It occurred to me that visitors to my homepage might wonder why I’m wearing a helmet and a protective vest. If I’m really in a combat situation—and not at Disneyland—what’s with the white Polo shirt? Don’t real soldiers wear camouflage?
The year was 2011, and we were aboard a Chinook helicopter on our way to the Kandahar Air Field in Afghanistan. We just left our forward operating base where I, along with 550 others, lived and worked about four kilometers from the Pakistan border. Honestly, riding in a chopper above that vast, arid, magnificent country was a lot of fun. The hard part was on the ground. There was only so much we could do.
… to the Life of a Writer
I served thirteen months in Afghanistan with the U.S. Agency for International Development, because I wanted to fulfill my passion to help the Afghans.
I made friends with a few wonderful Afghans, and I'd like to say I made a difference there. But it was difficult in a culture where they've done the same things the same way for thousands of years. However, there was an upside: I finished my third book, Where Wild Olives Grow, and when I returned home I decided to take the plunge and become a full time writer. I did, and eighteen books later I’m still writing.
And the M4 Carbine rifle behind my right shoulder? That belonged to the crew chief. Aid workers were not allowed to bear arms.
