Chicken Soup for the Soul

I sat down in my office just a few moments ago and decided to open my email before revising a manuscript for a June 30 deadline.....there to my surprise was an email from Chicken Soup for the Soul. The editor for the book Chicken Soup for the Soul: Reboot Your Life informed me that one of my stories made it to the final selection process. I sat here stunned for a few moments and now have so much adrenalin pumping through my system that I can hardly sit still. I've literally submitted a manuscript to Chicken Soup every quarter since I began writing in 2010. Persistence does pay off! I don't know the exact deadlines, details about when the book will be published, and when it will hit the stores. But I just had to share the fantastic news.

Remembering Pop

            From the beginning, my father was always there. He spilt tears of happiness whenever he held me in his arms.  He carried me on his back and sometimes tossed me in the air.  He caught me when I took my first steps and stumbled.  He helped me color inside the lines and told me stories about Indians and the passage of time.  He was the master chef who taught me how to make grilled cheese and spam sandwiches.  He taught me how to put a minnow on a fishing line, toss it in Lake Lavon, and wait until the bobber sank under the surface of the water.    He taught me how to tie my shoes and ride a bike.  He sat with me by a campfire, told me stories, and set my spirit and imagination free.  

         On the first day of school, he held my hand and walked me to front door.  With tears in his eyes, he hugged me and gave me courage by saying, “You are my brave daughter.  I love you.” When mother told me to ask for his permission, he would always say, “Go ask your mother.”  He was there to sometimes lecture me and to prepare me for the unchartered waters called junior high.  He put up with my teenage moods and my co-ed relationships.  He approved, disapproved, accepted, and forgave.  When I graduated from high school and college he gave me a big bundle of flowers.  And when my name was called he stood proud, yelled, and clapped.   He embraced me and kissed me when I moved a thousand miles away knowing that once again he would have to let me go.   He saw me become a working woman, and later walked me down the aisle.  Throughout the years, he watched me grow and deepen as did the lines on his face.  He always welcomed me home and let me hug him and smell the smell I remembered from childhood—the warm, protecting, comforting smell of dad. He gave me a loving spirit and forged with his stubbornness, tenacity, patience, and integrity—all of which are an integral part of me still.  But most of all, he was always there to love me.   His spirit is with me now, and I hope to glean some wisdom from his memory.  I love and miss you, Pop!

Life begins at ...?

It is a mistake to think that life begins at any particular age for everyone . . . ten, twenty, thirty, forty, fifty, sixty, seventy, or even eighty years old.

• Life begins for you when you begin to live it.
• The earlier you begin to truly live, the longer your real life will be.
• Life begins when you become aware of life and when you open yourself to the wonder, beauty, and joy of life.
• Life begins when you begin each day to discover the infinite possibilities in each magical moment.
• Life begins when you find richness in simplicity--when ordinary things take on an extraordinary glow.
• Life begins when you begin to unfold yourself into the person you have it in you to be.
• Life begins when you begin to think creatively!
• Life begins when you are born again into an expanded consciousness of the goodness of God.
• Life begins when you learn to lose yourself in serving others.
• Life begins when you challenge the flight of time and determine to make the most of it now.
• Life begins when you revere the gift of life and strive to live it with greater depth, meaning, and dedication.
• Life begins when you develop a philosophy for living each day triumphantly.
• Life begins when you come to know the power of love.
• Life begins when you realize life never ends.

Remembering Mother...

Although all the pictures of my mother are packed away on this Mother’s Day, I wanted to pause and reflect upon the woman who singularly was the most influential person in my life. 

My mother was loving but stern; eccentric but passionate; kind but firm; and gentle but strong.  I truly never saw her act vengeful or mean.  Despite the mistakes I made, she was not prone to enacting feelings of guilt.  In so doing I never had to carry a lot of emotional baggage.  When she took me to the library and let me loose to peruse the aisles of books, she unknowingly (or perhaps knowingly) set my spirit free.  She knew when to watch over me and when to let me go—giving wings to my thoughts and imagination.  She believed words  and weaving them correctly into sentences was way more powerful than any fist.  She taught me to think before acting, so I learned to embrace mindfulness and compassion for life itself.  She modeled how to be an observer and in so doing I learned not to overreact. 

So, here’s to you, Winifred Christine Stainbrook Etgen, the quintessential mother.  You were and continue to be the perfect mother for me. 

