If you’ve been around for a while, you remember when I wrote letters to my two other finished books: Chords, and Broken. I stole this idea from Hailey Rose, who stole this from someone else. Today’s letter is addressed to my latest WIP, The Colour Red.
Dear Colour Red (a.k.a. CR),
I have a history of having sudden flash fiction ideas that snowball into novels. But I really didn’t expect you to. You see, I have a habit of making up random stories and scenes in my head and just writing them out and seeing where they go. They can get rather elaborate and even long-lasting. Originally, that’s what you were. I started a random story about a girl writer who was writing... and as I began to think out the words she was writing, she was forgotten and only her story remained. Looking back now, I see that story was the product of many videos, a contemporary police book I’d just read (Healing Their Hearts by Cleopatra Margot), the current WIP of a friend, and a story-in-my-head that had been going on for a long time. But at the time, the story was utterly new and quite dazzling.
I soon got off my swing, where I do most of this story-spinning, and went inside to help with supper. But I didn’t forget my story. And that night when I sat down to write with my friends, I told them of my story and how I wished I could write it.
“So why don’t you?” demanded Kassie.
“I don’t know how. I can’t. It’s all stuff I haven’t experienced,” I answered.
Nevertheless, Kass insisted I write down the scenes anyways before I forgot them. (Thank her for me.)
So I wrote out my rough outline. And I wrote out the scenes I remembered, bemoaning that I’d forgotten some and also forgotten the best parts. And then I went back to the beginning and started writing the story.
If I remember correctly, I got over 2,000 words written that night. And we were off. I had my message, my plot, and my characters.
This was on the second-to-last week of May. As social media and the entire U.S. (or so it seemed to me) erupted into chaos, I was burdened with the message that filled my heart: Stop judging people by anything but what they are themselves. And I kept writing.
I ran into some obstacles. You took place in my made-up country of Kalsyia, but… what was Kalsyia?? I had to figure that out. So I did world-building. I drew a map. It was fun and frustrating. Slowly things began to come together… the people, the history, the geography, the current events…
And I kept writing. The words just poured out. I had easily over 1,000 words almost every night. But I also hit places where the words wouldn’t come and I didn’t know what to do… and had to brainstorm and look at my outline and ask for ideas.
I feel like I say this every time, but you were a book of big firsts.
I wrote you during my first and second university courses, and in the midst of a lot of other issues. You were a way God used to help me manage the stress and fear of adulting, university, the whole riots/police defunding, the coronavirus, and more. He used you to bring me a lot of peace as I focused on love and comfort instead of hatred and uncertainty.
You had my first official Pinterest mood board and I love it so insanely much.
You made me cry so much while writing you. Even more than Broken did.
You didn’t hit much further than 50k—only 65,000 or so. But for once I didn’t care. Your size didn’t really matter. Your message mattered.
You were the WIP I wrote during our first King’s Daughters’ Writing Camp. You had the largest group of fangirls I ever had. You also started an awful lot of conversations and gained me an everlasting reputation as a conversation starter.
But more importantly: you tackled one of my biggest writing handicaps. The “I don’t rewrite” handicap. For years I told myself that having to rewrite a book meant it was bad. But as I wrote you I realized that I really had to rewrite Chords. And that was okay. I hadn’t had all the puzzle pieces back then. But it had had to be written anyways. It was bad, but God had really used it so mightily in my writing life. It hadn’t been a waste. As I wrote you, I had to keep going back and writing big and small scenes that I had forgotten but were necessary. Over and over and over. You were the book that, more than any other, tackled topics I really had no clue about and had to swallow my pride, backtrack, and rewrite. It was frustrating. But I knew it was okay. It was just part of the writing process.
You were the first book where I got into disagreements with dear friends over the theology. You drove me to the Bible to find answers for myself. You made me pore over Bible verses to figure things out.
You were the first story where I had official beta-readers. That was fantastically exciting. Their critique was a huge blow to my pride, even if it’s barely begun. But that was needed. I had to be reminded that critique was necessary. That’s why last year critique was so hard for me. It was to prepare me. To show me that it’s okay if the first draft is trash.
You drove me to do actual research, even more than Broken did. (But why do you two insist on making me research that horrible medical stuff?)
You were the book that God used to snap together the puzzle pieces for things that had been really frustrating me.
You were the first of my stories that didn’t teach me a huge message I’d been needing. Rather, God used you to show me how far He’s taken me. To show me that last year, awful as it was, was really useful to me. That His plans are perfect and no trial is ever wasted.
You took a trope I adored and finally crafted a story about it.
You took my silly story in my head that will never be written out and wrote it out in another way.
You were the first time I wrote out a message that God has really been lying hard on my heart.
And you fulfilled my lifelong goal of writing about policemen.
You were a story I put both a lot and a very little of myself into.
You brought me heartbreak towards the end, when something I badly wanted didn’t happen. But God got me through it, and now I have no bitterness.
Again, God used you to show me how far He has brought me since this time a year ago, with my puny 48k novel that needs to be severely rewritten. I can’t even begin to list all the ways I’ve grown since then.
I don’t know who you’ll touch. I don’t even know who’ll read you. I don’t know who will hear and heed your message. I don’t know what other message God will use you to teach. I don’t know if you’ll fulfill my goal and be published or not. I don’t know if you’ll end up having to be totally rewritten. I don’t know anything.
Except this:
God gave me this story for a reason. My time has not been wasted writing it, no matter what. He’s gonna use you, or has used you, somehow, for me or for somebody else.
And His plan is perfect.
I love all my characters. But Jay is my “baby,” now and forever. Officer Randall will forever be special to me… for a very special reason that maybe someday I’ll share. And Orlando will always have a very special corner of my heart… for another special reason that I may never share.
You, CR, are the first book of many.
It’s sad to say goodbye.
But I can’t wait to start your sequel.
So, goodbye, CR. I don’t know where you’re heading or what your journey will be. But I know that the Master Storyteller has a perfect plan for this little book I’ve written.
Lovingly,
Your author
