Loss and LOVE AT WAR

I've thought quite a bit about LOSS these days. While losing people and/or things is part of the life cycle, that loss does not diminish the devastating effect it has on our lives. My father died shortly before my twelfth birthday. His death devastated my family, tore us apart, and resulted in my leaving the only home I'd known since birth. As is the case with most people, I've lost friends, family, and lovers over the years. Some have simply moved on. Others have kept in touch; others have not. Still others no longer grace this earth, and they live only in the shadowy land of my memory. Most recently, I lost my beloved mother in 2008. Of course, I was lucky to have her for so long. She lived until she was eighty-six, and I was an adult when she died. It was her brothers' letters that inspired me to write LOVE AT WAR (www.redrosepublishing.com), my own chronicle of WWII and the carnage it created.

Loss can exist on a small and a grand scale. Catastrophic events can result in the deaths of thousands, even millions. For example, millions of people--civilians and soldiers--died in the two world wars as well as in conflicts like Viet Nam. On a large scale, people often suffer the loss of their homes and communities during war, and on the even more personal front, individuals suffer the loss of loved ones they held close to the breast. I'd heard tales of my uncles in WWII. I never met the uncle who didn't come back, but I'd heard of him in glorious detail. He'd built a window fan for my grandmother's kitchen, and he'd saved his own money so that his little brother could have skates for Christmas when money was tight. His daughter is my beloved goddaughter. Listening to tales of his life helps me place him at the metaphoric family table, arousing my curiosity; however, such tales are bittersweet. I'll never know this man. Even his daughter never saw him.

Loss. . .I'd heard tales of catastrophic loss, but I'd never experienced the horror of it until Hurricane Katrina devastated the Gulf Coast. That tragedy, too, was a war in many ways, and like war victims, we mourned those we lost, shed tears, and then moved on, rebuilding our lives. Perhaps we're like people who have been in war. We now all too well understand the horror of loss. Katrina shook me in ways I can't even begin to describe, but in a positive way, it also made me more in tune to the suffering of others. Pre-K, I would hear of natural disasters, feel some stirring of sympathy, and move on. Now, I feel the loss all too well. I fully emphasize with their plight and remember my own sense of terror when I knew my old life was gone. At one point, we were called "refugees" by our own countrymen. So many people in war become refugees. Now, I know what it is like to be "displaced" and to feel alone. You become the ultimate existentialist--alone, all alone, and seemingly, no one hears you. You are just one person flailing alone in cold water.

LOSS is at the root of war. Young people march into battle, and war is devastating no matter how it begins. Civilians and soldiers die in the carnage, and we, the survivors, can only bleed for their loss, place a bandage on our gaping wounds, and pray for healing. All that remains are memories of the good times we shared with those we loved and cherished. In LOVE AT WAR, Nuala suffers great loss when she believes her husband is a casualty of war, but like many brave souls, she puts a metaphoric salve on our wounds and forms a plan of revenge.

I once asked my mother why my grandmother so seldom smiled. My mother stared at me for a long time before answering. She said that too much had been taken from Grandma. Only until after did I really understand what she meant. LOVE AT WAR, www.redrosepublishing.com.

Strong Women, Love at War, Pirate Woman

Recently, a colleague of mine quit teaching in thew middle of the school year to live in an isolated area with an abusive man. She would rather live in physical danger and constant harassment than work at a modest job. This woman has such low-self-esteem that she would give up her life in order to live with a man who drinks and who has used her as a punching bag. She doesn't want to be alone, and she is so desperate not to be alone that she would rather live in terror. I've worked with battered women, and I understand that many of them are trapped in terrible situations. However, their dependency shows a lack of self-respect that I personally abhor.

In my writing, I've concentrated on strong women. Nuala, my protagonist in LOVE AT WAR (www.redrosepublishing.com), is an innocent, pure girl when the novel begins. However, she soon emerges as a powerful woman who braves the perils of dangerous undercover assignments. After joining the military and then the OSS, Nuala parachutes into occupied France, disguising herself as a farm woman and spying on the often stupidly arrogant enemy. Chameleon-like, she then changes into a vixen who seduces a dangerous Nazi. Nuala evolves from an innocent schoolgirl into a daring covert operative, willing to sacrifice herself for her country and for the man she loves. Nuala is so strong that she rises above others' expectations to become the woman who rescues others. No one--not Nuala's overly protective parents or her dominating sister--would have credited her with so much courage.

