Sarah's Words of Wit(sdom)

I scrolled down the page to find my Christian Writers' Guild mentor’s critique. The underlined red font read: Sarah, You are very creative and you have FABULOUS ideas that would make most novelists jealous. My heart soared and a smile pulled at the corner of my lips. I could be a novelist! All my stories hidden away on my computer could be published one day. With new found confidence, I wrote a few short stories and entered them in contests. But the questions still circled my head, “Are my ideas really good enough? Is my writing good enough?” My mom heard about a devotion writing contest where the prize for winning was a scholarship to She Speaks , a writer & speaker conference. A devotion writing contest. Not a short story contest, or even any kind of fiction for that matter. Non-fiction devotions. Which I was sure I could never be good at. I thrived on the fiction lessons in my Christian Writer’s Guild, and barely limped through the non-fiction (especially poetry, but that’s ...

From now on, I’ll only be posting on Mondays, instead of twice a week on Mondays and Thursdays. The reason for this is that I’ve been so busy with my blog, I haven’t had much time for any other writing. I’m currently writing what I hope to be a novel, and I’m writing a few devotionals a month for RealTeenFaith.com. If I try to fit any other writing in that mix, I end up getting overwhelmed. So I decided that blogging a little less would give me more time to write in my novel and more time to concentrate on writing RTF devotionals when I need to. Then when God blesses me with another writing opportunity, I’ll have more time to fit it in. Yesterday, my pastor preached on “slowing down” and taking time to just be with God. He likes to say that’s why God called us human “beings” and not human “doings”. But so often I like to try to do things for God instead of just sitting at the feet of Jesus like Mary in the story of Mary and Martha. Serving God is great, but God cares more about having ...

(If you missed the first part of the story, click here to read) A New Friend Walking to the door of the hospital from the handicap parking lot was like a déjà vu feeling the same every time. The automatic doors slid open to welcome Kaylee and her mom. Kaylee felt like a robot, going to the receptionist’s desk and stating her name, like she did every time she came. She took the seat beside her mom, who was scanning through a magazine. “Nora!” someone called to Kaylee’s mom. Mom looked up and waved at the woman who had called her name. She turned to Kaylee. “I’m going to go over and talk to Lynette. If you get called back, you can go by yourself, right?” Kaylee sighed and rolled her eyes. “Yes, mom.” Sometimes it seemed like she forgot that Kaylee was 16 and could take care of herself. The automatic doors swished and whined as they opened and closed once again. Kaylee glanced over and spotted a woman, probably in her 50s or 60s wearing dark sunglasses and walking a black dog with a vest...

This story appeared on the website of Susie Magazine : Learn To Trust fiction by Sarah Rupp Kaylee patted her finger in the small jar of concealer once more and dabbed under her eyes, trying to cover up the purplish-colored circles. She stepped away from the mirror and looked at herself. Even with her brand-new blond wig, which was a fun contrast from her normal dark brown, she was sure everyone would notice that she didn’t have eyebrows. Eye shadow or lip-gloss couldn’t make her look any better, so Kaylee didn’t even try. Her collarbones bulged under her pale skin and her cheeks and eyes were sunken. “I’m so sorry, Kaylee has leukemia.” The doctor’s words echoed in her mind so clearly it was like it just happened yesterday, even though it had been six months since the diagnosis. Dad hugged her close to his chest and Mom stroked her arm in the lonely doctor’s office. But Kaylee didn’t cry. She was too shocked to feel anything. Later, that night when Dad and Mom were asleep and Kaylee w...

When I look back, I can see I’ve pretty much been writing for my whole life. I can remember back to my first book at the age of ten, handwritten in colored ink pens in a pink paper notebook, drawings scribbled all over the pages. The writing wasn’t the greatest, but, hey, it was a start. So what about you? When did you start writing? What was your first piece like?

