FISHING FOR WORDS

I'm pleased to Have Sara Etgen-Baker as my Guest Blogger today. Sara has some encouraging words for us.

Sara-Etgen Baker

My father was a devoted fly-fisherman who couldn’t seem to resist the almost masochistic urge to wake in the quiet predawn hours and stumble, blurry-eyed with his loaded thermos out of the house.  He’d drive to a nearby icy cold stream or lake where he lowered his boat into the water; cranked the outboard engine into action; and navigated through the murky waters taking note of the invisible currents and the direction of the wind blowing across the water.  He eventually anchored his boat near the shoreline, disembarked, and stood at the water’s edge casting his lure into the open water never knowing if he’d reel anything in.
 
Often he gazed at the water for hours believing he could get a fish to bite on the lure and then pull that fish from the realm of the mysterious water into his eagerly-awaiting fishing net.  But many times, he came home with nary a fish in his cooler only to return to the same spot the next day, the day after, and the day after convinced that he’d nab a big one.  “This is a good spot.  I can feel it in my bones,” he’d tell me.  When his bobber finally zinged under the water, he leaned back pulling the fish toward him until it erupted through the water, glimmering in the sunlight.   “I knew it! This IS a fishable spot,” he’d exclaim, his face beaming.
 
I certainly thought my father was rather fanatical about fishing and often wondered what drove him to be the angler that he was.  That is, until I became a writer. 

Suddenly his fanaticism made sense to me.  I, too, possess a similar masochistic urge to wake in the quiet predawn hours and stumble blurry-eyed with a loaded cup of coffee out of the kitchen into my office.  I lower myself into my chair; crank my laptop into action; and navigate through the scattered papers, journals, scrapbooks, and photographs strewn across my desk taking note of the invisible currents and the direction of the ideas blowing across my mind.  I eventually anchor myself to my desk and stand on the precipice of creativity casting my mind onto the blank screen never knowing if I’ll reel anything in.  Often I stare at the glassy screen for hours believing I’ll pull something from the realm of the mysterious onto the eagerly-awaiting empty page. I catch a phrase or two, nab a paragraph here and there, and sometimes even write an entire manuscript.  “This one is a keeper,”  I tell my husband.  “I can feel it in my bones.” Even when it’s rejected, I submit it again and again sometimes even to the same editor, convinced of its value.  When it’s finally accepted, I dance around my office proclaiming,   “I knew it! This IS a publishable piece.”
 
Indeed, anglers and writers share some similar behaviors.  Both enter into a staring contest with potential, a challenge devoid of guarantees.  When an angler stands at the water’s edge gazing at a glassy pool or a river proceeding with the freedom and discipline only the natural world can finesse, he’s scrubbed clean of life’s trivia and distractions.  Watching the water, he’s confronted with the unconscious as surely as the writer who stares into the humming blank screen each morning, praying that from the fathomless gray, prose will surface.  Both fishing and writing are largely acts of faith—a belief that there is indeed a rich run of fish or ideas lurking below.  The angler’s false casts and hooked branches, as well as the writer’s convoluted first drafts, are all part of some ritual designed to seduce a shiny gem to the surface.
 
So, why do anglers and writers persist in what seems to be such fanatical pursuits?  I can’t speak for anglers; I can only speak for myself.  If I don’t write, I’m unhappy and suffer a type of melancholy defined only by its absence.  So, I must have a need to write.  Perhaps that need comes from the thrill of getting a nibble, playing with an idea, and reeling it in.  Maybe I like staring at that glassy screen, scrubbing myself clean of life’s trivia and distractions.  Perhaps I need the adventure of taking that seemingly fearless, intuitive leap of faith onto a higher ground rich with ideas and imagination, never knowing what’s going to happen or what I’m going to reel in. Mostly, I like fishing for words and netting a publishable story, one that glimmers on the screen and warms readers’ hearts. 

BIO:  Sara’s love for words began when, as a young girl, her mother read the dictionary to her every night. A teacher’s unexpected whisper, “You’ve got writing talent,” ignited her writing desire. Sara ignored that whisper and pursued a different career.  After she retired, she re-discovered her inner writer and began writing memoir vignettes and personal narratives.

Many of her manuscripts have been published in anthologies and magazines including Chicken Soup for the Soul, Guideposts, Good Old Days Magazine, My Heroic Journey, The Santa Claus Project, Wisdom has a Voice, Finding Mr. Right, Table for Two, and Times They Were A Changing: Women Remember the 60s & 70s. She’s also writing her first novel, Dillehay Crossing.

Sara enjoys her affiliation with Story Circle Network, the National League of American Pen Women, and her local historical society.  When not writing, she cherishes the time she spends with her husband, Bill.