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Books by Eric Douglas

Thriller fiction and Non-fiction

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Books…you never know where they’ll take you

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There’s nothing cooler than the deafening silence inside your car as your kids strap in after leaving the library, open a book and immediately begin to read.

I remember going to the library as a kid and being totally overwhelmed with all of the options. I would walk up and down the stacks at my school or at the Cross Lanes branch of the Kanawha County Public Library, and once or twice the downtown library and just stare at the names and titles on the spines. Books were just amazing to me. Probably the biggest inspiration for me to read was my mom. She was always reading. She read what I read, she read what she wanted to read and there was always a stack of books around. She was, and is, one of the biggest readers I know.

Books were the ultimate adventure for me (much more than movies or television)…and they still are, although I don’t often get as much time to just read as I would like. As a kid growing up, I knew things about the world far from the borders of my home because of those books. The only magazine I remember reading growing up was National Geographic World and that definitely factored into my mental wanderings as well.

A little later in life, as an adolescent, I signed up for a book-of-the-month club and was usually done with whatever they sent me long before it was time to get another book in the mail. It was a science fiction and fantasy book club and I have no doubt helped form the imaginings of my early teen years. It introduced me to Isaac Asimov, Arthur C. Clarke, Marion Zimmer Bradley and Robert Lynn Aspirin among others. Remember, this would have been around 1980 or so. NASA returned to space with the space shuttle program in 1981. It seemed reality was finally catching up to the adventure of the big screen with Star Wars and such.

It’s interesting (to me at any rate) that I never imagined myself writing books. I never really thought about writing until I went to college and got involved in the Journalism program at Marshall. And even then I never thought about writing fiction. At some point, though, after reading a story from one of my favorite authors, I thought to myself “I can do that.” And now I can’t imagine doing anything else. That first story was Cayman Cowboys. Several more novels and short stories have followed. For me, writing is like reading…except I get to tell the characters what to do next. The only frustrating thing is sometimes I can’t type fast enough to keep up with the story in my head.

So, today, I took my daughters to local branch of my public library. They both already had library cards from a school trip so it was just up to me to get a new one. I hadn’t gone into a library since I moved back to West Virginia about six months ago. And, of course, I walked out of there with three books for me, and two each for the girls. We also signed up for the Summer Reading Program, although I want to be careful to keep reading fun and not make it a chore. It’s been fun as well to watch the girls read the kids stories I have written like Swimming with Sharks. They often look at me and tell me “She wouldn’t have done that!” referring to one of the characters loosely based on them.

I have no delusions that taking the girls to the library today will set either girl on a path to adventure. But I do know that books can do that all by themselves. And that’s all that really matters..

Visiting the 9/11 Memorial in NYC

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I still remember where I was when I saw the first plane crash into the twin towers. I was on vacation, on the Outer Banks of North Carolina, watching Good Morning America. The show was about to go off and we were preparing to go out on the beach. We didn’t move for four hours that morning. I remember feeling stunned, shocked and sad. I remember anger, too. I remember thinking that the world had irrevocably changed. I’m sure my memories are no different than most everyone’s who saw those terrible events unfold.

I also watched the unveiling of the memorial in New York City on the 10th anniversary of the attacks. It was impressive and touching, but I couldn’t get a grasp on the place. I wasn’t sure how it made me feel to be honest. Last week, on the way home from our honeymoon, we had some time in New York and took the opportunity to visit the memorial for ourselves.

The site itself is impressive, full of silence, except for the sound of water raining down into the foundations where the towers once stood. There was a large crowd there, but it never got loud. People were talking and you heard the occasional laugh, of course, but everyone present seemed to be mindful of the place. I watched a man take a rubbing of a name, wondering if it was a friend, a relative or what. Not for any lyrical reason, but the chorus to the song Tears in Heaven kept running through my mind. It struck me that the water in the two fountains represented the tears cried since the attack.

