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Buddy, can you spare a phone call!

December 15, 2013 By Lynne

In 1932, desperate and hungry, about 17,000 World War I veterans converged on Washington D.C. to demand a promised cash bonus be paid early. The World War Adjusted Compensation Act of 1924 had awarded them each a bonus certificate they could redeem in 1945. With interest, the value would be about $1000. But the veterans needed the promised money then, not later. After the 1931 veto of the Patman Veteran’s Bill, most veterans had given up hope of getting their bonus certificates cashed out.

Former Army sergeant Walter W. Waters wasn’t one of them. Waters figured the way to get something done was by lobbying. He also believed that the veterans had to be in the capital to be heard. Waters gathered and led a group of 300 Oregonian veterans to Washington. The group left Oregon on 11 March 1932 and made their way across country by the cheapest way possible – riding the rails, hitchhiking, and walking. Calling themselves the Bonus Expeditionary Force” (BEF) after the American Expeditionary Force they’d been a part of in France, the group arrived in Washington D.C. on 29 May. Thousands more veterans having heard about them on the news were waiting for them. Their numbers swelled to 17,000.

My grandfather, Harry Walker, was one of those 17,000. Out of work and worried about how he was to care for his family, he left his wife and two children in Philadelphia, and made the trip to Washington D.C. in hopes of getting the government to cash the certificates.

Waters called for the men to set up a camp and organized it with the same guidelines the Army utilized. The men listened to him when he informed them that to be a part of the camp they needed to register and provide proof they were veterans, and that there was to be no drinking, gambling, or communist conspiring inside the camp. They were there to demonstrate in an orderly manner that befit their status as former soldiers, sign petitions requesting relief, and to lobby Congress on behalf of themselves and their fellow veterans. They proceeded to do just that. World War I vets were only part of the more than 40,000 people who converged on the capital that summer demanding relief, but the news focused on the Bonus Army and their efforts.

My grandfather told my mother that it was orderly and peaceful for the most part. They just wanted their elected representatives to help them out by giving them what had been promised to them.

On 15 June, the House of Representatives did listen to the veterans and they passed the Wright Patman Bonus Bill that would have allowed the vets to receive their cash bonuses.

However, on 17 June, the Senate flatly rejected that bill.
(The above post cards came from my grandmother’s album – notice on the last card that the inked stamp only says World War.)

Defeated, a great number of the veterans decamped and returned home. However, several thousand veterans with their families remained in Washington D.C. to continue lobbying Congress. Most of them didn’t leave because they had no homes to go to and no money to travel with. While the Bonus Army continued to conduct itself with decorum, they weren’t the only ones encamped in the Capitol. Many thousand others were still encamped in shantytowns and tents right across from the White House and in front of the capital building.

Supposedly concerned that the large group was a threat to national security, Attorney General William D. Mitchell ordered the Washington police to clear the squatters from the camps and the city. Before that foray was over, two veterans had been killed.

President Herbert Hoover ordered the Army to secure the city. General Douglas MacArthur, using the 12th Infantry Regiment, the 3rd Cavalry Regiment, and 6 battle tanks commanded by Major George Patton, sent his forces to push the squatters and their families out of the capital.

Patton formed the cavalry on Pennsylvania Avenue and in a move that shocked everyone, ordered the cavalry to charge.
That’s right. General Douglas MacArthur and Major George S. Patten led a cavalry charge against unarmed fellow Americans and their former brothers in arms who had peacefully assembled in our nation’s capital.

The remaining veterans and their families, most of whom had been cheering the appearance of the Army believing they were there to protect them from the police, were forced to flee for their lives across the Anacostia River to the large camp on the Flats. Hoover ordered a halt to the charge; however, MacArthur ignored him and led the infantry with fixed bayonets and tear gas in pursuit of the fleeing masses of men, women and children. 55 veterans were injured, 135 arrested, one veteran’s wife miscarried, and a 12 week old child died after being caught in a tear gas cloud. MacArthur’s men then burned the camp to the ground effectively ending the Bonus Army’s encampment on the Anacostia Flats.

