05/25/2026
(I wrote this blog several years ago, but I felt compelled to re-release it today. I still remember being a soldier and the deep emotions I still carry about war. War is not sexy. To be honest, I’m not sure it’s ever truly necessary. But regardless of necessity, it has always existed — and likely always will.)
As a writer, I’ve always been fascinated by words that create emotion. You know the kind of words that make you stop reading for a moment and start imagining yourself inside the story.
Several years ago, while rushing to get dressed one morning, I caught the tail end of an interview with a WWII veteran on the news. It was in celebration of June 6th — the anniversary of D-Day, the storming of Normandy Beach in 1944.
The story immediately caught my attention as a former military officer, but it was the veteran’s words that made me stop completely. His words caught me off guard and made me think, “What if I had been there? What would I have done?”
I could feel the emotion behind every sentence, and it made my heart swell.
The soldier was asked to reflect on that morning and remember what he witnessed on that history-making day.
At first, he hesitated. His eyes glassed as if he had traveled back in time to relive history itself.
He explained that he was the enlisted soldier responsible for lowering the back gate of the Light Infantry Landing Craft so the soldiers could rush ashore.
The first thing he remembered was the sound.
Gunfire.
Particularly the deafening sound of a .50 caliber machine gun tearing through the air while soldiers screamed all around him. His sergeant ordered him to lower the gate.
Initially, he ignored the command because he already knew, from the sounds alone, what waited beyond those metal walls. The sergeant repeated the order. Finally, he obeyed.
The veteran said 30 men exited that craft.
Only three made it to shore.
But the words that followed shook me even more. In that moment, I wasn’t simply listening anymore — I was living inside his memory of horror and bravery.
Again, he paused.
This time his eyes were no longer glassed over. They were focused, almost pleading with the audience to truly understand what he had witnessed.
“I was surrounded by death,” he said. “All those men lay dying. Do you know the last name they asked for? It wasn’t God they were calling on. They were begging for their mothers. Mom was the last name they called.”
That stayed with me.
It still does.
So today, I have two things to say:
1. To my military family:
Thank you to all the brave soldiers and support personnel who continue to serve. And thank you to all the soldiers — and the families beside them — who sacrificed and never made it home.
2. To my fellow writers, my new family:
I wish you success in finding the right combination of words that make readers feel something deeply enough to walk beside you through your story.
The world still needs truthful writers willing to tell it honestly.
