A Glimpse Inside!

Hey Readers!

I recently hit the 50k word mark in my rough draft of a novel that has been in my head for close to four years now and has been slowly being transferred to paper over the past three years. I've never made it this far in a project, as the novel I wrote when I was younger was around 35k when I finished it. While this WIP isn't finished yet, I am super excited by how far it's come from the story idea that wouldn't leave my mind for over a year. It has taken a number of plot-twists that even I didn't see coming and each character has developed to seem like an old friend come to chat whenever I sit down to write.

To celebrate making it this far, I'm giving you a sneak peek inside my novel! Below are a few select snippets that will introduce you to my main character, along with a couple key players in her story. Please keep in mind, this is the rough draft, so I haven't done any editing ;D

Working Title: A Journey of Scars

Working story blurb:

Most teenagers I know measure their life in years, but not me. I can’t. Not after everything I’ve been through in my short 16 years of breathing. Life has thrown more lemons at me then most adults receive in their entire lifetime. I’m done making lemonade. I measure my life’s journey in scars.

My name is Jazzalyn and I have two siblings. Joshua is my older brother. He’s 20 and quite the redneck country boy. Julianne is my sweet baby sister who just turned one last week. I live in Hillsboro, North Dakota. Or at least, I used to. But that was before my life turned upside down; Before my family fell apart and my heart ripped into pieces.

  It all started the Christmas after I turned nine...

A pivotal moment to launch Jazzy's character arc:

My attention was drawn back to the Christmas service when the sanctuary doors opened and a young man wearing a black beanie entered. He strode confidently down the aisle and took a seat in the aisle ahead of us, next to the new boy in Sunday school. I studied the back of his form, wondering why he was so late and why he was wearing a black sweatshirt on such a happy day. He began looking around the sanctuary and as he turned toward the back, his eyes caught mine. He winked and weird shivers raced down my spine. I looked away confused, something about his eyes scared me. They were cold and hard. Strangely enough, they didn’t sparkle despite his obvious attempt to appear mischievous. Unnerved, I turned back to look at Daddy and in that instant chaos broke out.

First real introduction to my favorite character:

Dropping my books onto the kitchen table, I hurried out onto the deck where Josh was bent over his smoker.

“Hey.” I leaned against the deck railing, watching him.

“Hey.” He replied, not looking up. “Rough day?”

“How’d you know?”

He finally stood up and made eye contact with me, one hand holding a spatula and the other a plate.

“Sis, your voice says it all. I don’t even have to see your face to know something’s wrong. What’s up?”

I shrugged, fingering my locket as I surveyed my brother. He’d turned out surprisingly cute, with his green eyes and auburn curls peeking out from beneath his well-worn baseball cap. He’d somehow managed to rip his brand-new heavy-duty jeans already, and a dirty flannel shirt was half-tucked into his pants. A slight bulge at the hip announced that his ever-present pistol was as present as ever. He’d purchased the weapon the day he turned 18, North Dakota’s legal carrying age. In addition, I didn’t have to look to know that beneath his jeans were his cowboy boots with a knife attached to the inside. Redneck doesn’t begin to describe this guy.

“Do you ever wish we could have had a normal life?”

“Ah, so that’s it. Girl, I’ve wished that more times than you know, but it doesn’t change anything, now does it?”

A deep, bitter question Jazzy struggles with throughout:

“Bye Josh! Make sure Jules gets a fresh diaper before you put her down for bed.” I yelled over the roar of the truck as I backed out of the drive. Josh held up Jules’ chubby little hand and helped her wave. Papa blew her a kiss and then settled back into the passenger seat with a contented sigh. Reaching the end of our neighborhood street, I turned onto the quiet two-lane road that led to our favorite destination…a soft sand beach on a small country lake. Easing my speed up to the posted limit and turning on cruise control, I listened carefully for Papa’s raspy breathing, comforted that it was at least steady for the moment.

            “How are you feeling?” I stroked his hand where it rested on the truck console. Rolling his window down a crack, he smiled peacefully.

            “Content.” He breathed in deeply, his breath catching slightly but not enough to cause a change in his expression. I shook my head in confusion, watching the scenery go by.

            “How? How are you content when you are dying?”

            “To live is Christ, to die is gain. Why would I not be content?”

            I snorted and shook my head, irritated.

            “How can you still believe in God, much less Jesus, after all you’ve seen and experienced?” Withdrawing my hand from his, I tapped restlessly on the steering wheel. A small smile appeared on his face and he looked at me, eyes shining. I refused to meet his gaze, bitterly focusing on the road ahead of me instead.

A Moment of Grief :

“Zere, zere, Chazzy, Cry all zhe tearz you vant. Ve aren’t going anyvere.” Rosa whispered in her German accent, rocking back and forth. And I did. For the first time since Daddy’s death, I allowed myself to cry. Really cry.

  I cried for the life I could have had with Daddy, for the happy memories I could have made with him. For the life I could have had with Momma if she were sane, the laughter that we would have shared over silly things. For Papa and the times I would miss him in the future…graduation, wedding, children. I cried for Josh who, like me, had been forced to move from childhood into adulthood at a young age. For Jules who would never know her parents and would face trials all her life because of having Downs Syndrome. For Tom, who had lost the man who had been a father to him when his own was in prison and who now seemed so far away.  I cried for my future children who would have only stories to know their grandparents by.