My grandfather called it a despicable act and a gross violation of their First Amendment Right to peaceful assembly. He hated Douglas MacArthur until the day he died.

The nation was also incensed at the treatment of the veterans, but their anger didn’t change the minds of the House or the Senate. However, when the election came around in November, the voters remembered and Herbert Hoover, as well as a good number of other incumbents, was not returned to office.

The veteran’s didn’t receive their payment until 1936 when the House and Senate voted to pass the Adjusted Compensation Payment Act successfully overriding President Franklin Roosevelt’s previous veto of the bill. It’s not until Roosevelt signs the Servicemen’s Readjustment Act of 1944 (known as the G.I. Bill) that veteran’s rights are secured.

Or so we thought.

Why tell you this story? Because just this week, our elected representatives decided that the retired veterans of this country don’t need to be treated with the respect they’ve earned.

“Annual adjustment of retired pay and retainer pay amounts for retired members of the Armed Forces under age 62:
This provision modifies the annual cost-of-living adjustment for working-age military retirees by making the adjustments equal to inflation minus one percent. This change would be gradually phased in, with no change for the current year, a 0.25 percent decrease in December 2014, and a 0.5 percent decrease in December 2015. This would not affect service members who retired because of disability or injury. Service members would never see a reduction in benefits from one year to the next.”

Really? So a future 1.3% COLA for all federal retirees will only a 0.3% COLA for veterans – just the military retirees. Once again, all federal pigs aren’t equal in the eyes of the federal government.

Now keep in mind that for those of us who stuck around for all those years so we could retire – we were always promised that we’d have medical and dental for the rest of our lives. Yes, we were told that. Yes, we all believed it. No, we didn’t get it in writing. Yes, we were stupid!

But would it have mattered if we did get it in writing? Perhaps we should ask the Native Americans what a written promise by our government is worth.

The base hospitals are closing and becoming clinics with reduced medical staffs so they no longer treat retirees. Retirees are now forced to pay for TRICARE. Yes, I’m aware that it’s vastly cheaper than most civilian insurances, but that’s not the point – it’s not what we were told that we could expect if we stayed when everyone else left for decent paying jobs. There is no dental care – we’re forced to pay for a dental plan just like everyone else. Now the Department of Defense is talking about closing the base commissary system (the grocery store). I’m not sure how the young families will survive if they do that, much less the retirees who live near those installations and depend on them.

Silly us, we believed that our government would respect the people who enforced all those treaties and policies, furthered our national interests, and of course protected our national security. Remember us? We’re the ones who worked for less than we were worth because we believed in the greater good of our nation. We’re the ones who got spit on and derided for doing what our nation asked us to do. We’re the cold war warriors who can’t even get the same disability considerations because we sat in silos instead of serving in a sandbox. We’re the men and women who worked weekends, holidays, and anytime we were told to because that was the commitment. Silly us, we believed that our government would honor its word to us with the same honesty and dedication that we honored our commitment to the nation. Funny how their service is so much more important and worthy than those of us who ensure their place in the system.

Well, don’t we all feel as appreciated as a used freaking piece of toilet paper now?

What can be done?

#1. If every veteran took just five minutes out of their day to contact their elected representatives to express their discontent (don’t worry, they won’t call you back) then we could clog the phone lines and annoy the snot out of them. Phone, email, write a letter, or show up at their damn office!

#2. If everyone non-veteran who’s claimed to appreciate and love us veterans joined in, then perhaps our government just might pay attention.

#3. Share the news of what’s being done. Most people have no idea. They’re just excited that someone’s trying to pass a budget. This one needs to fail in the Senate or be vetoed by the president.

Finally. As elections roll around – we can vote every one of those useless SOBs out. They’ll still have their juicy retirement, but we’ll feel better for doing it.

As for who would be willing to go to Washington? I’d go! My grandfather went – can I do anything less than he was willing to do? How about if we all go. There’s enough of us to cause one hell of a traffic jam and become an annoyance to their lives.

At least until they send in someone to run us the hell out of town. And would they? You bet your ass they would!