Anywhere I go, I see unique people. Unique in how they dress, how they talk, and how they act. Potential characters are everywhere, just waiting to be used in a story. I recently read “Getting Into Character” by Brandilyn Collins , and have been opening my eyes to certain things people do, or as Brandilyn calls them, “mannerisms”. The book is amazing. I highly recommend it for all writers of fiction! I was sitting in church, listening to the sermon, when I noticed an interesting man. I began to write on my sermon notes: Sunlight filtered through the stain glass windows, like a distorted rainbow-colored checkerboard on the church floor and across the benches. In the front bench sat a man in his fifties, hunched over, looking up through his bushy eyebrows, large ears wiggling as he chewed a piece of gum. What he had left of his grey hair stuck straight up and wrinkles deformed his forehead as he concentrated on the pastor.

Lizzie Gordon always thought she had a pretty good life. That is, until a couple of years ago. Lizzie flicked on the brights that pierced through the darkness in front of her car, illuminating the road. She glanced in her rearview mirror at her son, Isaiah, sleeping in his car seat, his head lolled to one side, his mouth slack with sleep. Lizzie smiled. She loved Isaiah and would do anything for him. But he was the beginning of her life’s downhill slide. Four years ago, Lizzie became pregnant with him. She backed up her memories further. All the way to the eighth grade. Noah was a charming boy, and Lizzie fell for him all the way. Three years later, they were still dating and Lizzie felt sure he was the one. After all, a guy should treat a girl like a princess, right? At least that’s what Lizzie thought, walking arm-in-arm with him through the park, getting late night phone calls and moped rides to Patty’s Pizza. His genteel manners even caused her prim and proper mother to approve of...

I wrote this dialogue between the future love interests, Milana Mikay Clarke and Travis Brinkley. I love it how their opposite personalities promise potential conflict. This scene takes place at the University Hospital, where Milana is a nurse in training. “I thought you worked on the Lifeflight.” Milana went around the desk and picked up the clipboard, clicked her pen, but paused for his answer before writing. Travis leaned against the desk and folded his strong arms. “I do. I work here to relax.” “Relax?” Milana looked down at her clipboard, cynically smiling as she wrote. “And I bet you rock-climb and water-ski to relax, too.” As Milana looked up, Travis flashed a handsome smile in her direction. She looked back down so he wouldn’t see her blushing. “Yeah,” he said. “What’s your idea of relaxation?” “Curling up on the couch with a good book.” She looked up again perked one side of her mouth at him. “Sitting outside at night admiring the stars.” “Oh, okay, I see.” He raised one eyebr...

Vacuuming is like a dance. Precise, constant movement to reach every inch of the floor. Consistent motion is a thing of beauty. Push…pull, push…pull . The carpet tickled the bottom of Meg’s feet and the whir of vacuum cleaner encased her eardrums. She pushed the bumper of the vacuum cleaner into the last corner and tapped the button to turn off the motor with her toe. Ever since she’d taken up the job of a housekeeper, she’d been to some pretty interesting houses. But this house, by far, was most interesting. If houses could talk, this one would. It would tell Meg its stories of old: how it withheld rain, wind, thieves, and ornery children. Its Victorian style gave the house a certain old mystique. Pictures lined the wooden shelf on the clean white wall beside her. Most were black and white photos, some were sepia. Though the photos were framed, the edges were jagged and the corners looked sticky, as if they sat in a photo album for decades. She wondered what prompted Ms. Tyers...

This is a piece of writing from a story I wrote: The door flung open before Blake could even reach it. His mother stood there, apron tied around her short, stocky figure, flour dusting her graying head of hair. “Blake!” She called to her son. A smile almost bigger than she was spread across her face. “I’m so glad you came!” “You know I wouldn’t miss my sister’s college homecoming for the world.” Blake smiled at his mom, towering over her. Despite the fact Blake was now taller than his mother, he knew that to her, he would always be her little boy. Mom drew Blake into a quick hug, then pulled away. “Well come inside out of this blazing heat!” She scolded him as if it were his fault he was standing outside. Blake stepped inside and scanned the room. Balloons and streamers covered foyer’s ceiling and over the entryway to the kitchen/dining room, a big banner read Welcome Home Lexi! “Wow, look at this place,” Blake sniffed the air like a prairie dog. “Something smells really good, mom,” he...

