Sebastian Junger has made a career out of winging it. In 1993, while trying to find someone to publish his eventual bestseller The Perfect Storm, he flew to Bosnia, where, with no experience and no credentials, he figured he'd make a go as a war reporter. Seven years later, having spent time in battle zones across the globe, he was in need of a refuge—a place where he could unwind back home. So he and fellow writer Scott Anderson decided to open their own bar, the Half King, on Manhattan's West Side. For his latest book, War, Junger embedded with a platoon of American soldiers in Afghani­stan for a total of five months, including several stints alongside photographer and cameraman Tim Hetherington. The two decided to shoot and self-finance a documentary film—a first for both of them. The result, Restrepo, which airs this November on the National Geographic Channel, won the Grand Jury Prize for documentaries at Sundance, in January. All of which is to say that Junger, now 48, is writing his own story. Here, Outside's ERIC HANSEN downloads some of the high points.

THE THINGS IN LIFE that aren't exciting, if they're a hassle, I just don't do 'em. Like, I could go out and buy a shaving mirror, or I could use the back of a CD.

I'VE WRITTEN THINGS down while running. It doesn't work very well. In Liberia, in 2003, we were getting mortared pretty badly. There was a lot of movement on the street, and I was alternating between dropping to the ground and sprinting, while trying to write notes at the same time. In situations like that, you can't take notes. If you try, you can't read 'em afterwards. And anyway, you just look like a jackass. A video camera solves all those problems.

I WANT THE whole country to see Restrepo. And I don't want them to watch it simply as a documentary. I want them to watch it because we're at war. And whether you're for or against the war, this is what that war looks like up close. We all need to know what that looks and sounds and feels like.

I REMEMBER BRIEFLY thinking that I wanted to be a lawyer, because Abraham Lincoln was a lawyer. But my mother explained that lawyers back then were different from lawyers now.

IN COLLEGE, I was a really good distance runner. I ran a 4:12 mile, 2:21 marathons. And I'd heard that the Navajo were excellent distance runners and had a long, pre-Columbian tradition of it. So when I was 19 or 20, I moved out on the reservation for a summer and trained with their best guys. I was the first white guy they'd met who could beat most of their top runners. I ended up writing my thesis on Navajo long-distance running and its traditional roots—and I loved it. I was on fire. The thesis seemed to be pretty close to what I imagined journalism to be. That was a naive thought.

FOR YEARS, I floundered around in Boston, trying to place articles in magazines. By the time I realized it wasn't working, it was too late to back up and try something else. I was 30 or 31. So I just gave up and went to Bosnia. I thought I would try to be a war reporter. I had no idea what that meant or how to do it.

THE PERFECT STORM wasn't me; it was the exception. I stepped out of my life to write that book, and then stepped back into my life, and most people don't realize that.