Sadly, I doubt there would be anyone in the hallowed halls of our capital building to listen. Have you noticed the timing? Pass something and then go home on Christmas break. And, even if they were there, would any of them give a damn that we showed up. Our elected representatives’ heads are simply too far up their collective asses to listen to anyone but a guy who can tap them on their butt with money in his hands.

I’ve got no money to be tapping with and I’ll sure as hell have less now.

For help in contacting your elected representatives by email visit http://capwiz.com/moaa/issues/alert/?alertid=63028561&PROCESS=Take+Action
It only takes a minute to fill out the form and send it. Thanks for your help.

All the sepia tone photos are mine. All other photos were blatantly stolen from the Internet in a gross violation of someone’s copyright. Please feel free to have me arrested and sent to federal prison where I can get 3 hots and a cot along with some much needed dental care that I can’t afford on my retirement.

30 Days of Freaking Gratitude – 2013

December 1, 2013 By Lynne

Let’s just go ahead and skip the ones that we all know about. Yes, I’m incredibly grateful for Mr. Scott, my extended and chosen family, my pets, my health, and to be living in the United States. Let’s move right along to the other things that rarely get the full amount of notice they should. I kept track daily of a few things and rather than bore the snot out of my few remaining Facebook friends every freaking day, I’ve saved it all for the blog.

‘Cause nothing says gratitude like boring the snot out of your ten faithful readers.

So here’s 30 days of stuff worth being grateful for:

1. The start of NaNo Write. I like the challenge, but it also works as a great excuse to not do housework or cook dinner.
2. Ham. A nice spiral cut sucker. I can’t leave a good ham alone.
3. Lumosity training. It’s a welcome distraction from writing to play stupid games that I suck at. I think it’s helping but it’s too soon to tell – although, I do question why they have to send you daily training reminders for something that is supposed to help improve your memory. Do they stop sending them if you reach a certain skill level on their games?
4. Vacation. I took one this year and had a great time. A combination of old friends and new friends made it memorable. Please buy more books – I’d like to have one again next year.
5. Glocks. They’ll never be a Colt 1911, but they’re much easier to clean and maintain.
6. Sam Elliott. No, he hasn’t shown up and yes, the restraining order is still in place, but as long as Sam is with us, there’s always hope.
7. Every football team that beats LSU.
8. The 10-pound dictionary my editor Marcia gave me. It’s her old one. I gave her a brand new 40-pound dictionary that she uses against me all the time. The 10-pound one worked perfectly for killing the spider that wandered too close to me the other day. The dictionary is fine, but I had to the throw part of the cover away because of the spider guts.
9. Those little pill containers with the days on them. The Lumosity shit really isn’t working yet.
10. The pull ring seal on the top of the coffee mate instead of that foil piece of crap. I needed a set of pliers to get that foil bastard off most of the time.
11. Jean Claude Van Damme’s jeans. I’m grateful that they didn’t do the splits when he did in that Volvo commercial.
12. My online peanut gallery. They don’t let me get away with anything and they often provide good lines for my books.
13. My small group of Marines – who will never see this because they avoid things without pictures. They entertain me by sending me the rudest, foulest, most obscene things in the world – which I promptly share with the other Marines since they appreciate that kind of lowbrow stuff.
14. The page button on the base station of my portable phone. Until the Lumosity training takes hold, I still need help in locating the phone.
15. The mute button. I wish it worked on the damn cat, but it at least works on all the TV commercials.
16. Apple Butter. Don’t try to tell me pumpkin butter is better – it ain’t. Apple Butter on a hot piece of toast on a cold morning makes me happy.
17. Zip ties. They keep my cords orderly and they give me many bad ideas about restraints and kidnapping and that usually leads to either thoughts about Sam Elliott or Chapter 12 of the new novel.
18. The window lickers. We all know them. Those people that went to the train line instead of the brain line. Imagine how much dumber I would look without them.
19. The guy at Albertson’s who moved the damn hand baskets back to the entry side of doors rather than leaving them on the exit side of the doors where the idiot district manager moved them to. I don’t need a freaking basket on the way OUT of the store.
20. The drama queens. Each of you have contributed greatly to my books. I doubt you’ll recognize yourselves when you read them.
21. Orange jump suits. They are a clear reminder of why I shouldn’t go across the street and take a baseball bat to the f***tard who lives there. I look like crap in orange and he doesn’t!
22. NCIS, CSI, and the Big Bang Theory. I need a little consistency in my life and this is it.
23. Puffs tissues. I used a lot of them when my Ducks forgot how to play football this season. Twice.
24. Cold pizza. I get so tired of the healthy freaking breakfast thing. Sometimes a girl just needs a slice of cold pepperoni and mushroom pizza.
25. My new vacuum cleaner. It’s one of the old style bag types. I hated f***ing with that stupid canister.
26. Friends who have land-nav skills. Yes, it’s true. I can get lost in my own backyard and having friends who can translate the topographical map with Google Earth is priceless.
27. Stouffer’s. Those little red boxes are a Godsend. Mr. Scott likes them and I don’t have to cook. That’s a win!
28. Duct tape. Never has so much by so many been owed to one little roll of happiness. It’ll fix anything and it’ll shut up damn near anyone. I have a couple relatives that I’d like to use it on.
29. College GameDay. I love those guys. Especially Coach Corso and the headgear pick.
30. The end of NaNo Write so I can sit on my butt and not worry about it anymore.

