Why the big confession? Because up until now, I have written things that didn't take much in the way of imagination. I adore fantasy and magic, and I wanted to write it, but when I had to stop and do all the world building, magic system planning, name creation, etc., I stopped. I got frustrated because I wasn't writing, I was doing backstory. And more backstory. And more backstory.
So for a while now, I've been writing things that had nothing to do with my first love, because it was too hard for my lazy behind. I wouldn't do outlines for the same reason, declaring myself a "pantser", with nothing but scorn for those poor slobs still stuck in the outlining stage.
Yeah. Well. All that running away, avoiding the truth, all so I could enable myself. But I found that the path that led me to was not the path I wanted to be on. The writing and critiquing pals it led me to were great; funny, kind, good writers and great critiquers. But I came to realize something. I didn't have a passion for what I was reading and writing like they did. The spark wasn't there. And frankly, it was in a genre that wasn't that uplifting. And I was having a hard time reconciling that with what my faith says I should be cultivating in what I read and write.
So though it is wrenching, I am shifting my genre and pulling on my mucking boots. I'm committed to getting down and dirty, struggling with the slippery pig that is a manuscript in progress, and hopefully, one day, have it all clean and purty and bathed in buttermilk at the county fair.