I have always seen myself as a fantasy writer.
It was what I thought I would always do. It used to come easily to me, like breathing. But lately…
Lately it’s been like pulling teeth. I didn’t feel relaxed as a fantasy writer. I felt stressed, and every words was a never ending struggle.
A year ago, I started my first contemporary story. At first, it was just a thing that popped into my head, nothing that I planned on finishing. In fact, for several months, I took a break from it. Worked on my fantasies, and some short stories. Just recently, I returned to the story. I plotted. I planned. It started to come together.
No story had ever come so easily to me. Writing contemporary made me feel whole. I was me when I wrote it, not some girl sitting and trying to figure out fighting scenes or medieval accuracy. I’m writing the bulk of my contemporary for Camp NaNoWriMo, and I’ve realized it is not only easy to write, but my general writing qualityand style have improved so much more.
I was thinking, though. Why do I write fantasy? What is my point? I had always worked an allegory or some over used point into my stories. I had thought God had made me a writer for me to write fantasy.
BUT WHAT IF THAT’S NOT IT? I don’t want to write something I can’t. That would be fake.
I’ve always avoided contemporary like the plague, because my brother disliked it. God calls us all to different genres. I’m a writer.
But that doesn’t define who I am. What about the stories in me? Do they have to be fantasy?
I’m not giving up on fantasy. I have a calling in writing. I have a calling in genre. God creates us all different, and if he created me to write fantasy… I want to write it. I can’t ignore the fact that this is a possible calling.
I’ve got to try it.
So I’m embarking on a quest, writing a contemporary trilogy. And maybe by the end… Maybe I’ll have some answers.
For right now, though, I’m going to keep writing.