A Fan Fiction Piece

This past summer, Anne Elisabeth Stengl (the author of the "Tales of Goldstone Wood" series) hosted a fan fiction contest, and I decided to enter a few days before the deadline. A dream I had about a school-type place with gardens inspired me to write "The Giving of the Flowers," a twist on Una's childhood (she's the main character in Heartless, the first book in the series).

Now, if you haven't read Heartless, this piece might give a little bit away...and it might not make as much sense. However, if you're a fan of the series (or just curious), you can read my entry here:

The Giving of the Flowers

I didn't win or anything, but I'm really glad I entered so that it pushed me to write this piece and to try writing something different. =) I hope that it might encourage you or make you smile if you read it!

And if you're interested in reading more entries from this contest, Anne is posting one each Monday and Wednesday on her blog until all of them have been shared. Here are the links for the winners: 1st place, 2nd place, and 3rd place. Lots of wonderful pieces! I'm very grateful God gives us stories through which to bless one another!

The Jar: A Short Story (Part 3)

If you'd like to read the first and second parts of the story, click HERE and then HERE. And please join me after the conclusion to learn more about the facts behind the fiction!

The Jar
By Amber Stokes

Continued...

Alice brought her jar of pennies to church that wondrous Sunday when Randy came back. She stayed after church much longer than she usually did, because everyone else wanted to thank Randy for his service and ask him about his experiences. If you and I were there, we would have been able to tell them that Randy really didn’t want to talk about his time in Vietnam. At least not yet.

Finally, Alice was able to approach Randy, tug on his sleeve, and hand him the penny jar. I wish I could tell you that he looked at that jar of pennies and other coins and simply knew how much they were really worth. As it was, he did give Alice a hug and a pained smile. He said, “Thank you,” and, “I missed you.” And then he turned to talk with another person.

Dear Alice, though, wasn’t offended. She had done her part to tell him as best she could that he was remembered and valued. And with all of her life experience, she knew that he would get her message in time. She was right. (I’ve heard Alice usually was.)

For many years that jar sat on Randy’s desk. Alice passed away; Randy got married and started his own family. While he didn’t think of the penny jar very often, he smiled when it caught his eye. He thought of Alice’s hugs and her pockets full of candy.

Randy would never know all the heart that went into that jar of pennies. And as much as I like to pretend I know such things, I really can’t fully comprehend it either. But forty years after he was drafted (I’ll wait if you’d like to do the math)…Randy’s oldest son surprised his father with a trip to Washington D.C. Randy brought the penny jar with him. The whole family went, and as they visited the war memorials, Randy was finally ready to share some of his stories.

I walked with him that sunny, humid summer day to the Vietnam War memorial. It looked like the wall of a trench, covered with names. Grandpa Randy found the names of some of his Army buddies. I cried when I saw silent tears fall down his stoic face. And then he asked me to hand him the penny jar, the one I had been holding ever since we left the hotel. The yellow ribbon was a bit tattered, but it was still there. The pennies were gone, though. Grandpa said that he was saving them in another jar, to share with someone else someday. His knee gave a satisfying pop as he knelt down to place the jar on the ground beneath that multitude of names.

I wouldn’t say the jar was empty, though, despite the missing pennies. If you had seen the light in Grandpa’s eyes and the way the sunlight filled the jar, I think you would have seen what I saw - hope.

The End

Fact vs. Fiction

As I've previously mentioned, this short story is fictional, but inspired by some real elements. As a young girl, I used to attend First Covenant Church, where an older man named Jim Worthen and his wife Evelyn sat in the pew behind my grandparents. Mr. Worthen would bring me candy, and he and his wife always had a smile and a kind word for me. They were so very sweet, and their presence in my life brightened my Sundays.

And then one day Mr. Worthen passed away. And eventually Mrs. Worthen asked me to come and visit her. She gave me a jar filled with pennies and a few other coins, telling me that Mr. Worthen had been filling it and saving it for me.

It was a gesture that touched my heart - to think that he had been saving up those pennies especially for me! And that jar of pennies still sits in my room back at home, a beautiful reminder of the power of kindness and thoughtfulness. I certainly couldn't comprehend when I was younger, and I still can't today, just how much heart went into that simple gift.

