Dear Bridget,
I’m sorry.
I’m sorry for this messy, broken world you’ve inherited. A world where anyone can be targeted for anything they do or say. A world where the term “terrorist” is used daily.
You won’t remember this, but back before 9/11, “terrorism” was something that happened in other countries. Like car bombs and drone strikes. It was horrible, but a world away.
Until it came to us. Until it landed on our shore. (more…)
Whenever people ask what I do, I like to look straight at them, smile, and reply “I murder people.” I usually give them a moment to squirm before I add, “Fictionally. I write mysteries.”
I did the same kind of thing in high school. See, I went to a classical school. It was technically public, but specialized—no athletics, an emphasis on academics, cultural arts, and foreign languages. But before the school was transformed into a classical school, it was an alternative school. So whenever people asked what school I went to, I’d just offer the first part of the name and leave off the label “classical.” I could see the struggle on their faces as they attempted to reconcile the image of me with the concept of a delinquent. (more…)
I grew up with heroes.
I didn’t really know, when I was a kid, what an impact growing up in a military town was having on me. Everyone was connected to the military in some way. Holidays were more meaningful because we knew so many families who were missing a vital piece, who were counting down the days until they could see their loved ones again.
Every major event in the world was framed differently for me. I saw it through the lens of how it would impact my city, whether troops would be sent from our base and for how long.
I’ve never stopped thinking about them—the men and women who serve my country, the ones who used to be my neighbors and my friends’ parents and my fellow church members.
To those dedicated souls who defend the rest of us and to the ones who love them, I offer my deepest gratitude and wish you a merry Christmas, wherever you may be.