It’s Fiction, People!

November 24, 2013 By Lynne

Question: What if you have no background or experience in the subject you choose to write about?

Answer: No problem. Everything I have ever needed to know for a book can be found on Wikipedia or at the bottom of a Jack Daniels bottle. And if I still feel lost and confused, I just stay at a Holiday Inn Express overnight.

One of the best things about my job is the rather eclectic nature of the things I choose to write. I pick a subject that interests me, and then I go find out more. Research is always fun. Finding a site on the Internet that has great facts about my chosen subject is fairly easy, but I can also wind up on a site that’s the equivalent of a diaper full of diarrhea. Picking and choosing which links to follow often makes for an interesting afternoon.

In this instance, I’ve spent a little time looking at Dugway Proving Grounds. It was exhilarating (maybe the right word is frightening) to read some of the available information about this place.

Here’s a great example of how a single website can lead you astray for more than a day. Just for fun, go to Wikipedia and skim the information on Dugway Proving Ground. It begins with the basic facts and then moves into the history, which is all pretty bland until you think about just what they’ve been testing out there.

Yes that’s correct – biological and chemical warfare agents. You know – the bend over and kiss your butt goodbye type of stuff.

The next two items in the article are the Sheep Kill Incident and the U.S. General Accounting Office report. It seems an open air test in 1968 may not have been restricted to the range and many, many sheep off the range died. The subject of the 1994 General Accounting Office report is the previously accomplished (1940-1974) “open-air” testing of bacteria and viruses. The government has no idea of how many people may have been exposed to these agents at the time. As for the wildlife… well… even my Ranger friends told me they were warned not to consume anything that grew or ate things that grew while they were on Dugway. That whole “Don’t drink the water!” scenario in this section of the Wikipedia article just gives me that icky-creepy feeling. Anyone have an extra Atropine injector?

But it’s the final item in this article that proves the diaper theory and gives this location a truly bizarre twist – Alien speculation. Yup. Welcome to Area 52. The UFOlogists (their word not mine) got all excited when the Genesis, a NASA space probe collecting solar wind samples, malfunctioned and was brought down on the proving grounds in a controlled crash in hopes of saving some of the samples. Suddenly, the alien conspiracy theory nuts were citing passages of The Andromeda Strain by Michael Crichton. After all, that facility was out in the damn desert too. I followed several of the cited sources for this section of the article, and those led to more links, and more speculation, and… well… you get it. Solid facts (the Genesis being brought down, and the location at Dugway of many telescopes) are at the heart of the speculation, but some of the folks who perpetuate this stuff are just as far out there as the alien visitors they believe are using Dugway as a spaceport.