As for the other parts of this story, my own grandpa served in the Korean War, and my daddy served in the Vietnam War. I had the opportunity to see both of those war memorials a couple of summers ago, and it was certainly a moving experience. Below are some pictures I took of the Vietnam War memorial:

While "The Jar" is definitely a work of fiction, and I claim sole responsibility for any mathematical or historical errors, I hope it's foundation in real life will inspire you.

Writing this story for Thanksgiving, I'm reminded of how much I have to be thankful for...

The brave military men and women who sacrifice so much for our freedom.

Family and friends who surround me with love.

The simple but profound gift of a jar of pennies.

What are you thankful for this Thanksgiving? And is there a gift that has blessed you, with a story behind it that will bless others?

The Jar: A Short Story (Part 2)

If you missed Part 1 of "The Jar," click HERE. The conclusion will be posted tomorrow!

The Jar
By Amber Stokes

Continued...

What is a medium-sized jar that once held rutabagas good for after said vegetables have been removed? Alice was just as unsure as you and I for a time, but a few days after Randy had left on his way to Vietnam, Alice was given some change from the grocers. Just some pennies and a couple of dimes. Instead of putting them back in her purse, she put them in her pocket. And when she got back to her trailer, she approached the jar glistening on the windowsill, twisted the lid off of it with a satisfying pop, and dropped the coins into it. Clang, clang, clang. Why, it was almost like music!

A new note, a new drop of copper or silver, was added to the jar each week. Sometimes it was change from the grocers. Sometimes it was a penny she had found on the sidewalk in front of Gottschalks. Once it was a quarter she found in her couch.

By 1975, the jar was as full as it could be and Alice was 87 years old. And then one Sunday, she heard Randy’s parents tell the congregation that he would be home soon. He might even be in church the following Sunday!

So Alice went home and searched all about her trailer for what she was certain must still be there somewhere. Back too many years ago to count, she wore a yellow ribbon. I never did learn the details, but I’ve heard that she might have used it in her hair on her first date with the man she married. Whatever its original use, that yellow ribbon now had a new purpose, just like the jar, if only she could… Aha! She found it in the top drawer of her nightstand, tucked inside a book of Robert Frost poetry.

As you might have already guessed, she replaced the lid on the penny jar and tied the yellow ribbon beneath the lid. When she saw him next Sunday, she wanted him to know that she had been thinking of him all those days and weeks and months and years – those moments – when he had been in Vietnam.

To Be Continued...

The Jar: A Short Story (Part 1)

Have you ever been given a gift that you were grateful for in the moment, but you more fully appreciated as time went by?

That's what the following short story is about. As my parents would say (quoting the movie Christmas Vacation), "It's the gift that keeps on giving all year long." And while that quote is taken from a humorous context, I think some seemingly simple gifts really do keep on giving and giving and giving. It is my hope that this story is another way for a gift given to me once upon a time to be poured out to you, dear readers.

While this short story I wrote is fictional, it's inspired by some elements of my own life. I'll let you know what's fact and fiction after I conclude this three-part short story on Wednesday. For now, I'll just share my brief dedication:

In memory of Jim Worthen. Only the Lord knows how much of your heart went into that jar of pennies, but I'll be forever grateful for the kindness you showed me.

The Jar
By Amber Stokes

If you and I were there to see the jar when it sat on the shelf in the cellar, neither of us would come to the conclusion that it would one day be a symbol of hope. After all, one does not normally equate canned rutabaga with anything beautiful – or anything much at all. But once the rutabagas were removed, and the jar was washed inside and out, you might have seen a glimmer of its destiny in the way the sunlight poured through it as it dried on the kitchen windowsill.

The jar was left there to dry after the announcement that Randy was drafted. As soon as Alice came back from church that Sunday, she knew she needed the jar for something more important than rutabagas. (Mind you, some people might consider rutabagas important. But Alice was not one of those people.) If we looked closely, we would have seen a few tears reflecting the sunlight as they traversed her weathered and wrinkled face that Sunday afternoon. Randy reminded her so much of the grandson she had lost during the Korean War. That was almost twenty years earlier, back in 1952.

