When finally you discover your genre--or I'm a slow learner

This is going to be one of those posts that I write more for myself than the world. You see, I've been self-publishing for over a year and a half. My first book, The Bend, had a slow start but now sells more than any others I've written.

 I joined this group that pushed to write faster and find a selling genre. The theory sounded great so I released a women's fiction, and then another suspense and then a romance.

What I've learned?

I really can't write romance or women's fiction the way I want to write them. I love twists and turns and short sentences and lots of what ifs. I love weird, I love taking that extra step.

I wrote my books and sent them out there and honestly, I'm not sure whether or not they will ever do as well as The Bend. When I wrote The Bend, I had this crazy idea about a town and a girl. I knew I had to give her something special, so I did--her gift to see death before it happens. It seemed to work. Another story has been spinning around in my head for years but instead of writing it, I veered off and took the easy route, writing and releasing stories that would get out there faster.

Not smart.

I've actually stripped my joy of writing, and when that happens, writing for money means nothing. I would rather not write.

I think sometimes I'm a slow learner and get caught up in pushing myself not always in the right direction.

Pressing the pause button today.

I can actually breathe again.

So this post is a letter to myself to remind me never to lose sight at what you love to do. If you love something, no matter what happens with it, you are going to be okay.

I am a suspense writer. (I'll tell myself that over and over until I get it.)
That's what I'm going to write .
I hope you'll let me prove that in my next book.

Heart Shifts

I find myself waking early before the golden light shines through my bathroom windows and into my bedroom. My brain shifts into gear and soon I'm lying in bed, detailing my plans for the day. Update my book on Amazon, write a tweet that will drive traffic to the book, watch a few videos on YouTube about portrait photography, make a cleaning schedule and plan what's for dinner. 

Then I roll over. Shut my eyes. Wonder where my life is going. 

I had hoped to be living in Pennsylvania by now--working on our home, planting a raised garden, photographing the hills and rivers, looking out my front windows from the desk I purchased four years ago and has since been buried beneath boxes of all my household goods.

Instead, I'm here. In Florida. Carving a life in a town where I am uniquely familiar with every CVS, WalMart and Publix. And I can't forget Panera where once a month I meet my writer friend for lunch.

But my brain and heart keep pulling me north to the place where so much sweat and love went into. I roll over on my back, stare at the fan blades revolving over my head. I'm blessed. I'm healthy. I am luckier than many people. I go through my list of why I should not have one complaint in the world. I tell myself others would kill to be living six miles from the beach, in a community of nice people, with the ability to stay home and work.

I know I'm blessed. I thank God every day. So why does my heart keep plunging me into thoughts of my other home? Why can't I anchor it here? Obviously, this town is where God wants me to be so why can't I get my heart on board with that plan? What am I doing wrong? 

Finally I shift my blankets off me and touch my toes to the floor, grounding myself to today's plan. Thankful. Happy. Trusting. Shutting the blinds to my northern home for another day.