As for what I know about chemical and biological agents – not much. I know they scare the crap out of me. Almost more than rats and dark dirty basements. Almost. I have some digging to do. I fortunately know how to look things up and ask questions. I may even know a few people who can answer some of those questions. The trick will be to do the appropriate level of research without triggering the interest of the NSA, Homeland Security, and a whole host of other folks I really don’t feel like talking to. The goal is to avoid a visit to Guantanamo Bay.

Just as a reminder – I write FICTION! Yes, it’s important to hit the range of possible and plausible so that it’s more believable, but in the end, it’s still just a freaking story. How many times have you read a spy thriller involving the CIA and their facilities? Do you really think the author has a clue what the inside of those secure facilities looks like? When do you think the author visited the interrogation bunker in Eastern BumFuckistan? How do you think the author got access to the ultra-secret military installation? And, if he did, do you honestly believe he’d put the real details in the book? C’mon! We all know the CIA would have that guy locked up in a secret prison, while some doppelganger took his place and put out a new book every two years with false information to mislead us. You don’t really think the Tom Clancy you saw in all those interviews was the real Tom Clancy do you?

I repeat – I write fiction! The idea is to make you suspend your belief for a couple hours of reading enjoyment. Oh, yeah! I am definitely going to use Dugway as a character in a book. I won’t use its name – I’ll simply call it “the range” or the “the proving grounds.” A place this pretty from a distance must house some dark doings and secrets.

Now, if I could only get an interview with one of the aliens at Dugway…

One of the Most Dangerous Jobs in the Air Force

November 10, 2013 By Lynne

Recently, I read Command and Control, Nuclear Weapons, the Damascus Accident, and the Illusion of Safety by Eric Schlosser. I was most interested in his writings about the explosion at Titan II missile complex 374-7 near Damascus, Arkansas in September 1980. Both Mr. Scott and I were working in Titan when this disaster occurred. Schlosser’s detailed account of the events of that night brought home just how much I’d forgotten and also how much I never knew about the disaster. It also reminded me of the profound love that those of us who serve have for each other.

I don’t talk a lot about my first job in the military. As one of my friends told me the other day, “That was soooo last century, girl!” He’s right – it was a long damn time ago. I joined the military in 1978 and became a Propellant Transfer System (PTS) specialist on the Titan II ICBM (big ass missile for you civilians), and I was assigned to the 390th Strategic Missile Wing at Davis-Monthan AFB, Tucson, Arizona. There weren’t a lot of us who held the title – probably less than 250 on active duty at any given time. We were divided between the three operational Titan II wings at Little Rock, McConnell, and Davis-Monthan, the tech school (it was at Chanute AFB when I attended), and the 3901st Strategic Missile Evaluation Squadron in California. Even if we didn’t all know each other personally, we were aware of each other by name and reputation.

Our primary job was to load and unload the propellants utilized by the Titan II, and handle any issues involving those propellants or the equipment. In a nutshell, we were the gas passers.

Those are PTS troops in the suits and while that red cloud looks cool – it was freaking lethal. We joked about the BFRCs – Big F***ing Red Clouds created when we spilled a little oxidizer, but that was the nature of the job. Every day, we worked with some of the most dangerous stuff in the world. There were two main components: Fuel – Aerozine 50 was a 50/50 blend of hydrazine and unsymmetrical dimethylhydrazine (UDMH) and Oxidizer – nitrogen tetroxide (NTO to some N2O4 to us). They are hypergolic – that means you don’t have to light a fuse; they ignite from contact with each other. If properly maintained the propellants were stable and could be stored in the missile tanks long term

I’d arrived at Davis-Monthan AFB less than a month before the 24 August 1978 accident at complex 533-7 near Rock, Kansas. While loading the oxidizer tank, a Teflon O-ring became lodged in the poppet valve mechanism and the valve wouldn’t close.