About beginnings and endings

THE END OF SOMETHING by Sara Etgen-Baker

In a village called Aerendyl there once lived an inexperienced but talented elfin scribe named Lessien Nénharma.  Now it happened one day that Lessien came upon an email message from an editor at one of the major scribal presses. 

With bated breath, Lessien opened the email. 

“Dearest Scribe:  I’ve received your synopsis and the first two chapters of your novel.  Although your scribings and story line show great promise, your characters are flat and lack humanity.  Your subplots are intriguing but seem disconnected from the major plot.  The narrative arc is weak, and your story has no clear ending.  So, I can’t accept your manuscript at this time. Sincerely, Amroth Súron, Senior Editor Drannor Press”

Lessien threw down her scribal quill and Skyped her instructor, Lady Telemmaitë.

“Lady Telemmaitë, whatever am I to do?”  Lessien fought back the tears.  “Tell me.  Is this the end of my scribal career?”

“No, my fellow scribe.  Rejection doesn’t mark the end of your career.  Rather, rejection heralds a new beginning.”

“You speak in riddles, Lady Telemmaitë.  I don’t understand!”

“Tis quite simple, my accomplished apprentice.  Toss out your old manuscript.”  Lady Telemmaitë leaned forward.  “This time begin with the ending in mind.” 

“So I focus on how the plot ends, right?”

“No, scribe, no!  Focus on your characters; for your characters, their motives, and their development drive their actions and set the plot in motion—not the other way around.  Begin with where they will end up.”

“I understand, Lady Telemmaitë, but I feel so overwhelmed and am afraid to begin again.”

“Begin one chapter at a time.  Its end will determine the next one’s beginning.”  Lady Telemmaitë smiled.  “Take heart.  Chapters begin and end, but fear thee not thine own endings, for they are but beginnings in disguise.  Now grab thy quill and begin your next chapter!”

Sara Etgen-Baker is learning to embrace the beginnings and endings in her own life. 

Table Talk

by Sara Etgen-Baker

Although I was just a small girl during the late 50s and early 60s, I was keenly aware of the rhythmic cadence of my neighborhood. Every morning shortly after 7 a.m., my father and the other men in my neighborhood vacated their homes and boarded their pickup trucks. And, like clockwork, they departed from the neighborhood leaving behind their wives and children. Once the men were gone for the day, the women vacated their homes and by 8 a.m. gathered around one another’s kitchen tables for what the women called their table talk.

And because I was one of only two girls in the immediate neighborhood, I accompanied my mother when she attended these seemingly clandestine meetings. At each meeting, I pulled up a stool; sat next to my mother; and breathed in the smell of dark, rich black coffee as it wafted through the air of their cramped, cracker box kitchens. I sat motionless and silent, sipping on hot cocoa and listening while the women drank their coffee, told their stories, served up their secrets, shared their struggles, and offered up their compassion and humanity. Throughout the years, they cultivated a culture of trust that allowed them to feel comfortable and supportive as they shared some of their most intimate truths.

Although the times were changing all around them, this trust held them together; and they continued telling their stories. Their stories—as rich and robust as their coffee—were full of strength, insight, and wisdom. From their stories, I gleaned an unbelievable amount of perspective that I carried with me as I ventured off to college and entered womanhood. No matter what situation or struggle I encountered, I could remember one of those table talk stories and know what to do.

So what happened to those table talks? I suppose they disappeared as my generation of women entered the workforce, began our careers, and started our families. But the absence of table talks created a void—a void that up until recently hadn’t been filled.

Then in 1997 Susan Witting-Albert founded the Story Circle Network—an organization dedicated to helping women once again share the stories of their lives. Seventeen years later, women—thirsty for stories—gathered for this year’s SCN conference in Austin, Texas. Women from different cultures and generations sat around tables, listened to one another, and shared their writings and their stories.

After the conference I realized one thing: Women crave stories. We yearn to tell our stories; we need to fill the void; we must to return to our table talk. The Story Circle Network cultivates a culture of trust and, in so doing, fills that void and allows us to gather together and once again share our secrets and hidden truths. I am delighted to be a part of a tremendous organization and legacy.

Soul Making Keats Literary Competition

In the fall of 2013 I entered the Soul Making Keats Literary Competition.  I took first prize in the memoir vignette category.  Here's the certificate I received...I'm so thrilled to hang this on my writing wall!  Oh, the $100 check was nice, too!