it away when my agent decided the timing wasn’t good. He thought the flood of memoirs from Iraq and Afghanistan would overshadow a book about the 1980s. He told me to write a novel. But when he abruptly left the business a couple of years later, I contacted the University of Nebraska Press, and reminded them they’d had interest before I signed with my agent. They moved quickly on it. Of course, the publication process of revisions, copy editing, and book design takes a long time. In my case, another two years.

MA: What sort of things did you learn during your time as a US Marine that you find have helped you as a writer?

TC: Self-motivation. Tenacity. How to take (figurative) punch after punch in the gut – I’m referring to rejection – and become stronger for it.

MA: Do you have any advice for writers who may be beginning to feel beat down by the process of trying to get published?

TC: One of the joys of seeing a book reach publication is the journey of getting it there. I don’t say this because, okay, it’s happened for me now, so I can be glib. Sure, for some, the journey is shorter than for others. Who can say why? I can say it’s not always because one book is better written than another. For whatever strange and mysterious reason, the journey varies. Along the way, if we’re paying attention, we’re learning a precious lot about ourselves – like what we’re willing to sacrifice, or not, for success. When success didn’t come as quickly as I wanted, I got a little angry. When I got a little angry, I sent out more query letters, revised again and again, sent out more query letters. If I have any advice, it’s to get a little angry. Nobody but you is really going to care whether you ever publish a book, so you have to care a great deal.

MA: I’ve been thinking a lot about success lately, and what that word means. I’ve decided that every writer has their own notion of what success looks like for them. What do you see in your heart-of-hearts visualization of success?

TC: A bit cliché, maybe, but success for me is about feeling comfortable in my own skin. I’m 53, and not there yet.

MA: As a writer of memoir, I’m sure you have wrestled with the notion of capital-T Truth. What side of that divide do you come down on? That truth is slippery and changeable and our own, subjective truths are where Truth lies? Or that verifiable, factual Truth is an attainable and desirable goal?

TC: When you publish memoir, you enter into a contract with your readers that the material is grounded in truth, and for me that truth is verifiable fact. Except for memory. Memory is the slippery slope. I didn’t show EYES RIGHT to my mother, brother, or daughter until it was off to the press because I didn’t want to be distracted by protests of their memories. (Fortunately, there were none.) However, I’m firm about not allowing myself or my memoir students to fabricate people or events to suit a version of the truth, or for art. I do encourage memoirists to explore their own memories, because what we remember and don’t remember are equally telling.

MA:Your memoir examines various themes associated with military life in the 1980s. What about EYES RIGHT sets it apart from more recent memoirs that address experiences in war?

TC: Every generation of women for the past 120 years has broken ground in some significant way. Certainly today’s generation is breaking ground. But ours was no different. Here’s why: we were the first women allowed to remain in the military after we became pregnant. Just think, every woman who came before us had been forced to choose between motherhood or military career. Thanks to a change in regulations just before I joined in 1977, my generation could have both, and this reinforced the 1980s’ mantra, you-can-have-it-all. But we were an anomaly. Our commanders, including women who had chosen career over motherhood, were often hostile, or at the least baffled about how to treat a pregnant woman in uniform. Their hostility compelled us to push our physical and emotional limits, and for many of us, certainly for me, the need to prove we still belonged created disastrous life-changing consequences. While Eyes Right is my story, I soon realized that nothing had been written about my generation, and the story needed to be told. Thanks to my generation, today’s military mom, for better or for worse, serves in places like Iraq and Afghanistan.

MA: And finally, what does “recovery” mean to you?

TC: Being forever open to self-reflection. Being truthful about motive, which fascinates, even frightens me at times.

And for our readers, here’s a write-up about the book and a link to purchase.

Purchase the book!

“Just out of high school in 1977, her personal life already a mess, Tracy Crow thought the Marines might straighten her out. And sure enough, in the Corps she became a respected public affairs officer and military journalist—one day covering tank maneuvers or beach assaults, the next interviewing the secretary of the navy. But success didn’t come without a price.

When Crow pledged herself to God, Corps, and Country, women Marines were still a rarity, and gender inequality and harassment were rampant. Determined to prove she belonged, Crow always put her career first—even when, after two miscarriages and a stillborn child, her marriage to another Marine officer began to deteriorate. And when her affair with a prominent general was exposed—and both were threatened with court-martial—Crow was forced to re-evaluate her loyalty to the Marines, her career, and her family.

Eyes Right is Crow’s story. A clear-eyed self-portrait of a troubled teen bootstrapping her way out of a world of alcoholism and domestic violence, it is also a rare inside look at the Marines from a woman’s perspective. Her memoir, which includes two Pushcart Prize–nominated essays, evokes the challenges of being a woman and a Marine with immediacy and clarity, and in the process reveals how much Crow’s generation did for today’s military women, and at what cost.”

Tracy Crow is an assistant professor of creative writing at Eckerd College in St. Petersburg, Florida, and the nonfiction editor of Prime Number magazine. Her essays and short stories have appeared in a number of literary journals and been nominated for three Pushcart Prizes. Under the pen name Carver Greene, Crow published the conspiracy thriller An Unlawful Order, the first in a new series to feature a military heroine.