When the team disconnected from the missile, the valve remained open and the missile downloaded itself into the silo. That accident cost two PTS troops their lives and permanently disabled another. Most documents state that Staff Sergeant Robert J. Thomas and Airman 1st Class Erby Hepstall lost their lives because the oxidizer penetrated their protective clothing through tears and design flaws.

We PTS troops know the real reason they died – it was because SSgt Thomas and A1C Hepstall went into a dirty hole and did everything they could to save the missile and their injured teammate. They got the more important of the two things done – they saved their teammate.

As happens after every major accident, fingers were pointed, blame was assigned, and crap rolled downhill. But good thing also come of these events. In this case, mechanical changes occurred, safety procedures were adjusted, and the suits were repaired and theoretically upgraded. But at the end of the day, the hazards associated with our job didn’t really change. We worked daily on a weapons system that was archaic, utilizing equipment that was older than most of the people operating it, and we wore protective gear that, due to its age and design, may or may not function when you most needed it to. We also worked for Strategic Air Command who’s informal motto was “To err is human – to forgive is not SAC policy.” All of us knew the risks – every day that a team dispatched to a missile site was a crap shoot, but we never considered not going. It was our job.

Eric Schlosser author of Command and Control… described us as a group:

“The PTS guys were a different breed. Outside of work they had a reputation for being rowdy and wild. They had one of the most dangerous jobs in the Air Force – and at the end of the day they liked to blow off steam, drinking and partying harder than just about anyone else at the base. They were more likely to ride motorcycles, ignore speed limits, violate curfews, and toss a commanding officer into a shower fully clothed after consuming too much alcohol. They called the missiles “birds,” and they were attached to them and proud of them in the same way that good automobile mechanics care about cars. The danger of the oxidizer and the fuel wasn’t theoretical. It was part of the job. The daily risks often inspired a defiant, cavalier attitude among the PTS guys. Some of them had been known to fill a Ping-Pong ball with oxidizer and toss it into a bucket of fuel. The destruction of the steel bucket, accompanied by flames, was a good reminder of what they were working with. And if you were afraid of the propellants, as most people would be, you needed to find a different line of work.”

Were we really that way? Sometimes. I specifically recall that PTS troops had a real thing for mooning each other and anyone in authority – not that I ever did that.

It wasn’t just our view of ourselves. Others perceived us as a bit of a wild bunch. I knew several security policemen at Davis Monthan who rated PTS troops in the same category of crazy as the explosive ordnance disposal (EOD) guys. What I can tell you is that we were one of the few career fields (along with EOD, pararescue, and tactical air combat controllers) to receive hazardous duty pay for the work we did. Fewer than 5,000 people in the entire Air Force qualified to receive haz pay and even firefighters didn’t have it until 2005. I think Schlosser pretty much nailed us as a group. We were damn proud of what we did and our “bad boy” reputation was just a part of that.

A view from the silo door to Level 2 at 571-7.

I don’t think any of us ever forgot what had happened at 3-7, but I know we didn’t dwell on it. When you work with hazardous materials, you have to completely focus on what you’re doing when you’re doing it.

Schlosser writes in detail about the accident that occurred near Damascus, Arkansas in September 1980. At complex 374-7, a PTS troop dropped a heavy socket while working in the launch duct. The socket took a bad bounce and instead of hitting the wall or landing harmlessly in the bottom of the launch duct, the tool pierced the stage one fuel tank. The missile immediately began to download itself into the bottom of the silo. This was an operational missile with a full load of fuel and oxidizer as well as a nuclear warhead. The combined weight of the materials on what would soon be an empty fuel tank would cause the airframe to collapse and rupture the oxidizer tanks. Almost eight hours later, Senior Airman David Livingston and Staff Sergeant Jeff Kennedy went onto the complex in an attempt to gather critical information for the command staff. While they were on the site, the missile exploded, destroying the launch complex and blowing the nuclear warhead out of the silo. Sra Livingston died several hours later from the injuries resulting from the blast and the toxic cloud of vapor from the oxidizer that didn’t burn off. Amazingly, SSgt Kennedy survived. Twenty-one people were injured either in the explosion or during the rescue efforts that followed.

A view toward the complex after the explosion.