Raindrops tap-danced on the roof to the rumbling music played by the clouds that released them. Soft rain fell straight down, misting the blades of bright green grass. Some birds waited out the rain in the still dryness of a tree, chirping a bit to entertain themselves. Water gathered in low spots on the street, some drops finding their way to join, causing several centrifugal ripples. Zoe leaned on the window frame and gazed outside. Though the sun peeked its rays from behind a plump, white cloud to the east, more storm clouds slid across the sky to the west. The brightness of the sun caused the storm clouds to look all the more malicious. Like the sun’s evil smirk on Zoe’s neighborhood. Like everyone, even the sun has a bad side. Zoe wouldn’t trust anyone who seems like they don’t. She learned that lesson the hard way. Men like Garrett cannot be trusted. Zoe would never make that mistake again. Click here for an older post I wrote about Zoe.

This is a short piece of writing I did when I was sitting out by the campfire: The fire crackled and spit ashes to the sky, curling its orange and yellow fingers around the blackened logs, grabbing at their crispy white edges. Birds still sang their favorite tunes one last time before the sun made it’s way behind the trees below the mauve and crimson sky. A cool breeze slithered up Lacey’s jacket sleeves, and she shivered and hugged herself tighter. She scooted her chair closer and let the radiating heat warm her face. A new beginning. Underneath the new logs were grey coals, the sullen remains of old logs that used to be. Like a past that never went away. No matter how many more layers of logs try to cover it.

Hi everyone. This is a shorter entry today, but it's one of my favorite pieces I've written. It belongs in a story. Hope you enjoy! Zoe sighed and went around the counter, opening the back of the clear glass case under the countertop. She needed to head over to Mom’s house and get the boys soon. She would already be late picking them up. She took out the baked goods one by one and placed them in the cardboard take-out container in slow motion, hoping to give her mind time to sort her thoughts out. Zoe didn’t know what she thought anymore. She closed the box and went out to her car, locking Zoe’s Coffee Corner’s door behind her. She stole a glance at Lance’s apartment window, half-hoping he would be watching her like he did, just to make sure she made it out to the car safely. But the lights were off in his room and no one looked out the window softly smiling at her. Cold gusts of wind blew through the empty streets, picking up snowflakes and sending them swirling like a tornado...

I wrote this in September of ’08 for a Christian Writer’s Guild assignment. “Bye mom!” Shauna called as she grabbed the car keys and started out the door. “Wait a minute, young lady,” Shauna’s mom caught her in the doorway, “Where do you think you’re going?” She arched her eyebrows giving Shauna that oh-so-familiar mother look. “To Matt’s party,” Shauna answered. “Matt?” “Yeah, you know; the tall, cute, blonde guy from school?” Shauna shifted and leaned against the doorframe. “He’s having like, food and games at his house and the whole school was invited.” “Shauna, how well do you know this…Matt?” “Well, he’s a junior, the same grade as me, and, well, he’s cute!” Shauna smiled and winked at her mom, then after getting another “look”, she reasoned, “Chill out mom, it’s not like anything is going to happen. Other kids will be there too. My friends will be there.” “Will Matt’s parents be home?” Mom said. Shauna rolled her eyes. “I don’t know!” She sighed loudly. “I need to get going or I’...

My thing is fiction. It's what I write best and it's what I love. So when my mom came up with the idea that I should enter a devotion writing contest for teen girls, I wasn't so sure. The prize for this contest was a scholarship to a writer's conference in North Carolina. Conference equals a lot of people and I'm a very introverted person. So I couldn't have cared less about this idea. I also like photography. The picture you see on this post is mine. We have a garden of beans and they were just beginning to make their way through so I got out my camera and began to take pictures. As I played with the angles of my camera on the rows of beans, I spotted a tiny green stem pushing through the soil. I could just hear it grunting breathlessly as it tried to break through. "I know exactly how you feel," I whispered to the sprout. For my whole life I've been the quiet girl, trying to break though the hard, clumpy dirt. That night as I laid in bed, God in...