I've come to learn that writing a book is both exhilarating and exhausting. It's fraught with highs and lows; one moment sure it will be the next big blockbuster of the century, after that not sure if even my grandkids will find it interesting—and they love me.
Before I attended the Wisconsin Writers Association conference in October of 2015, I had a conversation with my oldest granddaughter Paige, who is now twenty-one. We were discussing 9/11 and how it affected her when she was very young. In a high school psychology class, they discussed people jumping out of the World Trade Center buildings rather than facing their death trapped and unable to escape the burning buildings.
During our discussion, I realized that my ten grandchildren don't know the extent of my journey with the American Red Cross. Some day in school, they might learn of what happened on 9/11, at hurricane Katrina, and during hurricane Sandy. It was this conversation that would be the impetus to bring the possibility of writing a book about my volunteering to the forefront of my mind.
I'm not special, disaster volunteers number in the hundreds of thousands. There are many who have been to more single family fires than I; and, many to more national disasters than me. It kinda gets in our blood and we thrive on the adrenaline rush of being called to disasters. And, we want to help. We're trained to help. I just happened to find a few moments to write in my journal every day.
I'm writing this book for my grandchildren. All of them know that I've volunteered with the Red Cross. Several marched in Fourth of July parades with me as we'd walk in front of our disaster van carrying the United States flag, the Red Cross flag, and a Red Cross banner. Others sat on the curb watching me march past. Even our youngest granddaughter at the age of four is fascinated by my framed poster of Minnie Mouse. Minnie is wearing a dress with a Red Cross on it while she hugs a little girl whose house was destroyed by a tornado.
They know of my volunteering with the Red Cross, but they don't know the extent of my involvement. Will they care? I think they might. I've decided I need to share my story with them. Because no one knows it but me.
While travelling with my husband, I was in the habit of keeping a travel journal. Just bits and pieces about where we went, what we saw, and what restaurants we visited. When I traveled to disaster locations with the Red Cross I decided to keep a daily journal. I'd send the journals back home to my family so they'd know what I was doing. Well, not just my family. I'd send it to distant relatives, all my co-workers, and many colleagues in my profession along with near and far friends. I thought they might be interested. And, they were.
In fall of 2015, when I attended the fall Wisconsin Writers Conference, I was inspired and encouraged to finally dust off the copies of the daily journals I kept and do something with them. The time has finally arrived.
So, I began. I wrote and wrote. I wrote the full history of how I started with the Red Cross, what training I needed, and about my pager going off in the middle of the night to help families as I volunteered on the Disaster Action Team in Milwaukee.
Thoughts filled my head. I'd jump up in the middle of the night to jot things down. The thing to do when writing a book, at least a memoir like mine, is to just keep writing. I kept writing until I wrote everything I remembered about how my volunteering began. Then I started reviewing my journals from 9/11. I reviewed every day of my 9/11 journey. Fifteen years later it's still impossible for me to revisit my 9/11 journals without coming to tears. I updated it into a readable format correcting grammar, spelling, and punctuation. Then I sent it to my friend Elaine, for her to read. And, I sent it to the Moraine Writer's group I had discovered through the writer's conference I attended.
What Elaine and the writer's group thought of the beginning of my book.