In Ireland, the home of my heritage, they called them seanchaíthe.
The word was an ancient title for tellers of stories, itinerant bards and minstrels who roved the island, weaving words to captivate audiences. But the most fascinating aspect of this tradition is the emphasis that was placed upon the tales. Far from merely offering entertainment, a seanchaí (singular form) was heralded as a “keeper of the old lore.” The stories were not intended to simply tickle the people’s fancies; they were designed to emulate hope-filled seeds, encapsulating truth to germinate in the hearts and lives of the hearers. And to this day, modern-day seanchaíthe fill one of Ireland’s most beloved cultural roles, still standing at the heart of Celtic tradition.
And this excites me, because it’s not just an intriguing bit of culture; it’s a window to my calling. You see, many in our practical and passionless time renounce the power of story. Even in the church, there can be an unspoken hierarchy, as if yarns spun by woolgathering authors simply can’t attain to the level of “serious” writing—sermons and dissertations and commentaries. But this division isn’t only artificial; it’s also tragic, because God-honoring fiction is very much needed today.
We must first consider this: people have always felt the pull of the power of story. My Irish ancestors are not alone in their fertile imaginations. If fiction cannot teach and train and even transform, then why is every civilization, without fail, shamelessly rich in legends and lore? For one simple reason: when lovingly crafted, story is a window into our own lives and those of the people around us. I’m reminded of this quote from Jane Austen, herself a legendary fiction writer, in which she defined a novel as a “work in which the greatest powers of the mind are displayed, in which the most thorough knowledge of human nature, the happiest delineation of its varieties, the liveliest effusions of wit and humour, are conveyed to the world in the best-chosen language.”
But most powerfully of all, story is a medium for knowing God. Truth in sharp black-and-white may cast an intimidating shadow, but truth spun softly through story reaches out a hand instead of pointing a finger. Why else did the Righteous Rabbi deliver the majority of His teachings, not in stentorian sermons or pompous platitudes or tidy bullet point lists, but through the tangled tapestry of parable?
And so that is my goal, my calling—to be a spinner of stories, but more importantly, a teller of truth. And to that end, I’m committed to five guiding elements for my fiction.
- A gripping storyline.
I don’t want to write sugarcoated, cotton-candy versions of how life should be. You’ll find no wishful thinking or fluffy fantasies between my pages. Instead, I’ll paint in all the colors of our humanity—surging joy and horrible heartache, fire-flame anger and slow-soaking peace, laughter and loneliness and loss and love and all the emotions in between.
- Compelling characters.
I won’t be presenting one-dimensional beings with lukewarm souls. Instead, my characters will be vibrant— shaped by their past, forging their future, and living today with all the good and bad traits that make us delightfully human. I’ll be introducing you not to cardboard cutouts but to friends—friends who will come to life in your heart and invite you into their story.
- Incredible settings.
Those of you who already enjoy my nonfiction writing know that my heart beats hard for exploration. And my fiction writing will be no exception! You’ll journey with my characters to some of the most incredible and unforgettable settings—whether it’s the fir-fresh forests of the Rocky Mountains, the concrete jungles of urban America, or simply the wilderness of the human spirit.
- Well-crafted writing.
Good writing should be the river on which the story floats, carrying the writer forward with a strong current and a smooth course. In addition, writing is also an art; as such, it should be truly beautiful—a lilt of loveliness in the reader’s mind and heart. Whether it’s through strategic structuring of my chapters or honing the most vivid descriptions, I want to create writing that sparkles—paragraphs that follow each other like stepping stones for your imagination, words that dance instead of plod.
5. Biblical truth.
This is the polestar of my writing, the heart of my calling, the song of my soul. My writing is unashamedly Christian, and the call of the gospel will be woven throughout every story. However, this doesn’t mean that I’ll cram my story into a neatly packaged box, reduce my plot to a series of moral lessons, or insert cherry-picked Christian elements. Instead, I’ll be crafting stories that meet readers at every stage of their faith journey—stories that, by God’s grace, shine light into the darkness, hold out the hope found only in Heaven, and most of all, give glory to Jesus Christ.
So call me a seanchaí, call me a storyteller, or just call me what I really am—a girl who’s far too fond of daydreaming. Regardless, I’m so thankful that the Great Author has called me to weave words even as He writes the pages of my life. And I’m so thankful to you, my dear friend, for joining me on this journey. Let’s spin some grace-filled and glorious stories together—stories that will help us live our own.