When I was seven, my father left us to go to Vietnam. To do an extensive photo journalism project on the war. It would probably be an award winning story and would most likely be picked up by large publications, maybe even the New York Times or Life Magazine.
When I was ten, I found out it was all a lie.
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These are the opening lines of the novel I'm writing, my first foray into that world. I began last spring, worked diligently for several weeks, and didn't look at it again until a few weeks ago.
Slim to none are probably the chances of publication, but I'll never know until I try. And writing is only one tiny notch below chocolate in terms of comfort and therapy, which is why I have decided to devote all my writing time for a while to my book.
Yes, this means I'll be taking a break of indeterminate time from blogging. I'll most likely visit from time to time, when I go brain-dead from writing and research, or when I need a bit of inspiration from some of my favorite bloggers. I may even post something every once in a while if I need a break.
Don't give up on me - I'll be back. In the meantime, we all have a story to tell about that tragic day ten years ago. Please share yours...
Don't give up on me - I'll be back. In the meantime, we all have a story to tell about that tragic day ten years ago. Please share yours...
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Where Were You?
(edited from a post of the same title two tears ago)
(edited from a post of the same title two tears ago)
September 11, 2001. My generation's "Day That Will Live In Infamy." The day we Americans realized that we were vulnerable, that we could be attacked and killed with no warning; that a clear warm Tuesday morning could be turned into a bloody nightmare in the blink of an unsuspecting eye.
Some moments in history are forever frozen in our minds, and we remember exactly where we were, exactly what we were doing when we heard the news. Those moments for me include the shooting of President Kennedy, the death of Elvis, Princess Diana's car wreck, the explosion of the Challenger, and, of course the terrorist attacks of 9/11. I remember far too clearly the images of the planes hitting the towers, the towers crumbling, the Pentagon in smoke, the bravery of the passengers in Pennsylvania, the firefighters entering the burning buildings.
It was my day off. Mama and Daddy had asked me to ride with them in search of a special type of sausage which apparently could be found only in Dickson, Tennessee. The TV was on for company as I cleaned the house - TV Land - all my old favorite shows - Andy Griffith, I Love Lucy, Leave it to Beaver, Bewitched, I Dream of Jeannie, Gilligan's Island. No need to actually sit and watch them, for I know them all by heart. Oh, there were occasional moments when I would perch on the end of a bed or the arm of the couch, cleaning supplies in hand, realizing that a favorite scene was coming up. But for the most part, all my old fictional pals were playing to an empty audience.
Satisfied that the house would pass the white glove test, I was ready to relax before my parents arrived. Little House on the Prairie came on, and I positioned myself on the couch, tucking my legs comfortably underneath. But as soon as I saw the title, May We Make Them Proud, I knew I couldn't watch. This was the episode in which the blind school catches fire, and Alice Garvey and Mary's baby are trapped upstairs and burned to death. Unlike most episodes, I had seen this one only once. Because of that scene, the one showing the old school engulfed in flames, and Mrs. Garvey, the swaddled baby in her arms, screaming from an upstairs window. No, I couldn't watch this. After Lucy's and Gilligan's hilarious lighthearted shenanigans? When my house was all shiny and clean and smelling of Scrubbing Bubbles and Lemon Pledge? No way. I turned the tv off and waited for my parents on the front porch.
Blue skies, white fluffy clouds; September warm; it was a picture perfect day. The porch swing creaked as I savored the relaxing moments. As Daddy's car pulled into the driveway, I rose to go inside and get my purse and keys. But they surprised me by quickly stepping out of the car. "Have you got your tv on?" Mama cried across the yard. "No..." I began, but she cut me off. "Turn it on, turn your tv on CNN!"
Some moments in history are forever frozen in our minds, and we remember exactly where we were, exactly what we were doing when we heard the news. Those moments for me include the shooting of President Kennedy, the death of Elvis, Princess Diana's car wreck, the explosion of the Challenger, and, of course the terrorist attacks of 9/11. I remember far too clearly the images of the planes hitting the towers, the towers crumbling, the Pentagon in smoke, the bravery of the passengers in Pennsylvania, the firefighters entering the burning buildings.
It was my day off. Mama and Daddy had asked me to ride with them in search of a special type of sausage which apparently could be found only in Dickson, Tennessee. The TV was on for company as I cleaned the house - TV Land - all my old favorite shows - Andy Griffith, I Love Lucy, Leave it to Beaver, Bewitched, I Dream of Jeannie, Gilligan's Island. No need to actually sit and watch them, for I know them all by heart. Oh, there were occasional moments when I would perch on the end of a bed or the arm of the couch, cleaning supplies in hand, realizing that a favorite scene was coming up. But for the most part, all my old fictional pals were playing to an empty audience.
Satisfied that the house would pass the white glove test, I was ready to relax before my parents arrived. Little House on the Prairie came on, and I positioned myself on the couch, tucking my legs comfortably underneath. But as soon as I saw the title, May We Make Them Proud, I knew I couldn't watch. This was the episode in which the blind school catches fire, and Alice Garvey and Mary's baby are trapped upstairs and burned to death. Unlike most episodes, I had seen this one only once. Because of that scene, the one showing the old school engulfed in flames, and Mrs. Garvey, the swaddled baby in her arms, screaming from an upstairs window. No, I couldn't watch this. After Lucy's and Gilligan's hilarious lighthearted shenanigans? When my house was all shiny and clean and smelling of Scrubbing Bubbles and Lemon Pledge? No way. I turned the tv off and waited for my parents on the front porch.
Blue skies, white fluffy clouds; September warm; it was a picture perfect day. The porch swing creaked as I savored the relaxing moments. As Daddy's car pulled into the driveway, I rose to go inside and get my purse and keys. But they surprised me by quickly stepping out of the car. "Have you got your tv on?" Mama cried across the yard. "No..." I began, but she cut me off. "Turn it on, turn your tv on CNN!"
What in the world... I obeyed, and had the tv tuned to CNN as they entered the front door. And that's when the world changed. The second tower had just been hit, and every American citizen knew we were under attack. We sat horrified for hours, as we watched the story play out on our 19 inch Emerson. I forgot my manners and offered my parents something to eat and drink only after they'd been there well over an hour.
The irony didn't hit me until later: I couldn't watch two fictional characters die in a fire, but I watched thousands of real people lose their lives the same way.
I imagine the remainder of my day and the days that followed were pretty much like yours: glued to the tv, images of the towers in flames, that choking cloud of dust and ash as the towers fell...over and over and over...
The irony didn't hit me until later: I couldn't watch two fictional characters die in a fire, but I watched thousands of real people lose their lives the same way.
I imagine the remainder of my day and the days that followed were pretty much like yours: glued to the tv, images of the towers in flames, that choking cloud of dust and ash as the towers fell...over and over and over...
Even now, ten years later, we look at those pictures with a mixture of horror and fascination. And perhaps still a sense of wonder that it actually happened, right here, right here at our back door. I see those pictures of the buildings on fire, of people who chose to leap to their deaths, but I still can't watch that episode of Little House.
So share your stories, please: what were you doing on September 11, 2001?