When almost everyone else fled the scene, the surviving PTS troops stayed behind to try to find their brothers. They weren’t leaving without them. And they didn’t.

Every person has a moment when they realize they are mortal. The explosion at 4-7 was my moment. I wasn’t there in person, but I felt the loss and the horror, just as every PTS troop did. Suddenly the earlier deaths of SSgt Thomas and A1C Hepstall had new meaning. Three men were dead, and all they’d been doing was the same job that I went and did every day. I’m also positive that every PTS troop had the feeling – “There but for the grace of God, go I.”

The men and women of PTS are still a small, tightly-knit community. We’ve been reaching out to each other and thanks to a Facebook group, we’re all reconnecting and the war stories have been flying. It’s been a lot of fun, but more importantly, it’s been healing for many of us.

There’s an unbreakable bond that occurs between the people who do work this dangerous. The title brother or sister has true meaning to those of us who use it amongst ourselves. Placing your life in the hands of your team members is an act of faith – our faith is based on the absolute and certain knowledge that no one would ever be left behind.

Nothing has changed. My brothers and sisters will always be there.

To read more about these mishaps I suggest you purchase Command and Control by Eric Schlosser available in Kindle or print from Amazon
Online summaries of the events at:
Complex 533-7 at Rock, Kansas
Complex 374-7 at Damascus, Arkansas

And get off your butts and visit the Titan II Missile Museum at Complex 5717 in Green Valley, Arizona.

Final Inspection!

October 31, 2013 By Lynne

Are you ready for NaNo 2013? Have you checked your Go-Bag? I can’t let you deploy into a hazardous writing environment unprepared.

FALL IN
Let’s go, people! I have better things to do than wait on your butts to get in line.
Dump those bags for inspection.
NOW!!!

I’ll call out the checklist item, and you produce it promptly.
Did you just roll your eyes, mister? This is not a freaking game. This is NaNo!

Caffeine. My coffee cup goes where I go. I prefer regular ole coffee when I start my day of writing, but some go for the iced tea, the energy drinks, or the soda pop. Whatever works. I personally don’t want all that happy heartburn crap from Starbucks when I’m trying to work – just make a pot of Folgers or Dunkin’ Donuts or whatever it is that you like, suck some of that go-juice down, and put your pinkies on the damn keyboard.

Easy there, Sparky – too much of a good thing makes it hard to keep your pinkies on the keyboard.

Socks and knickers. No, I’m not one of those kinky ole first sergeants that gets off on looking at your stack of tighty-whities. Unless you’re a young, healthy, built like the proverbial brick outhouse Marine and are willing to model them, just leave them in a neat stack where you can get to them. You need 30 days of stuff (or 15 days if you’re Army and turn them inside out once) so you don’t have to waste your time doing laundry.

Personal hygiene items. Ah Jaysus, writing recruit, yes, you need them and yes, you will use them! Otherwise all the picking and scratching that comes from a lack of hygiene takes your pinkies away from the damn keyboard. Besides, you aren’t in the damn Navy – wash yourself and change your damn underwear. That’s an order!

Real food. You should have laid in some food as grocery shopping is not time well spent during NaNo. I fortunately live near a base and have purchased MREs for when I run out of pre-cooked meals and microwavable items. I’ve found that chucking an MRE at Mr. Scott makes him stop whining about being hungry. He doesn’t eat the damn thing, people, he leaves the house and does the hunting and gathering thing that all men should do for their women.

Quit being a damn bleeding heart. He’s fine. He likes Taco Bell. It’s not like I’m making him eat my cooking every night.

Snacks. Anything bad for you is good for you during NaNo. You’re expending a lot of energy and you need to keep those fingers moving. Eating snacks at your desk also saves all that time wasted in going to the table to eat real food. Save the real food for your spouse.

Suggestion: Reward yourself with chocolate. (Oh, and for you boots and civilians – when a first sergeant suggests something… it should be considered a freaking order. Get your damn chocolate. NOW!)

