Jaime Guerrero of Spain was one tough warrior. He was the son of a whore; Señor Guillermo Guerrero was his father. Meanwhile Guillermo’s legal wife had given him other sons, and when they grew up, his wife’s sons threw Jaime out. They told him: “You’re not getting any of our family inheritance—you’re the son of another woman.” So Jaime fled from his brothers and went to live in Portugal. Some riffraff joined him and went around with him.

Have you read the above bible story before? What? Bible story? You ask. Oh yes, the names have been changed as well as the locations, yet relatively same in distance as the original. They story line was untouched.

This is a doctored up cut and paste job from the Message translation (Judges 11). The concept is true to the Hebrew from whence it first was transcribed.

This is not the only instance of earthy adultery seen in the pages of the Bible. On this same page where our tale of “Jaime” is found there is bloodshed, polygamy, human sacrifice, and more sexual sin. We also see the guidance of God, His mercy and people who are wholeheartedly dedicated to His will.

The bible is a fascinating book. When we slow down and really think about the whole situation in any given portion we find true humanity alongside sovereign divinity. People have been people since Adam. Not much in our nature has changed.

As a writer I have been grappling with a question of content. It would seem that nothing is hidden in the stories of the bible heroes. Noah got drunk. David slept around and committed premeditated murder. Peter was a turn coat. The list could go on. As a storyteller, mainly in the fiction realm, how does this affect me? My question is:

As a Christian writer what licence do I have in the themes I choose to include in my stories?

For much of my younger life I was a gullible literalist. Things were very black and white. It thrilled me to be able to proclaim fearlessly and foolishly things as “right” and “wrong”. As the hairs on my head have started to gray I have begun to see the beauty in the shades of life lying in the in-between. I have to fight the urge to slap labels on things, especially in the very public creative expression arena.  There is truth to the notion that some things are neither “right” nor “wrong”, per se.

When I read this part of scripture my thoughts went to the characters in the novel I wrote last year. One of the main themes is teenage pregnancy out of wedlock. A twinge in my gut said that this topic is taboo for a Christian writer. Yet there are also elaborate lies and disobedience to parents. Where does one draw the line?

By telling a story true to human nature I do not feel as though I am being irreverent. What are your thoughts on this topic?

In the next few days there will be many winners crossing the finish line as they log in their word counts. The idea was 50,000 words in 30 days. I am happy to report that I did it!

Wow-ee.

I feel it is necessary to add that the novel now needs a ton of work. Editing galore, scenes needing tweaking, and much weighing of words await me in the coming months. I look forward to going back and adding the shading, darkening the color here and there and defining the lines to make them jump out and grab you as you read.

It was especially surprising that the characters took the story for unexpected twists and turns. I had to trust them. There were a few spots where I wasn’t too sure they knew where they were going, but they got back on track soon enough. It really seemed to take on a life of its own. That was very surprising to me.

I am considering posting a couple more excerpts in the coming week. For now I am just content for you to know that I finished. Yes!

During the month of November I am writing a novel called ‘Chapped’. With two weeks to go I am safely past the half way point and feeling very good about the flow. Current word count is 27,628 words of the final goal of 50,000 words.

To read the first excerpt you can click here: Chapped Excerpt First Week

Please bear in mind that this is a first draft and very rough. I value your input as I understand that the creative process is enriched by community. Feel free to comment below.

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The Longburrows had long been known for their hard working contribution to the community. Industrious and of strong genes they were admired for being able to accomplish much. This tendency to work hard and work well ran strong in Brooke’s blood. Her pragmatism dictated that there must always be a project in her hands. Dexterity in sowing , knitting and crochet had been cultivated by her able mother. Brooke began to gather the items she would need for the projects she wanted to work on while at her Grandmother’s house for the coming months. The saying about idle hands being the Devil’s playground had crossed her mind a few times.

She mused wondering about her condition and the validity of that saying. She wondered if some might think that her idleness that night might have given the Devil a moment to play on her. She knew that might be what some might think. Then she wondered how something so miraculous and wonderful could be considered a work of the malicious evil of all evils. Then she mused that the act itself could not be described as idle in the least bit. Moreover it was an active act. Thus, she reasoned, that anyone who might assume this was a point of weakness that the Devil preyed upon was sorely mistaken. Still, there was that tinge of regret that had begun to sprout once again. She stared at it from all sides and had a hard time coming to understand why the goodness growing inside her could be the result of something that caused such a gnawing sense of guilt.

