Mattie McAlavy: On S.G. Baker

By Mattie McAlavy

She isn’t aptly named.

Summer the season is heat, heat, heat and dappled skin and sweat and laughter on a breeze. Popsicles melting, sweet tea sweating, heavy green boughs sighing in the sun. A feeling.

Summer (the) Baker is “dynamite with a laser beam” – pinpoint-direct and molten and focused, focused ‘chaos.’ A bright grin, sharp laugh, a sharper, heart-stopping wink. A true killer queen.

Hers is an overwhelming abundance of assertions, spunk, spitfire…and sorrow: The off-kilter feeling when you find yourself sitting in the shade with an old friend, commiserating (sometimes darkly) and gulping the last of the day’s lemonade as the streetlights and fireflies filter on for the night.

She is incredibly aptly named.

Madison Ferril: On S.G. Baker

By Madison Ferril

Mischief is too base a word for what glints behind her eyes. It is more the beginnings of a maelstrom, or perhaps it is a hint of the spark that set the universe into motion. Some would call it magic, but that term is neither broad enough nor narrow enough to capture the essence of Summer.

Lyle Hall: On S.G. Baker

By Lyle Hall

Not too long ago, on a terrible day, I thought I should try something. Something I knew, I knew wouldn’t work. It ended about as well as could be expected; with me lying on my back in the dirt. That was when I really saw Summer.

‘Ha, nice one. Are you alright?’

I blinked, and instead of the Texas sun there was something different. The heat and brilliance were replaced with an amused twinkle in her eyes.

‘Fantastic.’ I mumbled.

She helped me to my feet while a grin tugged at the corners of her mouth.

That was when I finally understood. Here was a girl who could carve a world into existence with a pencil. And who was I to slow her down?

‘I’ll be fine,’ I said, returning her grin.

We parted ways shortly thereafter, but I still see her from time to time. When I look close enough, sometimes I think I can see a shadow of a world she’s working on behind her eyes.

Rebekah Cannon: On S.G. Baker

By Rebekah Cannon

A traveler in the truest sense of the word. Her form a mere physical bond holding her to the earth as her whole being journeyed beyond what any world could hold. She was a creator of life in the dreams she conjured.

Jennifer Archer: On S.G. Baker

By Jennifer Archer

There was a cautiousness about her. She was careful about sharing herself, always watchful and gauging those around her, taking their measure. If lucky enough to gain her trust, you were treated to a glimpse of her sharp wit, her keen sense of humor, wry and cynical, a level of intelligence and honesty and raw earthiness that made her a relief, a refreshing rarity in this Kardashian world.

Micah Baker: On S.G. Baker

By Micah Baker

She wiped the blood from her sword, a quick motion, wrist flicking, eyes peering intently into the wounds before her. The cuts were clean, effective as the precise lacerations of a surgeon. And while blood welled up from the incisions, a healing happened. She cut away the fog of fear and insecurity to flash a mirror into the true hearts of her friends. And they saw themselves through her eyes–waifs shed their coverings to reveal the iridescent wings of nymphs and quiet, unobtrusive gentlemen opened their chests and purred, shaking their glorious manes. With the strength and power of years of training, practice, and the insight of experience, the slashes of her blade were dizzying and she reveled in her strength while she felt the power and surety of having honed her skill until she and her sword had become one being. As she danced nimbly through the fray, she laughed for the pure joy of who and what she had become. And for a brief instance her mighty sword looked like a fairy godmother’s wand bestowing gifts beyond measure.

Deborah Elliott-Upton: On S.G. Baker

By Deborah Elliott-Upton

You know the one. There’s always one in the classroom. Six or sixteen and going on thirty, it doesn’t matter. She’s got something. Summer’s the one who appears wide-eyed, looking innocent, yet you can just tell her brain is spinning inside with a thousand questions. Only some of them you know, but you’ll never admit to her. Never. Never. Never gonna do that.

Nydia Amabelle Brandstatt: On S.G. Baker

By Nydia Amabelle Brandstatt

I’m not sure how long it took you to grow accustomed to my random moments of talking to myself or swearing at someone that was no longer on the phone. But eventually you did, and we learned to coexist. We learned each others’ body language and mannerisms. You knew not to talk to me if I didn’t say ‘good morning.’ I knew not to mess with you if your notebook was in front of you but you weren’t writing. I also learned to never bake anything with nuts or traces of nuts in it because of you. That is all.

Valerie Hendon: On S.G. Baker

By Valerie Hendon

Her short hair blew in the wind as she jumped onto the trolley, going somewhere she had never been before. Her mind ridden with writer’s block. The only things going through her brain these days was the fact that she wanted to write full-time, but until she could get her big break, she was forced to go to her 9-5 and slave away. Today she felt was different. She felt as if her big break was right around the corner, with the words racking up in that little head of hers. She just didn’t know how to get them down. Where was she going? The palace of her imagination, of course. Where her mind was free to wonder for the rest of her days!

Steven Watson: On S.G. Baker

By Steven Watson

She seemed to slip into her place somewhat chaotically; she could fit in any group unrepentantly, but at the same time her presence thrust upon her companions a desire to hang on her every word. From her tongue dripped the waters of Bethesda and any who could bathe in the banter were truly blessed.

This was merely a preliminary observation that most could see freely. To really look at her, to see her, was like watching the way that earth dances inside the seasons. Summer and Winter; Life and Death. Spring and Autumn; Growth and Decay. All of the elements stirred inside her eternally. Sometimes in conflict, other times in harmony. Most tied themselves to one season, one aspect, never searching out the others and thereby never getting the privilege of knowing the wonders of her soul. For this poor majority, she was happy to accommodate.

The brave souls who dared to venture deeper were greatly rewarded. At her center was a war, but not one of carnage and bloodshed. It was a battle between her adventurous nature and the world’s attempt to subdue it in the silent monotony that claims so many. Needless to say, the world didn’t stand a chance. As for those that ventured that deep, they were recruited and welcomed as friends in her onslaught against the dull realities that plague hearts and minds of men.