Turns out, I can write non-fiction.

I decided I wanted to be a writer when I was very young…maybe nine or ten. I wanted to write mystery novels. A whole long series of them. Then I discovered The Lord of the Rings, and ever since I’ve wanted to build a world the way Tolkien did. And I did, sort of, but I don’t have the cleverness to create a language or a clear linear history with rich cultural depth. Which is part of why I’m afraid to touch that fantasy novel I’ve gotten myself into.

But I definitely know how to write non-fiction. Research papers. Essays. A devotional thought here and there. Mildly hyperbolized humorous anecdotes filled with self-depreciating humor. I didn’t know I could write non-fiction. I always thought non-fiction was boring until I found myself writing it.

Now I find myself reading it, too. I’ve read autobiographies, biographies, scientific studies, psychology books, collections of essays, books and books about the craft of writing, books about poetry (not just books of poems), history books, books about cooking, books about movies, memoirs, counseling books, devotional books, any and every kind of non-fiction book. The funny thing is, I liked them all. Me, the girl who couldn’t abide books without pictures in them.

If only one could write a non-fictional novel.

Maybe I’ll try. 


Ramble back at me...

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