Jennifer Slattery is here letting us in on some tips for writing challenging fiction.
Jennifer
Slattery writes
soul-stirring fiction for New Hope Publishers, a publishing house
passionate about bringing God’s healing grace and truth to the
hopeless. She also writes for Crosswalk.com, Internet Café
Devotions, and the group blog, Faith-filled Friends. When not
writing, Jennifer loves going on mall dates with her teenage daughter
and coffee dates with her handsome railroader husband.
Here's Jennifer:
I
was completely blindsided and leveled, for some time to come. In
fact, I’m not sure the ache God started years ago has ever left.
That ache of knowing, really knowing, and feeling completely and
utterly inept. More than that, of wrestling with what God might be
calling me to do, and yet, erecting barriers to obedience before the
prayer concludes.
Double-minded.
Partially surrendered. Angered by the injustice of it all yet
paralyzed by fear, selfishness, and uncertainty. Some problems seem
just too big to tackle, and yet, God—the infinite, all-powerful,
all-knowing, sovereign God, has a plan. If we’d but tune our ears
and step out in obedience, to whatever He calls us to do. For some
that means opening our home to broken children. For others that may
mean acting like a support for friends who’ve answered the call to
foster. The opportunities to help are endless.
And
the need, urgent. There are so many reasons we can say now, but
there’s a huge and pressing reason to say yes.
Through
the eyes of one of America’s forgotten:
Kraigen stood in the doorway
holding a large garbage bag that wasn’t even half full despite the
fact that it carried absolutely everything he owned. Clenching his
jaw, he braced himself for the worst. Based on the sappy faces and
wide, almost teary eyes that stared back at him, this was gonna be
one long night. He pretended to listen to the high-pitched chirping
that pricked his ears, but in reality, his mind was a million miles,
and neighborhoods, away.
He
knew the drill. They were happy to have him, wanted him to feel at
home, yah-da, yah-dah, yah-dah. He’d heard all that before. And
he’d pretend to buy it, for now. Until they shipped him off
somewhere else. Because they always did. This was his third home this
year, the tenth home since those high-and-mighties down at children’s
services shipped him off five years ago when they found his mother
passed out on the living room floor, a used heroine needle dangling
from her limp hand.
“Can
I take your…um…bag for you?” A lady with a way too big smile
and mascara caked eye-lashes asked, reaching for Kraigen’s things.
He
jerked away instinctively and clutched the smooth plastic to his
chest. The woman’s eyes went wide. The man beside her, tall with a
thick shaggy beard and thick glasses, started to move forward. When
Kraigen looked directly into the man’s eyes and squared his
shoulders in his best, “Wanna piece of me?” stance, the man
slackened and stepped back.
“Are
you hungry?” The woman’s voice was shaky. “I made spaghetti and
meatballs. Come with me.”
Kraigen
followed reluctantly into a brightly painted kitchen with pink and
purple flower curtains. A large, round table laden with salad, milk,
steamed vegetables and hot spaghetti sat in the center of the room.
Hen tightened his throat to stop his nose from inhaling the aroma of
Italian sausage and roasted garlic. Last thing he needed was for his
stomach to go growling like some wild animal. Yah, he was hungry. So
what? He’d been hungry before, and he’d be hungry again. One hot
meal, and a few nights in some Beaver-Cleaver home really wasn’t
going to make that much of a difference. It was all temporary,
despite their lofty promises.
“Here,
have a seat.” The man pulled out a chair and patted the cushion.
Kraigen
glanced at the clock. How long were these charades going to go on?
But that was how the game was played. They’d do their part, give
him a few hot meals, tell him how special he was, that it wasn’t
his fault his mom was sick, like they had any idea what they were
talking about. But then he’d mess up, or they’d get tired,
whatever, and he’d be shipped off somewhere else.
“Like
spaghetti?” The lady shoved a steaming hot plate piled high with
soft noodles and dripping sauce in front of his face. “I made this
just for you.”
An
image of his mother passed out on the vomit-stained carpet, her
thick, matted hair spread out across the maroon fibers like clumps of
wool, flashed through his mind.
He
cleared his throat to keep his tears at bay. “Thank you,” and
began to push the noodles around his plate with a shiny silver fork.
The
man with the thick glasses pulled up a chair, sat beside him and
nodded for the lady to do the same. Kraigen pretended not to notice
the pathetic looks of sympathy that were etched in their middle-class
faces. It was like they were watching some mutated cat trying to lap
up a pile of spilled milk.
“I
know this is hard for you—”
Yah,
right. You and your pretty little white picket fence and two-car
garage? You don’t know And I know you won’t stick around long
enough to find out. No one does.
Natalie here again. What a beautiful, challenging glimpse into this young boy's life! I have a few questions for you, Jennifer:
1. What were the circumstances that inspired you to write this piece?
My sister has been involved in the foster care system, first as a
CPS worker and now as an in-home therapist, for some time, and so her
passion for hurting children has bled into me. But also, I went through a
period of homelessness as a teen, and a time of feeling unwanted. I
carried my belongings--all I really had were clothes--with me in a big
trash bag, and so, I've always felt a deep empathy for homeless
teenagers and children. But I also know the power of life-changing grace
and the hope we, as believers, can offer to America's hurting
children.
2. Where can writers look to find subjects that challenge readers--and themselves?
I'd say the best way writers can
learn about and really write authentically about deep subjects, such as
orphan or foster care, is to get involved. Spend time with people.
Everyone has a story and a mission. Learn about them, then write about
them. When you do, God will open your reader's hearts to healing, their
calling, and their unique mission.
3. How does your faith affect your writing?
My faith
is the foundation of all I do, and I hope everything I say and write
points to God's amazing grace. If not, I'm wasting my time. :)
Bonus question: What's the best quick-draw writing advice you've ever received?
The
best writing advice I've received, the best life advice really, is just
get 'er done. So many people say they want to write a novel, some even
say it's a driving passion, and yet, many don't regularly devote time to
it. Though writing with our muses is great, if we want to make it a
career and ministry, we need to learn to write on demand, which means,
sometimes we'll have to force our rear ends into the chair and eek those
words out, many of which will probably get deleted. Because though
writing is a passion, it is also work. We must never forget that; never
expect it to be easy. Not to sound cliche', but nothing worthwhile is.
I love these answers. Thank you so much, Jennifer. Hey, everybody. Check out Jennifer's book, When Dawn Breaks:
When
Dawn Breaks:
As
the hurricane forces Jacqueline to evacuate, her need for purpose and
restitution propel her north to her estranged and embittered daughter
and into the arms of a handsome new friend. However, he’s dealing
with a potential conspiracy at work, one that could cost him
everything, and Jacqueline isn’t sure if he will be the one she can
lean on during the difficult days ahead. Then there are the three
orphans to consider, especially Gavin. Must she relinquish her chance
at having love again in order to be restored?
Read
a free, 36-page excerpt here.
You
can buy a copy on
Amazon,
Barnes and Noble,
or
CBD.
Jennifer is generously giving away a signed copy of When Dawn Breaks. Comment on the post below to enter, and name a novel that challenged you in some way. Mention if you shared on social media to get an extra entry for each share.