I will freely admit I got choked up a couple times as I walked along. Mostly the feeling got to me when I saw a woman’s name followed by “and her unborn child.” My daughters were 10 months old and “in utero” respectively on the day of the attack. I noticed it many times.

The memorial site itself is extremely secure. You just can’t walk onto these hallowed grounds like Arlington National Cemeter in Washington DC for example. To visit, you have to reserve a space. You can do it online or show up and see if the time slot you want is open. It’s free, but you have to have a ticket. Even then, with your name on the ticket, you have to pass through three or four checkpoints, produce a “government-issued ID” and go through an X-ray screening of your bags. I assume this heightened screening is to stop someone from defacing the memorial or from trying to make a political display there…adding insult to injury.

The members of the New York Police Department who stood guard inside the memorial grounds appeared serious and edgy. They definitely did not have the look of someone on guard duty who was bored or slacking off. They certainly will never forget the events of 9/11.

On the other hand, it was good to see One World Trade Center gleaming beside the memorial. I know there was a lot of debate about whether to build anything on the site at all, but I think it was for the best to rebuild. Other than being an enormous building in a city full of them, it is highly symbolic about our will to rebuild from tragedy.

I’ve had the good fortune to visit both the memorial at the Pentagon in Washington DC and now the one in NYC. At some point, I’ll probably visit the monument in Pennsylvania for Flight 93, although all of the victims from the Pentagon and all four planes are represented in New York as well. It seems as if many people want to make a pilgrimage to see the name of Todd Beamer, the man who famously said “Let’s roll!” as the passengers on board Flight 93 foiled the hijacking plot. His name appears to be gilded, but it is simply where the frequent touches have polished the metal of the memorial.

I’m obviously not writing this on any anniversary or important date associated with the attack. But I think it’s just as well to remember that attack on random days throughout the year, not just anniversaries. We must never forget what extremism in any form can lead to. It leads to young babies never being born and parents never going home to be with their children, only to be remembered as a name engraved on a memorial.

As we approach the Fourth of July holiday weekend, it’s fitting to remember what this country was built on. There have been difficult times and struggles. As a nation, we have been attacked and have pulled together as a result. Lately, it seems like we’ve lost our way a little bit in the political partisanship and rancor of a process that seems off-kilter. I know the spirit of the United States is still strong. After all, that is what built this country—spirit.

Ultimately, that’s probably the purpose memorials like this one serve. Of course, they are there to help heal and to remember those who died. But they also to help us slow down and remember important events, even on random days throughout the year, to remember the time afterward when as a nation we resolved that we would never let hate defeat our country..

Don’t get above your raisin’

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I took this photo from a helicopter. It’s Charleston,
WV about 15 years ago.

Just before I left West Virginia to take a job in California 14 years ago, one of my best friends looked at me and said “Don’t get above your raisin’.” For those of you not from the south or not fortunate enough to speak a dialect of “country” that means don’t forget where you came from. I never forgot that admonition and I think I’ve done a pretty good job of staying true to who I am.

 

That’s not to say I haven’t grown or changed as the years have gone by (if you’re not continually growing and changing, then you’ve stagnated and are dying) but the foundation that makes up the person you are is always with you.

 

