Christian Fiction has a particular reputation. It’s known for its preachy messages and subpar storylines, and it relies on an audience that will come just because we’ve slapped the name of God onto it.

Enough is enough.

It’s time we produced something for the kingdom that doesn’t shy away from the realities of life. Let’s invest in something different—something risky! If the Bible talks about hard stuff, and the world talks about hard things, why can’t we?

Check out Yesterday’s Self, a coming-of-age, sci-fi, Christmas-Carol-esque short story about a young boy wrestling with the pain of his past and his terrifying, unknown future. Check out the story here!

Does this story live up to the standard Christian Fiction should? Let me know in the comments down below!

Yesterday’s Self: Behind the Scenes!

I released a new short story called Yesterday’s Self last week, and it only took me three and a half years to write!

Let me backtrack a bit.

Way back in 2021, I heard God call me to write. So, I decided to try to get a short story published to learn about the publishing process and see if my work could stand out. After all, 81% of people say they want to be an author, yet less than 1% actually publish. If I wanted to be able to succeed, I had to see where I needed to improve.

I wrote about two-thirds of Yesterday’s Self and promptly decided it was garbage. However, my roommate, Shelby, disagreed and made me promise to finish it. Because I’m a woman of my word, I did.

I wrote out an ending, printed the story out, lost any and all courage I had, and hid it under a chair in our room. Three weeks later, Shelby and I decided to do a deep clean and found it. Immediately, she sat on her bed, broom discarded in the corner, and began to read. I watched anxiously, biting my fingernails. Would she hate it? Despise it? The ending seemed tacky, now that I really thought about it.

Right as she finished reading it, my dad walked into the room.

“What are you reading?” he asked.

“Alli’s new short story,” Shelby said.

“Oh, sweet.” My dad stepped forward, ripped the story out of her hands, and waltzed out of the room. My jaw dropped.

“Wait—wait—wait!” I shrieked as I raced after him.

I hadn’t let anyone—let alone my dad—read any of my writing since 2013. I raced out of the room, panic’s cold grip tight around my throat, as I followed him through the house. He sat in his chair, put on his reading glasses, and held his red pen steady in his hand.

I sat in despair. This day couldn’t get any worse. I waited, curled up on the couch opposite him, praying that Jesus would return and start the rapture. Finally, after what seemed like a millennium, my dad set the story down.

And I realized he was crying.

That was the first moment that I realized maybe I could do this whole writing thing.

Fast forward a year, and I’d joined The Company. Every couple of weeks my dad would send me a text asking if I’d shown my story to my mentor yet. Every couple of weeks, I’d say no, I hadn’t, but eventually, I’d get to it.

Well, here we are.

Thanks for pushing me to write this, Dad. 🙂

Don’t miss out your chance to read this short story!

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