linda collison's Sea of Words
charting a course from imagination to publication
When I was an ER nurse we used to say we were in the trenches of healthcare, on the front line of the battlefield. Indeed, many a 12-hour shift felt like a war zone, with the injured and sick arriving by ambulance, taxi, private car, and sometimes staggering in on foot (I’m remembering the guy who was knifed in the parking lot, one wintery night in Denver…)
But working as a registered nurse in a hospital Emergency Department is cake compared to working as a medic in a worn-torn land like Afghanistan.
19-year-old Army Spc. Monica Lin Brown (pictured) from Lake Jackson Texas is the second woman since World War II to be awarded the Silver Star for valor. This article grabbed my attention and gave me pause. I write historical fiction about a surgeon’s mate who takes part in a land battle — the 1762 Siege of Havana. To read about a real live woman risking her life to save the lives of wounded soldiers is humbling, yet validating. Female medic earns Silver Star in Afghan war (from MSNBC.com)
Current Pentagon policy prohibits women from serving in front line combat roles – in the infantry, armor or artillery, for example. But the nature of the war in Afghanistan with no real front lines, has seen women soldiers take part in close-quarters combat more than in any previous conflict.
23-year-old sergeant Leigh Ann Hester was the first woman since WWII to receive the Silver Star, in 2005, for gallantry during an insurgent ambush in Iraq.
My prayers for all of the men and women serving their country; may you be safe and may you soon be reunited with your loved ones.
Peace.
As a child my favorite and most memorable Christmas gifts were a geologist’s rock hammer, a microscope, a chemistry set — and books. Every year Uncle Bob, the bachelor friend of my parents, gave each of the Collison girls a hardback book. I cherished these books, reading them over and over and over again, becoming the characters and living the story for days on end. Some of my favorites that leap to mind were King of the Wind and Misty of Chincoteague, by Marguerite Henry and Walter Farley’s Black Stallion series. I learned to write, as all writers do, by reading and imagining what I had read.
I’ve seen a few posts and tweets this season about what to give writers for the holidays (and even posted one myself about needing more time!) but I haven’t seen so many thoughts on what writers can give (besides comp copies, remainders and ARCs for review.) A true gift is not a promo, I remind myself. Here are some ideas how writers can give unique and powerful gifts this year. Some are big gifts and some are cute little stocking stuffers but all can make a difference in someone’s life.
Help someone write a winning resume – especially someone with a learning disability or someone who doesn’t own a computer.
Assist an elderly person write or record their memoirs.
Read to a child, and often. Don’t have a child handy? Volunteer to read at a local school.
Read to an adult. (A shut-in, an elderly neighbor, or your significant other!)
Organize an afternoon or evening writing workshop for teens, or young mothers, free of charge (call your local library or youth group organization.)
Volunteer as a tutor or pledge some hours with the local literacy program.
Give books (other than ones you’ve written!) or gift cards to buy books.
Write a review for an author whose work you admire, post it — and don’t ask for one in return.
Create heartfelt thank-you notes to those who have done something for you.
Speak words of good cheer and sincerity to all you greet this time of year.
Greet someone in their native language.
Listen — really listen — to someone else’s words and respond from the heart.
Say thank-you often, be generous with your “well dones!”
Write a poem for everyone on your list
Pray aloud. (Atheist? Talk to yourself.)
Sing!
Get that damn novel finished! The world is waiting for you to write your truth as only you can.
On a spring day in 1981 I made my first parachute jump under an old military T-10: A big round olive green ‘chute blossoming over my head just seconds after letting go of the strut of a Cessna 205, 2500 feet above a snow covered Colorado wheat field.
Photo courtesy of North London Skydiving Centre
I was 27 years old. My life at that time was proving quite a challenge. I was divorced; a mother, a nursing student. Money was scarce, I was working and going to school, trying to rebuild my life. Jumping out of an airplane was one of the scariest thing I had ever done. So frightening and so exhilarating that I had to do it again. And again. And well over a thousand times more. I became a certified freefall jumpmaster, then a skydiving instructor. I made lifelong friends and I competed in Nationals on a four-way team with Bob Russell, a man who I’ve been married to for nineteen years this November.
Two freefall jumpmasters with a student in the middle. Photo courtesy of North London Skydiving Centre.
For more than a decade, skydiving was my passion. I still dream of it. Some of my best friends are skydivers or former skydivers, and once a skydiver always a skydiver, it’s like a secret society.
Skydive Arizona, in Eloy; a skydiving resort and home of the U.S.P.A. 2011 Nationals
Photo courtesy of North London Skydiving Centre
I haven’t made a skydive in over a decade but I still have my gear. Bob just took his in to have his reserve ‘chute repacked — just in case. We’ve been temporarily living in Tucson, 50 miles from one of the premier drop zones in the world: Skydive Arizona . Home of the United States Parachute Assoication National Skydiving Competition. Which Bob and I competed in twenty years ago this month with our friends Steve and Mike. Yesterday we met Steve at Skydive Arizona and enjoyed a heartwarming reunion. Also at Eloy this year is my first jump course instructor and friend, Ellen Bakke Monsees; a world class competitor on Moxie, a winning all-female team.
Moxie: A world-call, all-female skydiving team. Like them on Facebook
Two of my teammates, twenty years after
I gave up skydiving a decade ago but I still dream about it. I remember how it felt to leave my cares on the ground, to live an entire lifetime in fifty-five seconds of freefall, the earth far away but not forgotten and too quickly approaching.
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