by Amber Flora Thomas, Poetry Editor
Many unfinished stories begin in creative writing workshops. No stories have moved me so much as those shared by war veterans. When I do find myself, a civilian, sitting across from a war veteran in the workshop circle, I become a better listener, knowing this man or woman has sacrificed some amount of body and soul for my freedom. I need to listen. It’s the least I can do.
I’m not the best at keeping track of my students once the workshop ends, but through requests for blurbs and recommendations, and various social media platforms I find them. Some of these veteran students have gone on to become successful novelists and poets. And some have disappeared, moving deeper along elusive paths, still struggling to survive post-war among civilians who cannot, no matter how compassionate, comprehend what war does to soldiers.
When NCLR asked me to write a blog in advance of their Veteran’s issue to help encourage submissions, in particular, to the North Carolina Writers’ Network’s Barrax/Bayes contest for military and veteran poets, I thought immediately of Eric, whose name I’ve changed to protect his privacy.
I have never forgotten Eric. He was a Marine and a sniper during the Iraq war. His stories were full of bullets. The distant rupturing of skulls and bodies, which his main characters meditated upon in remote locations under camouflage. Their missions bore loneliness and made killing impersonal, but necessary. He tried to tell the workshop the stories without telling us anything specific because his missions were top secret.
He lived outside the town of Fairbanks, Alaska, in the spruce forest. The specific location was never revealed to anyone, as far as I know. He’d built a platform and insulated a canvas tent where he lived throughout the year, even during the coldest months when temperatures could drop to 40 below zero. He smelled of wood smoke and stale sweat. He never appeared to brush his hair. During workshop his knee bounced up and down under the table and his right thumb danced on the laminate wood tabletop.
People had been coming to Alaska for generations to get lost. I hoped Eric, who was going to school on the G.I. Bill, would not be another Christopher McCandless.
When the class tried to get close to him, his dry wit and superior knowledge about such matters shut us down. His stories arrived, often, without a clear plot. He kept taking us back underground, to the solitary hole where for hours we waited for the target, eyes sweating against the rifle’s scope. Always sitting as close to the door as the workshop circle would allow, he would sometimes spring up mid-workshop and race out of the room. Since leaving active service he had amassed a huge arsenal of guns, and his knowledge of weaponry was a frequent feature in his stories.
Other war veterans could tell me straight out what triggered their PTSD. Loud noises, certain lights, or smells. They found ways of coping: an emotional support animal, staying busy, all of them looking forward, but lonely in ways that only other war veterans can appreciate.
Eric was in my Wednesday night workshop at the University of Alaska, and it was deep winter. When we finished at 9 PM, I knew he was going to his encampment out in the spruce somewhere to a cold fire and the quiet of the long night. His PTSD was so bad I don’t think he could be around other people for long stretches of time.
When pressed by his classmates about a particularly harrowing story where the main character, a sniper is reflecting on the impersonal nature of his kills, someone asked Eric how many people he’d killed.
He couldn’t answer.
He shouldn’t have to answer.
The times he rushed out of the room. The restlessness of his body trying to stay put in his chair. The deep shadow that lingered behind his eyes when he gazed across the room into my own worried eyes. I knew I had to do something.
Not wanting to part with my only copy of Dien Cai Dau by Yusef Komunyakaa, a collection of Vietnam poems published in 1988, which was my first substantial introduction to a poet’s experience of war, I made xerox copies of a few poems and handed these to him at the end of class. “You need to read these poems. They are short and not too overwhelming,” I said.
I placed Komunyakaa’s poem, “Facing It” on top of the pile. In this poem, it’s years after the war and Yusef is standing in front of the Vietnam memorial in DC reading the names of soldiers and friends he watched die. The poem in many ways is about how a soldier integrates his experiences in battle with the realities of having survived. At the bottom of the page, I wrote, “When you are ready, you should read Brian Turner’s book, Here, Bullet. There is a copy available in the library.” But I hesitated to recommend Turner’s book to Eric because his description of his experiences as a soldier in the Iraq war might be too triggering for Eric.
Sometimes, as a teacher all we can do is recommend a work of literature, and hope they read it, knowing that this will teach them how to write their stories.
Some weeks he just didn’t show up for class, and I knew that the darkness was eating at him. War had taken too much from him.
Other war veterans I’ve worked with over the years have gone on to finish their degrees, have children, get married, publish books, but I think of Eric with all his guns, living out in the spruce, almost happy when he spoke about the life he was building on his own terms. I hope he has survived and found solace among people again.
I’m very excited to get my hands on the NCLR veteran’s issues next year. Perhaps you will summon the courage to write about your own experiences as a soldier. There aren’t enough of these poems and stories in world. While wars are going on across the world, we need these voices now more than ever.
Upcoming Workshops: We are proud to offer two upcoming poetry workshops with award-winning authors and veterans Michael Ramos (11/1) and Joseph Bathanti (12/4). Find out more and register here: https://nclr.ecu.edu/2025/10/14/workshops-veterans-writing/
Barrax Bayes Poetry Contest: This poetry contest is currently open through November 15th for active and former members of the American Armed Forces. Find out more and submit here: https://www.ncwriters.org/programs/competitions/barrax-bayes-poetry-contest/