Automatic pet food feeder. They don’t have opposable thumbs and therefore require you to do your part for them. Automatic feeders will at least make sure they don’t miss too many meals. Anyone not taking care of the pets will have to deal with me.

Booze. Not until after you meet the goal at the end of the day. If I catch you drinking on the damn job, I’ll find a way to publish the garbage that you wrote while under the influence. Alcohol is a known contributor to bad spelling, bad grammar, and an inflated opinion of how great your freaking writing is – you actually begin to believe all the nice things your mother says.

Back off, Hemingway! Alcohol will not make you great – Hemingway does nothing for me. And it is all about me. I don’t care what the damn bleeding heart literary geniuses think. This is a word count war not some damn deer camp drinkathon. Put the bottle down!

Poncho liner and blow up pillow. Move your chair out of the way, grab the dog and your woobie and close your eyes. I don’t care if you wanna spoon with your Writing Battle Buddy, just don’t be doing that crap where everyone can see it. People just get plain stupid when they don’t get enough sleep.

Bedtime story – There are bad men… and they are all hiding under your bed with clown masks. Nighty-night, princess!

Music. I’m not much for music when I’m writing, but do what you want. I like to be able to hear the voices in my head when they whisper.

First sergeant warning – if the voices you hear in your head are the character in your story – this is a good thing. If the voices in your head are telling you to get your gun and watch out for the people sneaking up on you from behind – this is not a good thing. Call me and I’ll talk you down.

Sense of humor. If you forgot to pack it – you shouldn’t be attempting NaNo.

Good luck, writers! I’ll be going in to battle with you, so pack your bags and get ready. We’ll be jumping of the cliff in the morning. Let’s put some boots on the ground and pinkies on the keyboards – it’s time to go!!!

Are You Ready?

October 28, 2013 By Lynne

Today is Monday, 28 October 2013, and the challenge begins on Friday, 1 November 2013.

Yes! This Friday!!!

Are you ready to come play? Here are a few lessons learned from previous years – I hope these help you towards your goal.

Before the challenge:
1. A well-developed story plan is essential. Not that you’re going to follow it precisely, but it certainly helps to know where you’re going.
2. Know your characters and take the time to write a short biographical sketch. I have to keep referring back to certain things because I simply can’t remember everything. I often forget the last name of one of my characters or their eye color.
3. A chapter timeline is essential for me. I keep mine open and update it constantly. Since my story timeline is very tight, I have to pay close attention to what is happening and when. This prevents me from having those annoying issues with “sequencing.” I once read a book in which the hero sat down to an evening meal where there were fireflies, while something bad was happening to a kid in school at recess. That’s the type of thing that makes me insane as a reader.

During the challenge:
4. Don’t make the daily word count your nemesis. I figured out early that working on a weekly word count was less stressful for me. Some people like the idea of the small bite, but 1667 words a day can be their own little nightmare. I have days where I can’t manage 800 words. But I don’t panic because my weekly goal of 12,500 words feels much more attainable.
5. Set the bar high. It’s been my experience that people live up to the expectations placed upon them. I make sure to proclaim my goals here on my website and also to all my friends. The continuous encouragement makes a huge difference.
6. Don’t waste a lot of your primary writing time self-editing. Make a note about what you need to fix and move on. I have a sheet of paper where I just jot down the stuff as I think of it. I do my primary writing in the morning, and then in the evening I generally go back and read things over. This is frequently when I will take care of the notes I made during the day.
7. Write the scene that’s in your head. It doesn’t matter if it’s out of sequence – if you know what happens to your character at a certain point get it down on paper before you lose it. This challenge is about words, not necessarily continuity.
8. Don’t be discouraged if you feel like you aren’t going to make it. Keep working and power through the hurdles. 2011 was not my first attempt. I’d tried several times before and did not even get close. In fact, I’d quit without even reaching 15,000 words the last two times that I tried.
9. Don’t throw away or delete anything. Save the document under another name so you can use it later to put together a new plan and set new goals.
10. Remember above all else – this is just a challenge! You have to live in the real world and accomplish real things. Those are what really matter!

Are you ready?

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