The Gift for Chapter One

Last week I shared with you the twenty-year history of my work on a novel that takes place in first-century Palestine. That is what the Roman conquerors called the area that the Jewish people referred to as Judaea, the Galilee, Samaria, and the bordering lands.

I explained that since 1997, the novel has gone through countless permutations since I first heard within myself the voice of a biblical character talking about Yeshua, whom most people now call Jesus.

In 2002, after writing a manuscript, which a biblical professor at a local college said lacked authenticity, I began to research the Jewish people, culture, and religion of the first-century of the Common Era. I used the reading list that the professor so helpfully suggested. During that year, I read all thirty-six recommended books.

The next year, I began to write. Slowly, and over several different drafts, a novel emerged. Due to health concerns, I put it aside for four years. Recently I returned to it, only to discover that it lacked a gripping first chapter and a sense of place.

For years, I’d struggled with the beginning. Two weeks ago, a friend’s comment helped me discover where to start—with a scene in which the two main characters meet again. They have not seen one another for thirteen years. The main character—Ephraim—has always felt disdain for the other man—Yeshua.

The manuscript now has them meeting at the Jordan. During this past Easter week, I added to the chapter details I’d researched about the “muddy” Jordan and the thickets that edged the river’s banks.

They meet; they argue. There’s dialogue, tension, the beginning of a plot that introduces suspense and intrigue. But something was still missing. Ephraim came off looking mean-spirited—a rigid man, holding to a grudge. Yet he’s the main character. It’s essential that readers like him. Root for him. I knew that somehow I needed to show that he was in the midst of a crisis of faith. Then readers might feel his anguish and begin to empathize with him. But how to do that in this particular scene?

I was typing along on the computer, adding a detail here, a detail there about what they both wore or the river setting—trying to help readers “be” at the Jordan with these two characters. I typed. Typed some more. Still felt a lack in the chapter.

Then suddenly—without conscious decision on my part—Hashem begins to speak to Ephraim. (Hashem is the name the Jewish people at that time used to refer to their God—the Almighty One.) I typed the words given to me. Ephraim responds. And there—THERE—is the one thing the chapter was missing: the introduction of the crisis of faith that is central to the novel. A thread that weaves the novel, helps hold it together.

I didn’t plan their conversation. Truthfully I didn’t know how to introduce it in the chapter although their combative dialogue appears throughout the rest of the novel. These words, introducing the crisis, came as pure gift.

Peace.

Postscript:

This week two bloggers read Prayer Wasn’t Enough and wrote about it. If you have the time, inclination, and interest, please read Arkansas Patti’s review here. Her wonderfully entertaining blog is called “The New Sixty.”

Judy Grout, whose website is “Judy Grout, Author,” posted an interview with me this week. You can find her three questions and my replies here.  

Photo of Jerusalem model from Wikipedia