What fun to find a scrapbook from my firefighting days! Here are some photos of newspaper clippings of fires I went to.
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| 1977 |
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| 1977 |
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| 1977 |
Determined to write a memoir? Not only that, are you determined to publish your memoir? Maybe even traditionally?
That was me over 10 years ago. And I'm proud to say I succeeded in publishing traditionally, not once, but twice...but trust me, it wasn't easy, and it wasn't a short road. I learned the hard way...trial and error, and many, many agent and publisher rejections. I'd like to save you from that anguish...although I'll tell you, learning the hard way made me a much better writer. Anyway...
I came across this article and it was spot on. While the article addresses "what's new in 2026," that's not quite true. I read almost all of the points made here 10 years ago.
Tough to hear? I thought it was. But I also wanted to make my story the very best it could possibly be. If that's your goal as well, I suggest you take the suggestions posed here to heart.
The State of Publishing Memoir in 2026
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My quarters at Florida (Flor-ee-da) Ranger Station, 1976
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Fast forward 10 years. Steve knew I painted in watercolors (and had, in fact, purchased one of my paintings about 12 years ago). After his first poetry book published, he wanted to write one specifically about the Santa Rita Mountains, and asked me if I would be interested in providing illustrations for some of the poems, and maybe even the book cover, possibly using the painting he'd purchased from me. Of course I said yes!
After 4 years and 17 paintings later, Steve's book: Wild Ruminations: Poems Inspired by the Santa Rita Mountains (Wheatmark. February 3, 2026) released into the world.
I'm so honored to have been asked to contribute to this book! I'm also quite touched that my Forest Service career inspired one of Steve's poems. I'd like to share that poem here:
Summers of Fire
with sunrise
cold, heavy air descends
steep Florida* Canyon slopes
cascading around and through
mammoth Douglas-fir, ponderosa pine,
Arizona walnut
then over oaks, mesquite, juniper
and an historic work station
built years ago
by Depression-era young men
yearning for a better life
Florida Ranger Station
Forest Service firefighters
train long and hard
for summers of fire
build firelines
bust knuckles
swing Pulaskis
haul packs and gear
chase spot fires
work to exhaustion
tongues like shoe leather
back and shoulders taut as
a charged fire hose
perseverance and grit prevail
over burnt landscapes
after a shower and supper
guys and gals meet at a cabin
for cards, music, laughter,
good ribbings, and beer
and perhaps, companionship too
if these walls could talk
what intimacies
what secrets of the heart
what hurt, pride, and loss
would reveal
a fire crew’s
summers of fire
flor-ee-da*
Dedicated to the fire crews of ‘76 ‘77 ‘78
Come listen!
I joined Stacy Raine on Tell Me What It’s Like to talk about what it was really like to be among the first women on a US Forest Service fire crew in the 1970s. We discussed:
- What a fire crew did beyond fighting fires
- How I reacted to the discrimination I faced
- Why I loved the job despite the hardships
Here's the link: Tell Me What It's Like
I'm often asked: Why did you want to be a firefighter? What was your goal?
This excerpt from Chapter 19 of my memoir is a glimpse into how taking on a firefighter job went from 'wanting to do something different' to a formal career choice.
If you've not read my book, I hope this passage is intriguing enough to give it a try!
(I've just returned to Florida (Flor-ee-da) Ranger Station after spending two weeks on a 55,000 acre fire.)
Like a loyal friend, Florida Station had waited for my return. Tomorrow would be my last day here. I reported to work in the morning, turning in my gear, key, and driver’s license. Glenn allowed me to clean up my quarters and pack on government time.
On departure day, I simultaneously wanted to go home and not go home. I missed my mom so much my heart ached; but I sensed that Florida wanted me to stay. Joe did, too.
After stashing the last box into my car Skyer, I turned toward the government truck pulling in behind me. Glenn. My breath hitched. Get a grip. I cared for him more than I knew was right. He stood before me, his thumbs hooked through the belt loops of his Levi’s, his cowboy boots shuffling in the dirt. He gazed at me from under the brim of his ever-present Stetson. That always got to me.
In his slow and deep voice, he said, “I want you to know that I think you did a real good job in Northern California on a tough assignment.”
My heart somersaulted. From a man who said little, that simple sentence touched deep into my soul. He was proud of me. Not sure what to say or do, all I managed was, “Thanks.” But I also stood there waiting for him to give me some kind of sign…that what happened in that motel meant more to him than just sex. It was not there. I desperately wanted to hug him, but feared he would not hug me back, or worse, back off. Driving away I checked my rearview mirror to see if he watched me leave. He did.
In Prescott, I rushed to enroll in forestry-related classes at Yavapai College, which I hoped would advance my new career. Despite the aching in my legs from hiking up and down all of those hills on the Klamath, I had a lightness in my step. There were so many challenges last summer: brutal long hours, backbreaking work, intense heat, danger, smoke inhalation, bad food, and no sleep for days on end. Why did I put up with it? Because this job made me feel important; it gave me a purpose in life. Plus, if I could handle those grueling conditions, I could do anything; and what I wanted more than anything was a permanent Forest Service position.
Liz and I talk about my memoir writing journey. I hope you'll come listen!
FINDING MEANING IN MEMOIRS: LINDA STRADER'S INSIGHTFUL JOURNEY