Pursuing your passion can be a scary thing.
The first writers conference I attended, I took my very first completed novel. It was historical in nature, though not a true romance in content. I had some good reaction—and some bad. Ultimately, the agent who requested it declined to represent me.
So I moved on. I wrote a women’s fiction with an element of suspense. It was a story I knew God put on my heart. It caused me to work through some of my own faith issues as I wrote. I went to another writers conference. Had good feedback, but ultimately, rejections.
Then my husband jumped in the picture. He asked me to write a legal drama. I did. By its merit, I became a Genesis finalist—but it didn’t go any further. I have a couple of requests for this, as well as the knowledge that it is a hot topic, therefore a greater possibility of interest. But while at the conference, I remembered my passion: historical fiction.
I have always loved history. I majored in it in college. I’ve always read that genre first—even sometimes before the classics, which I love. In middle school, I wanted to write historical Christian fiction. That was before Janette Oke. Before that market exploded.
So the question: do I pursue my passion or the market? Historicals abound. The competition for a few spots is fierce. If I found a different outlet, perhaps I could find success more quickly—but at what price?
So after a unbelievable turn of events where I actually have a request for my historical as a romance, I am rewriting, rekindling that passion that brought me to the place of pouring my life into words on a page.
I’m attempting to pursue my passion in spite of the fear that it will never amount to anything more than forgotten files on a languishing laptop.