Common Bonds

For eight consecutive weeks I led a veterans’ writing group. We met for an hour and a half every Thursday on Zoom. There were members in attendance from both coasts and everywhere in between. We had Vietnam veterans, Afghanistan veterans, Iraq veterans, and peacetime veterans all hanging out virtually. The only barrier for entry was service. Aside from that, all veterans were welcomed. The perspectives varied from anti-imperialist San Franciscans to boomers that still wanted blood for various offenses. Generally, we were all positioned between the extremes. It was beautiful.

With most things, I just stumbled into this accidentally—or perhaps providentially. At the end of last year, I took a similar class led by a friend and phenomenal writer himself. Anything he promotes is usually something worth taking note of. So, I found myself as a participant in his creative writing class. The class was designed for veterans and the few non-military personnel in attendance were counselors and other nonprofit leaders hoping to facilitate similar groups. That’s where I come in. One person in attendance led the Veteran Creative Arts Program based in Wilmington, NC—VCAP if you’re nasty.

After last year’s class I was asked to consider leading my own group. Truthfully, I had no idea I was signing up to teach classes for a different nonprofit than the one I had recently benefited from. I knew this was one of those opportunities I didn’t have a good excuse not to do, so, I said yes before gathering all the relevant intel. The teacher of the prior class I attended graciously offered me his class notes with a bank of writing prompts I could use if necessary. Although I used some of his, I quickly realized this group was different and required a different approach.

It turns out that teaching a class is very different from taking one. I fumbled through awkward introductions and course objectives in the first session. I became more comfortable curating prompts each week. I based them on conversations that arose from my aspiring writers and leaned very little on those provided to me. I was thankful for the failsafe the prompt bank provided. I was more satisfied with the ideas that came as we challenged ourselves to talk through issues surrounding our collective service.

This class was different, it’s hard to quantify that statement, but it’s true. This class was special. I decided not to be a task master, and just listened to the virtual room and responded in kind. I realized the little prompts I offered to spur creativity were less important than the conversations afterwards. If we strayed too far down rabbit holes, I’d reel us back on track. Mostly I let the dialogue create a life of its own. The intent wasn’t to make people better writers, although if it happened, awesome. The goal was to foster genuine community—to make veterans feel a part of something again. Storytelling can be words on a page, or a good conversation that takes us deeper than we intended. The idea is to get the junk out of our brains and into the world and then sift through that rubble to make it make sense—if possible.

I’m glad I took the chance to lead this group. I pray I lived up to their expectations. I enjoyed it so much that I signed up for two more eight-week sessions. This is what service looks like for me these days. I’m not a teacher necessarily, although I will gladly share any wisdom I’ve gleaned the hard way in my upside down and backwards path. Why not make it easier for someone much less stubborn than me. There’s no moratorium on creativity and I firmly believe all ships rise with the tide. Let’s all get better, get published, shake things up with our words or deeds. That’s how we leave the military behind and grow better together using the tools we gained there.

Whether we wrote our stories down or discussed the prompts in engaging conversations, we shared our truths. We shared life. We realized we were less alone than we thought. The feelings we buried were less unique than we thought. Many of us shared the sentiment of not doing enough, not being enough, not having a cool enough job in the military—those things were almost universal. Some of us struggled with going to war, others struggled with not going to war, and yet others struggled with the entire concept of warfare as a construct. We disagreed. We cried. We belly laughed. We related. Most of all, we talked. We were civil, and in the end became closer as humans. As a result, I now have a handful of new friends. Ain’t that what it’s all about anyway?

Those interested in joining the group, can email the org at info@veteranscreativearts.org as we are starting a new class April 2025.

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Stan is a writer, photographer, and filmmaker from Bethania, North Carolina. His work has been published in The Havok Journal, Reptiles Magazine, Understory, Dirtbag Magazine, Lethal Minds Journal, Backcountry Journal, Wildlife in North Carolina, SOFLETE, The Tarheel Guardsman, Wildsound Writing Festival, and others. His poetry collection A Toad in a Glass Jar is scheduled for publication by Dead Reckoning Collective, date TBD. He has written three children’s books and one Christian Devotional book. He filmed and directed a documentary about his deployment in Iraq with the NC Army National Guard called “Hammer Down.” He spends most of his free time wrangling toads. You can see his collected works and social media accounts listed at www.stanlakecreates.com

As the Voice of the Veteran Community, The Havok Journal seeks to publish a variety of perspectives on a number of sensitive subjects. Unless specifically noted otherwise, nothing we publish is an official point of view of The Havok Journal or any part of the U.S. government.