My latest manuscript, signed by Red Rose Publishing, also tells the story of a powerful woman. Grace O'Malley was the daughter of a powerful Irish chieftain in Mayo. Legend has it that when her parents said she couldn't go to sea with her father's sailors, she cut her hair and sneaked aboard the ship anyway. At eleven-years-old, Grace proved herself to be an able sailor. Throughout her two marriages, Grace also proved that she was a leader within her own family. Often she saved her family from ruin when the men in her sphere behaved rashly or stupidly. Donal O'Flaherty, her first husband, was a brave warrior who acted before he thought. Richard Bourke, her second husband, was more prudent and wily than her first and had the sense to listen to his astute wife. I admire strong women who defy others' expectations.

LOVE AT WAR has now been released over six months, and I'm celebrating. Go to my website at www.violarussell.com. Check out the pics, interviews, and the covers. Go to the "Questions" section of the site and post a comment. Be sure you leave a name and e-mail. The first three (3) people to respond will receive a free PDF copy of LOVE AT WAR.

Rush to judgments

I went to Austin over Christmas to escape my problems, but the irony is that we really can't escape our problems--not really. Sometimes, we can only be reminded that all human beings experience pain and loss. No individual is crying alone. We all shed tears.

As a teacher, I'm far from wealthy, and I always pursue the better position while simultaneously pursuing my dream of becoming a well-respected author. At times, my lack of funds depresses me, but I'm quickly reminded that other people have suffered more profoundly than have I. My mother is the reason for my balance, I think. She always reminded me that I wasn't hungry and that I was educated. Growing up in the 1920s and 1930s and formed my mother in positive ways. She remembered poverty and never advanced as far in her education as she could have because she had to work. Education had been her dream for me, her only daughter, and I pursued three degrees--often begrudgingly. My mother often reminded me about her life as a young woman, working in a cracker factory in her teens (she'd hate that I wrote this) and then advancing as a prized employee in Reiner's Jewelry Store. Her life was never easy. All of her siblings died before she did. Three of her brothers were young men when Fate took them. Three of them were in World War II, and their lives inspired me to write Love at War, on www.redrosepublishing.com and Amazon. Through every trial, my mother maintained her buoyancy and pride. She also had a giving spirit and never judged others. I can only hope I've followed her example.

As a resident of New Orleans, I have encountered the homeless and dispossessed. While I was in Austin, I saw people in the same condition. It is easy for us to judge these less fortunate people, labeling them as lazy or stupid. Of course, some homeless people are chronically unemployed, but many are simply "down on their luck." Some suffer from addictions, and still others are victims of mental illness. There but for the grace of God go I.

Those persons who simply need temporary help often find employment and go on with their lives; some, of course, will die as victims. Again, it's easy for us to judge, but judge we do. I teach at a school that requires service to the community, but in the past, the administration has discouraged service to the people needing it the most. Heaven forbid the students see people with rotten teeth, people who mumble or stare, and people who aren't quite clean. Consequently, most service is limited to assisting the middle class, people who are the less needy. As a result, the students too often harbor prejudicial attitudes toward needy people--even when they seek to help them.

The students are not the only ones harboring condescending attitudes. I know of one well-heeled woman who told her classroom of equally well-heeled students that she was leaving the school to teach little "African babies." Sweet God, has she watched Ingrid Bergman in Murder on the Orient Express once too often? The children she would be teaching were primarily "African-American," not "African." How condescending could she be? Does she really hope to be successful teaching children she holds in such contempt? Her comments made me wonder if I've ever sounded so intolerant or clueless. This is the season for resolutions, and I promise that I will try my best not to judge others. Any tragedy can result in our being homeless or mentally unstable. There but for the grace of God. . .

