|
This was a long work in progress. It’s very first
seeds were planted while I was still serving in
Iraq, a useful tool to while away the 90% boredom
that war has always been said, and often proven, to
be. It took a long time before I even realized there
was a story to tell in the jumbled mass of short
stories, poems, notes, and chicken scratch I had
amassed before turning my energies into producing
this modest first novel. I would be lying if I did
not admit much of it was written as a form of
therapy, though I did not realize this at the time.
Therapy for what exactly, I’ll leave for another
work.
Indeed, this is a work of pure fiction, no matter
how therapeutic it may have been for me to write.
While there are certainly truths here, of that have
no doubt; they are not specific, and appear in no
discernible depth, length, or breadth to leave
speculation. You either get it, or you
don’t. I am fortunate to have grown up in
a unique and colorful part of the world, East Texas,
specifically Athens, Texas, which I will always
consider home. East Texas is, for good and bad, the
ragged edge of the Old South, and all that it
entails. East Texas is a character all its own. I am
also fortunate to have served with a great bunch of dirtbags, specifically, Echo Company, 51st Inf
(Abn) (LRS) from the Spring of ’02 to Spring
of ‘05, which obviously includes our tour during the
invasion of Iraq and OIF-1. Extra special shout out
to Second Platoon.
Because of the nature of the story, and the
necessarily shared history I have with the
protagonist, the characters in this story are all
amalgamations and juxtapositions of many people I’ve
known in my life. No character within, especially
the main character, Jeb, escapes this. I’m nowhere
near as tough, or as interesting, as he is. This novel took
many forms along the way, and I would be remiss, if
I did not publicly thank certain people for their
effort in helping me make it a much better, richer
story.
Greg Bean, writer, novelist, and editor
extraordinaire, who convinced me I really did need
to rewrite it. Nothing should be quite as dark as
the original version, and no audience should
probably be subjected to that. Thank you, friend,
for your knowledge and insight. To the
girls, Jane Bailey, Don (hehehe) and Anne Andrews,
Mary Ann Tyner, and Danae Rockwood, for giving me
honest answers, opinions, and assessments. You all
know what I think of you.
I have to thank Shellen Snowden for the same, her
enduring friendship, and her honest answers about
what it’s like being the spouse of a veteran, and
the battles they face. If only they gave medals. One
of my favorite people.
A special thanks has to go out to Cheryl Hicks, for
not only her input, but for long ago providing the
spark. Without her early guidance, I might never
have stumbled upon this path. Words cannot express.
A super special thanks goes out to Noël
Daley, for making my manuscript both legible and
“proper.” I’m a writer, not a speller. For the super
cool, awesome, outstanding cover design which I am
so proud, I have to thank Christina McCall and Lucas
Bailey, for putting together something I was not
smart enough to describe. Thank you both so much. I said that a big part of this was
therapy, so I would be greatly in the wrong, if I
did not thank the people who had been there for me
in my darkest days. For providing inspiration,
insight, advice, an ear to listen, a beer to drink,
or simply having my back, I have to thank, in no
particular order: Lucas Bailey, Jeremy Basore, Ryan
Lavoie, Rocky Clapp, Garland Curtis Watson, Jr.,
Adam Smith, Rob Smith, and Michael Farmer; and from
another life, for the same, and for being there, and
themselves when it has always mattered the most:
Perry Gilliam, Michael Records, Thomas Grove, Matt
Russell, Raymond English, Joshua Schmidt, Scott
Zivoder, Christopher Condra, Lukus Collins, Vincent
Harbort, and Eric Pazz. There are many more, but to
continue would require another volume, and like I
said, another work.
I actually owe Eric, special thanks, because I
totally ripped off his survival school story for my
protagonist. He’ll get a beer in return, and like
it. Each of these men is my brother, and I love them
deeply.
And to two I’ll see in the next life, Spc. Spencer
Timothy Karol and Sgt. Coleman S. Bean, two
different kinds casualties of the same war. I cry
every day. Godspeed.
~ S.
A. Bailey
|