After her only grandson’s passing, Alice had started bringing candy to church in the pockets of her large purple coat with the lacy trim. Randy and his family sat in the pew in front of her. Sometimes the only smile she could find in those weeks and months after losing Mark was when she saw Randy’s smile as she held out the candy in her small palm.

Of course, Randy was a young man by this time in 1971. He didn’t need candy anymore. And as much as he appreciated Alice’s kindness through his growing-up years, he had been a bit preoccupied at church that day. He forgot to give Alice a hug like he always did after the service.

But don’t worry – Alice was not the kind of woman to hold such a thing against a young man consumed with thoughts of war and leaving home and horrors he couldn’t even imagine yet. Instead, she had returned to her little trailer and prepared the jar for its new purpose.

To Be Continued...

Her Fair Share

Following is the piece I entered for the WOW! Women on Writing Flash Fiction Contest. Since I haven't heard a response from them (and the winners were supposed to be contacted by now), I don't think I placed. But I thought I would share the story with my readers anyway.

Just so you know what the contest rules were, here is a brief description from their website:

"WOW! hosts a (quarterly) writing contest every three months. The mission of this contest is to inspire creativity, communication, and well-rewarded recognition to contestants. The contest is open globally; age is of no matter; and entries must be in English. We are open to all styles of writing, although we do encourage you to take a close look at our guest judge for the season (upper right hand corner) and the flavor of our sponsor, if you are serious about winning. We love creativity, originality, and light-hearted reads. That's not to say that our guest judge will feel the same... so go wild! Express yourself, and most of all, let's have some fun!"

The entries can be anywhere from 250 to 750 words, and the prompt is open. It's a fun contest, and the Summer deadline isn't until August 31 if ya'll would like to enter! For more information, click HERE.

Now, here's my flash fiction piece, which was originally written as an assignment for my Novel Writing class:


Her Fair Share

It was no big deal, really. That’s what I told myself. It was only a hat. I would never wear it again, would I? Tears stung my eyes as I saw what was left of our family, gathered in my mother’s house. My deceased mother’s house. That hat sat on a table behind the lawyer. Who would get that beautifully ugly hat? With its big ostrich feather and its bright purple color, I couldn’t really imagine my mother wearing it. She had never worn it any time I could remember. But she had let me wear it. I loved those memories of playing dress-up with my mother so long ago, parading around the bedroom like I was Audrey Hepburn. That’s who Mom said I looked like with my auburn hair, oval, innocent face, and thin frame. I was innocent then. With Mom gone, I felt the experience of her death made me old.

I glanced around the room. Surely, no one else would want that hat. No one would think it desirable. In fact, half of the ladies in the room would simply give it the Salvation Army. Of that I was certain. But when it came time to decide who would get that hat, seeing as how it was not important enough to be mentioned in the will, I was not the only one who expressed interest. My older sister, Barbara, wanted that hat, too.

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Why in the name of Rex Harrison would my sister want that hat?! Lucille must have been too young to remember how Mama used to take me on picnics in the park. Mama had always let me wear that hat, and how I loved it! No one could convince me that I didn’t look like the queen bee when I wore that hat! And Mama always said I looked so stylish . . . But Lu was just a baby then. She couldn’t remember. She didn’t know how Mama would let me wear that hat as we sat and watched My Fair Lady together. That was before Lu was even born.

There was a spot on my night stand waiting for that hat. I would place it on a green pillow, and it would remind me of how caring my dear Mama was. She understood me.

I glanced over at my sister. Tears were in her eyes. I lowered my head. What did I know, really? What memories had Mama and Lucille made together when I left home to further my studies? I was the older sister, and I could see that while she couldn’t remember my memories with Mama, I could imagine hers.

It broke my heart, but before the lawyer could begin to settle what everyone was sure was a coming dispute (not the first one today), I went over, picked up that hat, and handed it to Lu. Surprise shone in her tears. I breathed deeply of Mama’s perfume that lingered in the room. And I shared a smile with Lu.

“She would have been proud to have you take that hat. Your daughters might want to wear it, too.”

She searched my eyes. I knew she understood. It was the memories that counted. And we both had equal share of those.