It’s been almost 1 ½ years since The Sanctity Of Love And War was first published. Since that time, I’ve been fortunate enough
to have taken part in many book club discussions, book signings, and a book
reading. I’ve also had the pleasure to
be interviewed about the experience of writing the novel. Each experience has led to a greater
awareness of myself in relationship to the book that I’ve written. Since this was the time of year when I first
handed-in my original manuscript to an editor, I thought it was an appropriate
time to reflect upon the process of arriving at the final draft of the book.
It was April of 2012 when I first made the decision to
publish the novel I’d been working on for almost two years. When I had first begun to write, it was with
the belief that no one but I would ever read the words I had committed to the
page. The act of writing was and remains
to be a very unique and personal experience for me. Allowing the public access to my inner
thoughts, even if they were in the form of fiction, was a daunting
prospect. Once I let go of those fears, I
decided that I wanted to incorporate my own internal questioning with what I
had come to know of the world around me.
This included my past relationships as well as what I had learned
spiritually from those who were more evolved than I.
My sense of grounding was rooted in my upbringing,
particularly as it pertained to the influence my maternal grandparents had in
my life. My siblings, cousins, and I all
benefited from their strong sense of family.
To this day, we don’t take for granted those lessons that were handed
down to us by our grandparents -- first generation Americans who had the right
set of values and priorities in life. In
many ways, I felt more connected to their generation than I’ve ever really felt
to my own. As a child I would sit with
them, soaking in their stories and influence, knowing even then how fortunate
I was to have their presence in my life. As a
result of this truth, the character of Piper was born.
To a large extent, the decision to plunge Piper and the
character of Bo into an internal struggle for acceptance derived from my
experiences as a drug and alcohol counselor.
The years in that field have never left me, and despite the fact that I
have been out of that line of work for almost twelve years, I still identify
with it, and, in many ways, still consider myself an addictions therapist. I was always intrigued by the sense of
acceptance when the world doesn’t bend to one’s whims, the possibility that
someone could surrender to the idea of powerlessness, and the human capacity to
let go in the face of doubt and fear.
I’ve had mentors, friends, and clients who successfully made these
things a part of their personal creed.
Their own struggles with addiction as well as their ultimate ability to
transcend them brought them to a deeper understanding and appreciation of life. It made me wonder how someone without the
hurdle of addiction but who’s still plagued with doubts and struggles might
arrive at the same place of spiritual peace.
In place of addiction, I chose the circumstances of war in which to
place my heroine. Piper, already
predisposed to being a thoughtful, deep soul based on the influence of her
grandfather, was ripe for the internal struggle that a war would bring to her
life.
When I think back on the beginnings of The Sanctity Of Love And War, it was a forgone conclusion that it
would be set during one of the most pivotal times during my grandparents’ lives
– World War II. My memories of my
grandparents coupled with my experiences as a drug and alcohol counselor were the
foundation for the book. From the day
the original manuscript was sent to my editor, I’ve been able to connect with
so many wonderful people from that generation – my grandparents’ generation. There are very few left in my family who were
alive during that time, and each day, as a nation, we lose more and more from
that generation. It’s out of the deepest
regard for them that the characters from the novel were created.
I recommend to everyone to seek out those still living from
that time. Whether it’s a visit to a
local veterans’ home, a talk with a family member, neighbor, or friend who was
living during the time of that war, or a trip to Washington, D.C. to visit the
WWII Memorial, the small effort you make to connect to the past would be
rewarded tenfold. If you allow yourself
to be open to the past, you can hear the voices and lessons clearly drifting
through the years. It’s a lesson I
learned as a little girl listening to and spending time with my grandparents.
The idea of being a present and willing listener was only
heightened when I became a drug & alcohol counselor. It was here that I learned to see the power
of humble transcendence. The recovery concepts of
acceptance and surrender are living symbols of survival and humanity, two key
points I hoped to cover in the book. Hopefully,
the lessons learned from the generation that survived World War II as well as
those gained from working with those who have survived their ordeals with addiction
have been thoughtfully laid out in The
Sanctity Of Love And War.
Writing remains for me a self-exploratory way to try to
understand the world. As a licensed
therapist, I appreciate the importance of self-exploration in context with
one’s past, present, and potential. What
started out as an honest effort at self-discovery and insight into the world
around me provided me with so much more than I could have ever dreamed. The insights, connections, experiences, and
relationships that have arisen from the publication of The Sanctity Of Love And War have been humbly gratifying –
something for which I will forever remain thankful.
