I'm so incredibly excited and honored to host the following Erin Healy interview on my blog! (The last three questions are mine, and I'm pretty much jumping up and down right now!) Psssst...you can read an excerpt of Stranger Things and throw your name in for a chance to win yourself a copy!
How
was your idea for Stranger Things
born?
Two years ago, during a Good Friday service, my
pastor (Kelly Williams of Vanguard Church, Colorado Springs) asked the congregation: “If
a complete stranger died while saving your life, wouldn’t you want to know everything
you could about that person? Wouldn’t you want your life to honor that person’s
death?” He challenged us to consider Jesus Christ in a new light—as a stranger,
as a savior we might not know as well as we think we do. This idea has roots in
Romans 5:8—“While we were still sinners, Christ died for us.” Before I ever had
the chance to know him, while he was a complete stranger to me, Christ died for me. The
Message translation says “when [I was] of no use whatever to him.” Why
would he do that? Have I investigated him thoroughly enough to connect my own
life with his purposes? This is all background, though. Stranger Things isn’t an overtly Christian tale as my previous
novels have been, but it’s a parable about these questions.
Human trafficking (of which sex
trafficking is a subcategory) is the world’s third-fastest growing illegal industry
behind drugs and weapons. It is the most horrifying kind of modern captivity I
can imagine, and my research proved that even my imagination fell short of
reality. I picked it because it’s a real contemporary crisis, but also because
it profoundly symbolizes the kind of bondage that Christ came to end (Isaiah
61:1-3). Freeing the captive, physically and spiritually, is a high calling for
followers of Jesus who want to express their gratitude for his sacrifice and
demonstrate his love through the continuation of his work.
What does all this have to do with the “thin places” that you’re always
talking about?
The traditional (Celtic) definition of
a thin place is a physical location in the world where the division between
physical and spiritual realities falls away, a place where we can see the
greater truth of our existence. In my stories I use the term “thin place” to
define moments when a person experiences a sharpened spiritual awareness about
what’s really going on in his or her life. Stranger
Things is the first novel in which
I’ve combined both ideas. The thin place is a physical location, a burned-out
house in a sparse terrain, where Serena discovers her purpose. “There are
places in the world where you will encounter things so real that you will be
surprised others don’t have an identical experience,” Serena’s father tells
her. “But then you will realize that the clarity given to you is a gift from
God. Perhaps this gift is just for you, maybe also it will touch the lives of
others.”
Did anything surprise you while writing the novel?
I started with intentions to write
about an Asian-based trafficking ring, but in the course of my research was
distressed to learn just how close to home the problem lies. Though it’s
impossible to get a precise count of how many people are victims of sex
trafficking in the US, most estimates fall between 100,000 and 300,000 (mostly
women and children). Since I learned this my own awareness has expanded, and
I’m happy to see just how many efforts are already underway—not only in the
US—to end this atrocity. The
Polaris Project is a great
place to begin learning about global human trafficking.
What do you hope readers will take away from Stranger Things?
I hope the novel is layered enough to meet each reader individually. Maybe some will be challenged to investigate Jesus Christ further. Maybe some will use their new awareness of trafficking to do something about it. (I’ve joined the prayer team of a local home for girls rescued from sexual slavery.) To date my favorite response to the book was from the person who found herself looking in a new way at the strangers who surrounded her. She felt unexpectedly protective and concerned, on heightened alert to ways in which she might be able to help them. In other words, ways in which she might be able to do what Christ did for her. So many opportunities! If we all moved through the world with eyes like that, what might change for the better? I love to think of all the possibilities.
What is the most memorable "thin place" you have experienced?
The most memorable--maybe because it was the most sensory--was a small town in England that has an ancient history of druid activity. Today the town plays up this element for the tourists, but I was there as a student. It was only for a lunch stop. My class was passing through en route to another city. I remember the afternoon being foggy and damp, which is usually "comfort weather" for me, but not this day. There was a chill to the place that made me uneasy and even frightened, stranger still in the middle of the day. I ate quickly and returned straight to the bus with a couple of other students who felt the same way. We waited for others to return from a short hike, feeling an urgent need to leave. Nothing significant "happened" that day, but I've never experienced the same sensations of inner discomfort anywhere else, not even in other similar towns
What is the most difficult part of being both an editor and an author?
Learning how to be a book author was like being in therapy to build up half my brain. For me, editing is a pretty left-brained activity, and writing is right-brained. (It seems I'm going to have to come up with a different metaphor. Apparently all this left-right-brained stuff is a myth after all.) Still, I think I went into authorship looking a little bit like a circus freak show, half strong man (editor), half stick insect (author). Today my brain is a little more balanced, and I think of my two functions being complimentary. Writing makes me a better editor, and editing makes me a better writer. Other than that the most difficult part is finding time to do both as much as I really want to!
What story that you have published was the most difficult for you to let go and let others into? Why?
I've never thought about this before. Each story is difficult to let go of for different reasons. I wrote Never Let You Go about specific people I know and was worried they'd see themselves in it (they didn't). The antagonist of The Baker's Wife is a horrible Christian man, and I thought my portrayal of him might offend (if he did, no one told me). House of Mercy is my favorite story to date--it's my most personal story about the spiritual question that is hardest for me to answer. I didn't want to be so transparent. Also, there's more of the story to tell, and I don't know when I'll have the chance. I worried people wouldn't "get it." Some didn't. But many did, and that's very rewarding. So I guess that fear is what makes a thing hard to let go of, which is funny, because in my experience God always turns out to be greater than the fear.
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Thanks for reading! Comment with your most memorable experience with a stranger!
Tabitha
ReplyDeleteWonderful post. Love that question about the most 'memorable' thin place. It's a great question to ponder.
Grace and peace
Thanks so much Ian!!
DeleteThere are a lot of different ways to think about a thin place, from a spiritual experience that feels tangible to a simple moment of spiritual clarity ... I actually had a hard time answering that question!
ReplyDeleteWhy do you think I asked ;)
Delete