Tav came back, moving an armchair behind Rosa for her to lean her aged back against. Still she sat, holding my limp shaking form. Tav lowered himself back to the ground again, leaning against the coffee table. Sitting beside me, he rested a hand on my leg and closed his eyes. His lips began moving, but no words came out. I sobbed all the harder, for the faith I could have had like my Daddy. For the faith I wanted to have, but couldn’t find the strength to without answers. Answers to questions that no one could answer.

A Moment of Hope

“But not everyone has had the pleasant, trial-free life I experienced growing up…and this verse is written for them. For those who have been through hell while living on earth.” Matt continued.

Tav reached out and grasped my shoulder from behind. I reached up and briefly squeezed it.

  “It is for those who are feeling lost, angry, betrayed…broken. Those who feel like they can’t go on another day.”

It was my turn to lean forward in my seat, eyes wide, hanging on his every word. He was talking about me. Had I looked at Josh, I would have seen him blinking rapidly, his eyes reddening.

“Everyone is broken, we live in a fallen world after all.” The young man reached into the pulpit and lifted out a glass jar. A crack ran down from the top, but the container was still usable despite it’s broken appearance.  “Some are completely shattered.” He released his hold on the jar and it plummeted to the ground, eliciting a gasp from the congregation. The jar ruptured into a million pieces upon impact with the stage. I held my breath, staring at the fragments of glass… that was my life. Lying around in a million pieces that I couldn’t figure out how to put back together.

“You know what Jesus doesn’t say to those who’s life is like that pile of shattered glass on the floor? He doesn’t say ‘shame on you for breaking, you aren’t worthy of my love.’ He doesn’t say ‘put yourself back together first and then come talk to me.’ He doesn’t even try to barter… ‘I’ll help you clean up your mess if you do -fill in the blank - for me.’” Matthew shook his head. “No, here’s what He does say: ‘Come to me, you broken jars. Bring me your pieces and I will bring you healing. I am tender and accessible to all, no matter your past. You are not a burden to me, in fact, it brings me joy to help you. Come, rest in me.’”

Tom nudged me with his shoulder as if to make sure I was paying attention. I ignored him, unable to tear my focus off this young man who seemed to be speaking directly to me.

Matt’s eyes were soft, lit with passion. “Folks, Jesus didn’t come to help those who didn’t need it…or at least who didn’t think they needed it. He didn’t come for the Pharisees, with their  religious pretty lives. Nor for the elite merchants of the day, with their wealth and perfect lives. He came to the lepers, the poor, the heartbroken…He came for you and for me. The broken jars who can’t put themselves back together. He’s inviting us to draw near to Him. To give Him our burdens and let Him carry them for us.”

A Curious Idea:

“I have no intention of allowing myself or Jules’ to get hurt,” I shot back, sharply. “I’ve kept us alive this long and I don’t intend to allow that to change.”

            Something akin to sympathy lit Kevin’s eyes as he pulled off the highway onto a narrow road leading between a number of small, quaint shops.

            “Darling, you shouldn’t have had to carry the responsibility of keeping the two of you alive…that’s a big job for a little girl.”

            His sympathetic words hit home and I wanted to cry again. For the normal, innocent childhood I had never had. Instead, I cleared my throat and shrugged flippantly.

            “A little girl doesn’t stay little very long when tasked with a big responsibility, now does she. Instead, she grows up prematurely and is forced to face the future while trying to forget the past.”

            “But what if forgetting the past isn’t what’s best? What if ‘forgetting’ is simply stuffing it away into the darkest recesses of your mind where it lurks forever, preventing healing and weighing you down without you even knowing it.” Kevin prodded. “What if instead, you could allow your past to build resilience and strength to face the future. Or if you could somehow use your past someday, to help others?”            

“What do you mean? How could my trauma help others?” I asked, partially curious and partially defensive.

            “Well, for example, could you someday use your background and time as a foster child to connect with children in similar circumstances. Be a social worker like me, a child psychologist or psychiatrist, an attorney who specializes in cases involving childhood trauma, a counselor for troubled students. There are so many careers available where you could put your background to use. Redeem it, in a matter of speaking.”

            I thought about this. It was actually an intriguing idea I’d never considered. 

An introduction to the family who, without spoiling anything, will play a key role in Jazzy's future:

CJ was a lot taller than me, which isn’t abnormal considering my stunted height. He had dark hair that curled adorably out from under his cowboy hat, a prominent nose, and large hazel eyes. He walked confidently, his head leaned down towards his mother to hear her speaking and free hand stuffed jauntily into his jean pocket. Mrs. Jensen was slightly taller than me, with long silky black hair that danced in the wind. Her eyes were almost as dark as her hair, and wrinkles softened the edges of her eyes…as though she’d spent a lifetime smiling. She looked fit and quite capable of managing a rowdy horse…or teenage girl.

And that's it, folks. I don't know where this will go in the long-run, but I'll cross that bridge when I get to it. My goal right now is simply to finish the rough draft sometime this year, so that at least I have a complete manuscript - even if it's just for younger siblings or future children to read, LOL.

Until next time, God bless!