Dishonesty and Pretty Faces

Today in the New Orleans Times Picayune, I read an article about an alleged criminal gang operating around the country. This gang, however, is not the kind of gang anyone would normally consider when classifying gangsters. They do not carry AK 47s. Rather, this group of alleged criminal masterminds consists of handsome college students and adolescent high schoolers. These young people allegedly were part of a cheating ring in which smart college boys took the SAT for underachieving high school kids. Why am I even commenting on this seemingly petty crime when the papers are also filled with murders, rapes, and other heinous crimes. What angers me is that honesty and honor are casualties when thrown into the ring with self-interest and perverse competition.

These affluent high school students (and very likely their parents) were willing to sacrifice their honesty for admission to prestigious universities. Their acceptance into such hallowed halls, however, would be hollow. They did not earn scores necessary to gain admittance to some Ivy League university. Would these students, if accepted, even be able to perform in an academically challenging atmosphere? Their admission to school would be a lie. The first lesson these kids will learn is how to lie and cheat. Such people are the corporate thieves and swindlers of the nation. Will these juveniles learn a lesson or will Mama and Papa Pocketbook simply rescue them from this debacle? Can they learn a lesson and be redeemed?

And what of the fat cat boys who helped the high school kids cheat? Excellent role models, eh? Well, they apparently found a lucrative means of supplementing their college expenses. These young men allegedly hailed from the same Long Island area as did the high school kids they helped cheat. These men attended exclusive private universities, and some allegedly raked in hundreds, if not thousands, of dollars for showing up to take the SAT for the students. Did the college frat boys need more money for their kegs? For their dates with pretty coeds? Now, their reputations are tarnished. They even face expulsion from their schools. Greed and dishonesty may lead to their downfall.

Or will it? When did dishonesty become accepted? When did wanting to be the best mean lying to others and ourselves? Being a cheat isn't only taking advantage of the people or institutions the swindler wishes to deceive. In the long run, he or she is also lying to him or herself. Is attending a prestigious university so important that a student is willing to sell his or her soul?

Wall Street and the Suits

Several incidents that directly have affected my own life have caused me to reflect on Wall Street and why so many citizens have staged protests across the country decrying the policies that have thrown the world into turmoil. I confess that I hold various banking accounts--as do most world citizens. My goal is not to be homeless when I'm old or imprisoned in some nursing home, surrounded by dementia-ridden patients. With the current economic situation strangling world finances, I may be working until I'm 150--if I'm lucky. However, I'm not one to moan about my own financial problems. Indeed, compared to what some people have gone through, I'm very fortunate this Thanksgiving Eve.

My relative prosperity has not blinded me to the greed and callousness of Wall Street. If I could withdraw my money without being taxed up the ass, I'd stuff the goods in my mattress, but the financial wizards have so worked it that we can't even withdraw the money for which we've slaved without being penalized. Let me pontificate on the indifference and callousness of Wall Street. The--primarily--men who run it are guilty of gross insensitivity and patronizing arrogance. During the summer, I met with my own advisor, an overweight, self-righteous pseudo-wizard. He'd managed to ruffle my proverbial feathers when he remarked that banks had given money to people who didn't "deserve a home." When he saw the look on my face, he quickly backpedaled, saying that they weren't "ready for a home." Now, I fully agree that many banks leant money to people who wanted homes bigger than they could afford, but I take great exception to the idea that some people "don't deserve a home." Who in hell does he think he is? Anyway, I went to Mr. Suit on an unrelated matter over the summer. He proceeded to lecture me as if I were some rube from nowhere or kid born yesterday. I realize it's his job to advise me, but when I say I want to do something else, it's his job to do as I say. It is money I slaved for in various teaching positions. If want to run away to Europe in a Roma caravan, I can do so and no puffed up piece of bourgeoise can tell me what to do, and frankly, I don't want to pour my money into funds that produce nothing and exploit others. Now, there was a time when I would have swallowed abuse because my family is of a class that this idiot would deem "not fit to own a home," but now, I don't put up with bullshit. I have more degrees than does this puffed up suit, and I pulled my money from his company.

