Here's what I'm reading: The Last True Story I'll Ever Tell: An Accidental Soldier's Account of the War in Iraq , by John Crawford.

Here's why: What's it really like in Iraq? What do the soldier's do? What do they see and how do they feel? What does it look like there? What does it feel like?

At the very least it provides one voice that one doesn't read in the newspapers or see reported on television, one that speaks from scorching deserts and fear and exhaustion and death. It isn't the greatest writing and it is only one voice, but it remains an important book that should be considered. It makes one rethink all the reports of incidents in Iraq and Afghanistan.
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I also finished Ben Sherwood's second book, The Death and Life of Charlie St. Cloud, that weaves between life and death and the power of enduring and fated love. It is a nice story that has a better plot than writing. I want to juxtapose these two books and wonder how I could read a love story and a true war story at the same time (while rewriting an old, dark story, teaching the childish first part of To Kill A Mockingbird, and dreaming of Oregon). But that would be a silly exercise in psychoanalysis that bores everyone, especially me.
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I've been more focused on getting published lately. Why does an author seek publication? Do we need the validation? Yes. I know I'm a good writer, but getting published confirms it. But it's more than that. I think it matters because I want to be able to hold up some literary magazine that no one's heard of and show all the people with no interest in my talent that the rest of the world thinks I'm good too. Is that petty and insecure? Probably. However, what bigger thrill can there be than someone saying they were moved by some idea that came from your head? The only equal experience I've had is when a former student tells me how I impacted their life in a positive way, and that feeling runs deep, sometimes so deep I don't let myself accept the compliments.