By Jenna Scott
When I first began writing fiction, I thought the goal was to create something entirely separate from myself—an escape, a fantasy, a polished world with neat resolutions. But the more I wrote, the more I realized something was missing. The stories didn’t feel real. They lacked the messy, raw, beautiful emotion that makes us lean in and care. That was the moment I learned: writing that resonates doesn’t come from perfection. It comes from honesty.
In White Sheep Black Wool, I didn’t set out to write an autobiographical novel. And yet, my fingerprints are all over the pages. The characters’ emotional truths—moments of shame, isolation, hope, and longing—are drawn from the deepest corners of my own life. Not because I wanted to write about me, but because I wanted to write from me.
Emotion as a Bridge
When readers connect to a story, it’s usually not because of the plot twists or perfect prose. It’s because they felt something. They saw themselves in a character’s vulnerability, recognized their own heartbreak in a whispered goodbye, or felt hope bloom again through someone else’s redemption arc.
That’s why emotional honesty matters. It builds a bridge between writer and reader that transcends genre, background, or experience. Whether or not someone has lived the same life as my characters, they can still connect to the feeling of being misunderstood. Of wanting to be seen. Of fearing they never will.
Drawing from Life Without Rewriting It
There’s a fine balance between using your own story as fuel and feeling exposed by it. For me, it helped to fictionalize the circumstances while staying brutally honest about the emotions. I’ve felt the sting of rejection. I’ve known the quiet ache of growing up different. I’ve wrestled with guilt, love, and identity. Those feelings became the compass for my characters. Even when the details of their lives are far from my own, their emotional journeys ring true because they’re rooted in something real.
Writing for Connection, Not Perfection
One of the most liberating things I’ve learned is that I don’t have to write perfect characters—or perfect sentences. I just have to write truthfully. That’s what readers remember: the moment they felt understood by someone they’ve never met. The moment they put a book down and whispered, “Me too.”
So if you’re writing—whether fiction, memoir, poetry, or something in between—don’t be afraid to go there. The heartbreak, the joy, the rage, the softness. Write it all. Not for validation, but for connection. Because the heart of a good story isn’t just what happens. It’s how it feels.