I’ve hinted here and there that I’m writing a novel. It’s a scary thing to admit. I’ve been working on it off and on for 8 years. When I told a new friend how long I’ve been working on my book she commented how it’ll be the great American novel by the time I get done with it. I doubt it.

I’ve been taking my time because with age the story has changed…so much so I’m embarrassed to admit how it started. Truly. {don’t ask}

In the last year I’ve worked more consistently on my still nameless project than I have in years. I’ve flitted back and fort on characters and plotlines and over the summer I closed the lid on a fantasy bent. I’m still writing, but finding the more I write the more I need to stop and create the world in which my story unfolds. {nothing like a little J.K. Rowling to make you go, “Wow. Yeah. Knowing the ins and outs of your world will make for a believeable story.} I’m learning more deeply how my characters work, their motivations, and flaws. I’m asking what is the history of a country that would make x happen.

But I’m getting ahead of myself. What is my book about? 

{that’s always an awkward question to ask. I’m learning “Ummm…” is not the correct answer.}

Prostitution. Slavery. Redemption.

The one-liner: Orphaned as a child and raised in a brothel, Hajaryah is forced to serve the lusts of men. But when a childhood friend returns and challenges her acceptance of the law, Hajaryah must decide whether to accept her fate or face her fears.

Time after time I’ve found myself having to stop in the midst of my writing and just pray. Some times I have to close the computer or flip to something lighter. It is emotionally draining to create a character who is so hurt, so scarred. To read articles on how the Roman brothels were filled with slaves stolen from other countries and above the a painting of the sex act and price the woman performed. To know mass infant graves have been found outside an ancient brothel in England, leading archaeologists to believe  the child of a prostitute was immediately met with infanticide. Sometimes it’s all too much.

I feel the weight and magnitude of sin and what makes me want to curl up and cry is this isn’t just a story. This isn’t a retelling of history. When I feel it’s too much and I can’t keep writing, I remember myself…this is someone’s reality.

Did you know…?

• There are 27 million modern day slaves.
• Every 60 seconds, a child is sold for sex worldwide.
• Human trafficking is the third largest global industry, behind drugs and guns.

There are girls fooled and lead into sexual slavery, women sold by their families to pay the rent, girls mourning their childhood…or their children. And what of the girl crying herself to sleep tonight after being smothered by a man’s sin? It’s disgusting and it’s sad, but it’s real.

And so I write.

It’s for their voice I labor in these pains of inarticulate words. Tell my story, they whisper. Shed light.

But I can’t just write. I am compelled to act.

I’m partnering with The Exodus Road as a blogger to share stories of rescue and the good work they do. Haven’t heard of The Exodus Road?

The Exodus Road exists to empower the rescue of victims of sexual slavery. Operating primarily in Southeast Asia, we believe that a major component of fighting human trafficking and child slavery lies in working with local law enforcement to find situations of trafficking and to then assist in the rescue of victims and the prosecution of criminals.

The Exodus Road “fuels covert investigative teams around the world as they work to find, document, and free victims of sexual slavery.”

I look forward to sharing stories of rescue with you and ways you can help end slavery.

“You may choose to look the other way but you can never say again that you did not know.”
― William Wilberforce

Rescue is coming. Will you be a part of it?