Holy cow, how did September jump onto the docket? Here in Northern Wisconsin, I am still waiting for summer to start. I think I will be waiting for a lonnngg time.
Labor Day, with only the living room to clean and some laundry to wash, along with the usual crummy weather, I was fired up to finish my novel. Just two last chapters, I’ve been telling myself now for months. But this is why I am not a plotter. I wrote what I had hoped would be my second to the last chapter, and my darn main character went crazy again and off on some tangent and then God sent her a premonition, which is a good lead-in to the next chapter, but that means the next chapter is still not going to be the last chapter. I just don’t get how other novelists do it. Maybe I need to take a class. Or just get a handle on my characters!
Here is part of that scene. I know I haven’t shared anything about the story, coz there are some big twists and turns, and hopefully surprises which I don’t want to ruin. The premise of this scene is simple though. The main character Jenny and her husband are staying in a church in Nairobi, Kenya. They have embarked on their first ever mission trip and have spent two days visiting a slum and an orphanage. In the morning they are leaving for the Bush. This scene takes place on August 6, 1998. I don’t want to ruin it for everyone, but if that date means something to you – shh, keep it a secret.
“Do you think we are doing the right thing?”
“What do you mean by that?”
“I don’t know. I know we prayed about this, but do you think this is where God wants us to be? Do you think He really wanted us to drag these other people here?”
Paul raised himself up on his elbow and studied her face. “What are you talking about?”
“I don’t know. I’m just suddenly scared. I feel like we shouldn’t have come, like we aren’t safe anymore.”
“Is it all of John’s talk about crime in the slums? Or hearing all the sad stories from the orphans?”
She shook her head, staring up at the ceiling. Water stains darkened the patched drywall. The room was adequate, though it was small, musty and lacked a window. But there was something outside the walls of this building, something beyond this Christian compound. As if an insignificant virus had started to march down the street of the neighborhood outside, a disease that wormed its way into the lives of those who were not aware.
She studied the water spots on the ceiling. Before her very eyes, she thought she could see them spread.
|Mathare Slum, Nairobi, Kenya, when I was there in 2006.|