By Jenna Scott
In many ways, fiction is the safest place to ask the most dangerous questions. It’s where we can confront the expectations that weigh on us—those unspoken rules passed down through family, culture, and society—without fear of judgment. In White Sheep Black Wool, I wanted to explore what it means to grow up with a sense of “otherness” not just from the world, but from the very people who are supposed to understand you most.
The characters in White Sheep Black Wool are not heroes in the traditional sense. They’re quiet rebels, constantly negotiating the distance between who they are and who they’re expected to be. For some, that means pushing back against cultural norms that define success in rigid terms. For others, it means navigating the deep loneliness that comes with being different in a community that values sameness.
At the heart of the story is a question I think many of us carry: Where do I belong, and who gets to decide that?
Fiction as a Mirror
Growing up, I often felt like the “white sheep” in my own family—a phrase that flips the idea of the “black sheep” on its head. I was doing all the “right” things on paper, but inside, I felt profoundly disconnected. That feeling, that quiet alienation, is what inspired this book.
Fiction allowed me to process those complex emotions without needing to tie everything up in a neat bow. Through my characters, I could ask: What happens when your dreams conflict with tradition? When your identity doesn’t fit the roles assigned to you? When love, loyalty, and personal truth pull you in different directions?
Writing for the Outsiders
What’s beautiful about writing fiction is that it invites empathy—not just from the reader, but from the writer too. As I got deeper into the story, I began to better understand not only my characters but also the real people in my life who shaped them. I saw where they were coming from, even if I still didn’t agree. That, to me, is one of the quiet powers of storytelling.
White Sheep Black Wool is for anyone who has ever felt like they had to shrink themselves to fit in. It’s for the kids who asked too many questions, the teens who wrote poems in the margins of their math notes, the adults still struggling to untangle who they are from who they were told to be. It’s for those navigating hybrid identities—whether cultural, gender-based, spiritual, or otherwise—who often exist between the lines.
Finding Belonging in the In-Between
I don’t think there’s one answer to the question of identity. It’s fluid. It changes depending on where we are, who we’re with, and how safe we feel. But fiction can offer a moment of rest—a place where you can see yourself reflected and feel less alone.
My hope is that White Sheep Black Wool will resonate with readers who are still writing their own identities, still searching for belonging in places that may not always feel welcoming. And maybe, through the act of reading, they’ll give themselves permission to be a little braver, a little bolder, and a little more themselves.
Have you ever seen your own struggles with identity reflected in a novel? I’d love to hear about it in the comments.