Of course, I met even more ignorant, calloused pieces of crap along the way. I conveyed my goals to another suit who began to pontificate about what was best for ME. I understand he needs to trap another sucker for the next big swindle, but I'm not blinded by fancy talk from some suit. Reluctantly, the jerk off put my money where I demanded, but he looked like some round-faced, sulking kid. For whom does he work? Some giant, corrupt Wall Street firm? I don't want those idiots losing my hard-earned dollars or collecting them to exploit children sewing in a factory. I also expressed my concern to Mr. Suit that I didn't want to be some poor old person who was working at McDonald's because my money had evaporated. Mr. Suit had the unmitigated gall to say that these people hadn't planned well. No, you asshole, it's not always that. Not all of us have the resources to invest millions of dollars in stocks only to see companies abuse our trust. Some of us don't have millions to invest at all. Our means are modest, and we don't have the privilege of showing up in a shirt and tie to click a mouse behind a desk. Many of us earn our money by the sweat of our brow. Maybe these poor old people were given lousy advice by a moron like you who let their hard-earned money evaporate in a corporate collapse like we had a few years ago. Not every poor person is badly off because he or she was careless or a spendthrift. Many of them were duped by the promises of a bunch of parasites who received bailouts and then took bonuses. Maybe some of those poor souls flipping burgers at Mickie D's took the advice of Mr. Suit and his crummy associates. They put their faith in banks and greedy, incompetent businesses.

I'm sick of people who consider themselves "elite." Even my spin instructor, whose main talent is screaming "Up," has made ugly comments about people who died during Katrina. No, bimbo, not everyone could just leave. Not everyone had the resources to do so, and if you open your mouth again, I'll report your stupidity to the gym management. I'm sick of bullshit, and to Mr. Suit: My pulling my money from your bank will be the least of your problems. I'll put you in my novel. No, wait! I'd never write about anyone so boring!

Veterans Day, LOVE AT WAR, and BURIED TRUTHS

Today is Veterans Day, 11/11/11. My novel, LOVE AT WAR, takes place during World War II, and not many of those veterans still grace this earth. Many, like my Uncle Russell, lie beneath foreign soil. Still others died years after coming home, returning to build homes and families. As young people, they piloted planes, parachuted into enemy territory, or served on ships. Military women often served as nurses or translators. Some, like Nuala in LOVE AT WAR, worked as covert operatives. I wrote LOVE AT WAR to tell the story of their sacrifice.

LOVE AT WAR, however, was not the first time I've created characters who were military veterans. In my as yet unpublished mystery novels, my main detective is a veteran of Iraq, and in BURIED TRUTHS, Dr. Wesley Chou braved the tragedy of Hurricane Katrina. The storm, however, was not his first encounter with unspeakable horror. As a doctor in Iraq, Wesley faced death, carrying arms as he aided the wounded.

Remember the veterans this Veterans Day. As a gift to my readers, I will give an e-book version of one of my novels to the first three people who visit my website at www.violarussell.com. Post a comment about this blog in the "Questions" section, and then be sure to tell me which book you'd like (Love at War or Buried Truths). Please leave your e-mail. I will take comments through Sunday.

I read the news today, oh boy!

While reading THE TIMES PICAYUNE, I learned of two events that brought my novels to mind. The miniseries BAND OF BROTHERS will be packaged with the series THE PACIFIC and sold on DVD. In the New Orleans area, an original play by New Orleanian Jim Fitzmorris is making its debut at the Westwego Performing Arts Center. I thought of my novels for various reasons. LOVE AT WAR, my most recent publication (www.redrosepublishing.com), is set during WWII, a period that tested the world's resolve. Many of my characters, like those young people in the HBO series and like real soldiers, find themselves in uniform. Still others work as covert operatives, spying on the enemy and entrapping them. My novel begins in the summer of 1941, and within months, these carefree young people are fighting a war. They, like real soldiers, faced horror in Europe and in the Pacific.

FROM A LONG WAY OFF, currently making its debut in the New Orleans area, stars the amazing Dane Rhodes as a politician seeking redemption after Hurricane Katrina. In BURIED TRUTHS (www.sapphirebluepublishing.com), Heather Kerry and Wesley Chou also seek redemption for past sins in the wake of Hurricane Katrina. Like the protagonist in FROM A LONG WAY OFF, Heather and Wesley allowed themselves to be victims of convention, but Katrina gives them a reason to make amends for their earlier failures.