Once or twice the thoughtful girl tried to broach the subject with her mother. She was a good enough woman and had done the best she knew how to raise her little girl. Now when crisis had struck she went into survival mode. Everything was calculated and mechanical. Even her desire to avoid all appearances of evil required that much care be taken to act as if nothing was wrong around the help and especially around her husband. The smiles came at all the right times. The work did not slow in the house. There were no lapses in the routines of social calls and entertaining. It was life as normal, as far as anyone passing by could ascertain. So when her curious daughter came with well mulled over questions she was ready with a premeditated response designed to cut the conversation as quickly as possible without upsetting her daughter.

Brooke would start in with a simple, or at least what seemed simple to her, question.

“Mother, when I am at Grandmother’s house will you come to visit me from time to time?”

The mother and daughter had a cool relationship, yet spent much time together keeping their hands busy or fulfilling social duties. Brenda knew that her daughter would have an inclination to want her to be there with her for part of this ordeal, as she saw it. Yet, for her plan to succeed this could not happen. The situation must be handled in a sterile environment far away from the peaceful little home she had created. No, she could not participate.

“Brooke, dear, mother told you. You will be with your Grandmother Adelaide. She is a sweet lady who is easily agitated by much company. For the good of us all it is best if I not ruffle her nest any more than it has to be. In addition to that, we can’t leave your father alone, now can we? Who would keep this place running if the both of us were gone at the same time? I am handling it dear. I told you. Don’t you worry; you will be fine with your dear old Grandmother. I am handling it all, Brooke, dear. Now peal those last two apples and then you may go lie down. I am sure you are needing to rest by this time.”

The two would then stand silently side by side finishing their task. In this case the task was peeling some apples for a pie they were making. Brooke understood the dismissing tone in her mother’s voice. She had received her answer and knew that she must not bother any more. Though, other questions, deeper questions, had replaced the one first in line.

(c) Angie Washington 2009

On November 1st I began writing ‘Chapped’. Unless inspiration strikes I plan on taking the weekends off from this creative project. Gives the story time to stew and brings the flavors out. My goal is an average of 12,500 words a week for four weeks. At the end of this first week I have 13,179 words logged.

I have decided to share some excerpts as I go. The technique I am using of writing fast and furious to get the story out of me and recorded somewhere dictates that I will be doing some major editing after the month of November is done. I work well like that. Very rarely does the first stroke remain when I am sketching; it will be the same for this book. The idea that is in my mind will be shaped and formed, added to and taken away from until I have a finished product that I am content with displaying for others. That being said, there is a chance that the excerpts I share will be tweaked and possibly even removed from the actual book.

PLEASE feel free to comment honestly and openly. I am well aware of the importance of corporal contribution in the creative process.

Without further ado:

Her cheeks blazed, warmed with anticipation. Wind whipped them raw in the top-down convertible. The neatness of her golden ponytail began to come undone. A hair-do was not going to be the only thing undone that brisk February night. She pulled a tiny mirror out of her purse and glanced at it. Pleased with what she saw yet wanting to ensure a perfect night she pinched her high, glowing cheek bones once again. Mirror still in hand she let her big blue eyes give a side long glance at the driver. Her 15 year old heart did flips. The blinking dashboard lights were the only thing that illuminated his dark features on that backwoods road leading up to Inspiration Point. His coal waves atop his firm brow flew around the chiseled jawline. He caught her glance. The half way dimpled grin sent goosebumps down her spine. His foot pressed heavy on the gas pedal.

The couple arrived at the cliff’s edge. The tiny Virginia town sparkled under the light of a full moon. Finishing a thrilling ride up the hill through the winding woods signaled the start of a new thrill. A sunset escape and uncommonly warm weather for that time of the year made for a fun joy ride in the new 1975 Chevrolet Caprice convertible. Now that the darkness had set in other things were on the mind. The boy worked to pull up the cover.

(c) Angie Washington 2009