: Foreword -The Madness Behind The Method
... I have been to war once already. Here I am, at war again. There have been men that have tried to kill me, my own response being brutal, merciless and final . . . yet I am a coward when it comes to doing what is in my own best interests...
Today Open Writing brings you something very special - the thoughts and compellingly-told story of a serving United States Soldier.
He is carrying a rifle, doing his duty, serving his country, patrolling in the troubled areas of Iraq.
In earlier wars news came back from soldiers in the front line via letters to family and loved ones, often delivered weeks after being written. But in this electronic age news comes in the instant, via the Net.
The words of James P Citizen (for obvious reasons he chooses to be known by a pen-name) will alter for ever the way you think of men at arms. This searingly honest account of the thoughts of a man willing to put his life on the line deserve to be read and re-read.
James says "All I really am is just a Doughboy, Dogface, a Grunt, Paratrooper, a Screaming Eagle. I am just a Soldier, one who got lost and damned on his way to serve his country. My tale is quite sad and laughable in the end, a young idealist turned old, bitter and cynical by the realities of the modern Army. Yet still fool enough to believe in the mission, believe in what he is fighting for. Believe enough to be willing to die for it, believe in it even more to kill for it.''
This is the opening section of Which Way The Front?, the story of an army man with a rare talent for the written word. Further chapters will follow on future Thursdays. Don't miss them.
If anything, this is a condemnation of sorts.
A confession, a confession from the recesses of a truly sick and depraved psyche, disguised with euphemistic and idealized language such as inspiration and insight. Added to by the vaguely skillful workings of pen and word, but in truth, all artists are madmen, some sweet, others sinister, others still quite sad and contemptible.
I am sure that the former of the three could never apply to this teller of tales.
I found the Openwriting Web magazine purely by accident. I was actually doing research for a novel I am currently at work on. Stumbling along, I spied an excerpt from the serialization of Brian William Neal’s novel, The Kingdom of the Blind.
So I opened the website and started reading, quickly becoming enthralled, soon wondering if anything I had might be worth submitting, but fearful of the answer. I have been to war once already. Here I am, at war again. There have been men that have tried to kill me, my own response being brutal, merciless and final . . . yet I am a coward when it comes to doing what is in my own best interests.
More often than I should, I have put the mission first, I have put the needs of other Soldiers first, I put my country’s interests first, while I ignore my own interests. An excellent quality in a Soldier, near ideal in an Infantryman, but not if one wants to get ahead in the service, not if you want to earn respect, as I am still the same rank I entered the Army with in 2000, and regarded in a generally unflattering light.
Regarding my writing, I was not interested in people fawning over my material. I just wanted a straight, unflinching, even cruel opinion on its quality. The purest most objective thought in the critique can only be attained through anonymity. So finally, after much agonizing, soul searching, running around in circles, bashing my head against the wall, I screwed up enough resolve and contacted Open Writing. I took a chance.
And that is how this principled madman met *Pete and *Brian.
Actually, I had hoped someone would rend it to pieces, pointing out lurking inconsistencies, glaring clichés in action and dialogue. Instead: “I think you’re a writer. A good writer, I like your stuff,” was Pete’s first thoughts after I sent him a chapter of my novel, involving the Hero’s first brush with combat in a war set one hundred years from now. It was the last thing I had expected to receive.
Brian was also impressed and seemed truly astounded that I approved of his work: “I am humbled by this man’s praise for my writing. He writes some of the best descriptive passages on combat I’ve ever read, like Tom Clancy on mescalin!”
Words like this are what one hopes to read in a book review.
So they thought I was a storyteller . . . When all I really am is just a Doughboy, Dogface, a Grunt, Paratrooper, a Screaming Eagle. I am just a Soldier, one who got lost and damned on his way to serve his country. My tale is quite sad and laughable in the end, a young idealist turned old, bitter and cynical by the realities of the modern Army. Yet still fool enough to believe in the mission, believe in what he is fighting for. Believe enough to be willing to die for it, believe in it even more to kill for it.
And a damnable fool for still believing he can make a difference.
A mad, unheroic coward will be your host for this series of essays, rantings, tellings of misadventures, petty achievements, delusions of competency, countless mistakes, disillusionments, and requiems for chances lost, hearts never broken and opportunities abandoned. A fool through and through for taking up a rifle and standing for something other than himself, when such things in America are viewed as obsolete, quixotic and farcical. And a damnable fool for re-enlisting to go again. Especially when I could be telling and drawing stories professionally today, earning the coin of the realm hand over fist, but that is the curse of a guilty conscience. Guilty of many things, both real and imagined, yet with that rifle, this teller of tales can put a bullet through a man’s head at a distance of five hundred yards without the benefit of a telescopic sight.
Sans any emotion.
The emotions I normally feel these days are of the unhealthy variety. That is something I have grown used to, even comfortable with. Something I want to change, escape this shadow of resentment, loneliness, and self-loathing that I live under. I have no clear recollection anymore of when I was truly happy, except when I am out there, on mission. Without the mission, without purpose, what good do I serve?
This is something I want to banish, though I am mostly clueless as to how. I only know that I want to feel alive again. Telling stories is one of the ways I stay alive. In part it is yet another obligation I must shoulder, the responsibility of the talents I have honed over the years. I owe it to my family, my friends; I owe it to Pete and Brian. I owe it to Bowen, Claire, and all the other characters I have met in my travels.
So this will be my story. Since every story must have a soundtrack, that is what I will provide. The titles of each chapter will either be a song or musical score, with several lyrics or lines from the movie in question. Those who are daring, or subscribed to something like I-Tunes will be able to find the selection and play while they read. Why song and score titles? I honestly have no idea, and I do not know where it came from, but Pete and Brian thought it was brilliant.
Yes, a most damnable fool certainly . . .
* *
· Pete – Peter Hinchliffe, editor of Open Writing
· Brian – Brian William Neal, author of hugely entertaining sci-fi novels which are serialized in Open Writing.