On June 20, 1863, in the middle of the Civil War, President Abraham Lincoln declared West Virginia a separate state and allowed it to secede from Virginia. West Virginia joined the Union. Virginia was, of course, part of the Confederacy. Over the years, I’ve heard a lot of speculation about why this happened. I’ve always believed it was a case of simple economics. Large plantation-style farming just isn’t practical in the mountains of West Virginia so slavery never took hold here. And if there was no advantage in staying with Virginia and the Confederacy, then it must have been beneficial to be with the Union.
That said, there’s something unique about being from West Virginia. The nature of the state’s birth certainly carries over into the identity of a lot of people from here. The state motto is Montani Semper Liberi–Mountaineers are Always Free. Ask just about anyone from here to sing Country Roads and they can do it. I know I’ve sung it all over the world. For the record, the state song is actually “West Virginia Hills” not the tune made famous by John Denver. Still I doubt there is any other state in the nation that has a song so universally loved.
West Virginia has never been a perfect place. Whether we want to admit it or not, too any of those negative stereotypes about the state have some basis in fact. And some of the problems I see here rival some of the worst places in the county. I don’t agree with, or even like, everything here. Just a couple days ago, I saw an online discussion of people who live here talking about moving away because they had “had enough.”
I have always freely admitted where I’m from and been proud to tell others about my home. Even when I lived away, when someone asked where I was from, I always asked “Do you mean where am I from, or where do I live now?” I never considered myself “from” North Carolina where I lived for the last (nearly) 12 years.
Ultimately, that’s what I think it means to not “get above your raisin’.” I never forgot where I was from or that it made me who I am today. I think I can live with that. And I don’t see that changing any time soon.
Happy Birthday, West Virginia!

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Taking a cruise

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Just before leaving on my honeymoon a few weeks ago (read it here), I wrote a blog about the trepidations I had for going on a cruise. As it turned out, a couple of my fears were realized and a couple turned out to be totally wrong. In spite of the parts that annoyed me though, we had a great time.

This trip was actually a family vacation paid for by my new father-in-law (thank you, Ben!). It wasn’t really a honeymoon, even though we turned it into one. We had a whole crew along with us. That was never a problem though as there were plenty of activities on board that we could all go our separate ways and just meet up for dinner. And it was kind of nice to have more people to have fun with. It was also a great chance to get to know my new family more.

The only real complaint I have about the whole trip was the other passengers. Some of them just seemed to have lost their minds. They would push and shove and elbow on the way to dinner or when fighting for deck chairs. There were times I wanted to escape to get some peace and quiet and that was pretty hard to come by. At times it was even difficult in my room when some function was happening on the promenade.

El Morro Fortress in San Juan, PR

One concern I had before we left was not being able to spend enough time in any port to really learn anything about it. And while the time was short, it ended up being ok. I just thought about the time in port as a “sampler.” It gave me chance to visit a couple places I have never been and think about where I want to visit for an extended stay.

This was a nine-day cruise on Royal Caribbean’s Explorer of the Sea. We had four different ports of call: Bermuda, St. Maarten, San Juan, Puerto Rico and the cruise line’s private beach Labadee, Haiti. I really enjoyed St. Maarten the most and plan to go back there to dive. The history we saw on a walking tour of Old San Juan was really cool and it made me want to learn more.

The best parts of the cruise for me were when I made personal connections. I always make it a point to the people serving me. I want to treat them as humans rather than servants…something a few of my fellow passengers forgot. We ended up growing very fond of Michelle, our server at dinner and Elena, the bartender in the dining room. Both of them were Filipino and always pleasant and happy, even though they worked extremely long hours. Stephen was a waiter in the lounge where we hung out to listen to music after dinner. He was from St. Vincent and a lot of fun to talk to. He made me want to visit his island as well.

As I’ve already said, I really enjoyed St. Maarten and plan to go back there. It was especially good for three reasons. We went snorkeling with a very small group and had a great time with the crew drinking a large amount of rum punch once we got out of the water. The second reason the day was so cool, was I got to share the ocean with my (bonus) daughter Kaitlin. I think maybe she’ll be interested in becoming a diver some time soon. The third reason why the day was so much fun is I was on a 60-foot catamaran with fewer than 20 people and was within touching distance of the ocean. I could feel it with every wave and enjoy the salt air in my face. I realized that was what I had been missing. Time close to the water. Afterward, on the cruise, I tried to get away from the pool area and closer to the ocean’s surface so I could smell it and hear it.

Predictably, I also found some inspiration on board for a new novel. I think this is going to end up being a really cool story if a bit of a new direction for me from my other novels. It’ll be about six months before it is ready, but stay tuned.

Time to get writing!.

Being a father

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I never thought about being a father growing up. I guess I assumed I would, but it wasn’t something I thought about. I never dreamed of going fishing with my son or taking my daughter for ice cream.

And then it happened. I held a tiny person in my arms. Not someone else’s child, but mine. She was beautiful, amazing and delicate. And perfect. About a year later, I was back at the hospital, witnessing the birth of my second child. Also a girl. That experience was just as awesome as the first. And just as unique.

Just because they were both girls, were born so close together and raised essentially the same way you would think they would be a lot alike. And you would be mistaken. They are individuals who are turning into young ladies by the minute. And while I didn’t think it would be possible to say I love them more than I did that first day holding them in the hospital, I do. That’s the funny thing about a father’s love. It just keeps growing.

Father’s Day always seems to get short shrift in the pantheon of holidays. Mother’s Day gets a lot more attention. That is probably rightly so. Most dads I know shun the attention anyway. We don’t want presents or anyone to make a big deal out of things. But we do appreciate it all the same.

My older brother and I have talked about it many times over the years. We had a pretty good childhood. We would hear friends complain about this or that and think, hmmm, it wasn’t that way for us. Don’t get me wrong. We didn’t come from privilege or money. But what we did have was creative, encouraging environment that allowed us to explore and be the people we wanted to be. My brother is an engineer. My father an electrician and he probably would have been an engineer if circumstances were different when he was growing up. Needless to say, growing up as the “creative” one was a little strained at times. Still, I had the encouragement I needed to make my own way.

Ultimately, I think that is the key, to be understanding, accepting, patient and be there. Not that my dad didn’t tell me “no” from time to time. He did. I’m certain of it. The funny thing is, I really don’t remember those times. I remember a dad who showed me things, gave me chances to get my hands dirty and understand how things worked.

On this Father’s Day I want to say thanks dad. I really do appreciate you always being there and being behind me even if you didn’t always understand where I was headed. I pray every day that I will be able to do as good of a job with my girls as you did with me.

Happy Father’s Day!.

Traveling a different way

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Over the years, I’ve had the good fortune to travel quite a bit, both inside the United States and internationally. Quite a lot of that travel has been while I was working in one capacity or another. Aside from the work aspect, what that meant was that I usually spent time with locals. They showed me around, told me stories and helped me to understand the culture of my destination. That sort of travel isn’t exactly glamorous, but it is certainly enlightening. And it can be a lot of fun.

But here in a couple days, I’m leaving on an entirely different type of travel. I’m taking a cruise. Yep, on one of those big, behemoth cruise ships that holds thousands of people. We’ll be stopping along the way in four destinations, but literally we’ll only be in each one for a few hours at a time. (Okay, that’s a slight exaggeration, but the longest stop is about eight hours.)

I have to admit to some mixed feelings about this trip. I’m sure it will be a blast and we will laugh and joke and have lots of fun. There will also be plenty of time for introspective staring at the blue Caribbean; time for lying in the sun and playing in the warm water. That part I totally understand, and all indications to the contrary, I do know how to relax and kick back. I don’t have to be in constant motion.

It is also extremely likely that I will get some writing done. And hold on, before you say “But, that’s work. You’re supposed to be on vacation,” as a writer, writing is a lot like reading, except I get to tell the characters what happens. Writing is certainly work, and it can be difficult, but when the words are flowing it is a whole lot of fun.

The part where my mixed feelings come in is the time visiting the ports-of-call. It’s going to kill me to tour around a place for a few hours and then have to get back on board the cruise ship and head off to the next destination. I’m going to want to talk to people and hang out and watch the sunset, have a beer with the locals and hear what they have to say.

I’m sure I’ll make the best of it…yes, I am joking. I KNOW it will be great. But even this falls into the category of new life adventures for me. I’ll probably have to spend some time exploring the behind-the-scenes parts of the cruise ship though to make myself feel less guilty about not actually “working” while I’m on board. Hey, maybe I’ll get enough ideas that I can set a future story on board a cruise ship bouncing around the Caribbean. Yeah, that should help assuage my guilt….

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