I want to remember this moment. It’s that period of ignorance—or, innocence—when you are about to learn a new thing by doing it while not having a clue how to start. For me in this moment that thing is writing fiction. I’m staring at a mountain peak from my metaphorical back deck, longing to see the view from its summit. Yet, the first mountain-bound steps aren’t taken at basecamp or even at the trailhead. They’re taken at sea level, through planning, plotting, training, and packing supplies. I’m somewhere between staring and planning, so I thought it might be helpful to remember what this moment feels like.

It’s daunting, sweet, overwhelming, chaotic, intimidating, exciting, liberating, and many other things, for starters.

Deciding on fiction

Like many, I have a burden for a story that I can’t shake. It stews in my head and has been for the better part of a decade. In that span, Selena and I have written seven non-fiction works—I suspect we will write a few more before the first leg of my fiction writing journey is complete—so, to an extent non-fiction is familiar. I’d even say it’s comfortable, as excruciating as the writing process is.

Fiction is strange, new, and exciting. Parts of it, as I’m gathering information and learning, are tiresome. “Writing culture”, as it were, is rife with backroads and alleys packed with purveyors peddling their writing wares—workshops, methods, secrets, tips, newsletters, hacks, shortcuts, and every possible expression of secret knowledge creative folk can conjure. Some of that has already proven helpful, but I’m getting the sense that one can tumble down this endless rabbit hole of “the craft” without ever constructing a single cohesive sentence.

I guess that’s my first observation from sea level: one becomes a writer by writing.

Aside from respecting time-tested conventions and wisdom, at some point one must stop observing and start doing. As I’m finding, however, planning is doing. Dreaming is not. Dreaming leads to a decision, but until the action-inducing decision is made, you’re still a dreamer and not a writer.

Another origin story

The idea for this story started with a place. It was some time after my wife and I discovered our first daughter was on her way. Fiction has formative qualities, especially for young hearts and minds, so naturally I began to imagine my baby daughter as she would be… and eventually as she could be in my fictional world. Who could she become in these ‘Candrian lands? What sorts of people would she meet? What dragons would she slay? 

That was 8 years ago. As our story goes, since then we’ve moved four times, welcomed three delightful daughters into our family, co-authored seven books (and contributed to others), built our family and marriage ministry, fell in love with the sea, began educating our children at home, picked up a few home crafts, and generally busied ourselves with the good things of life.

All the while, I carried my imaginary world in my back pocket. I would jot notes and write each new daughter into the fold. I outlined lands and rulers, creatures and characters, even dialects and backstories. Then, some time last year, my world grew too vast to continue shoving into my pocket. It began to live and grow without me. Villains and dark forces awoke, murmurings of uprising were overheard, and her citizens began pleading for help. The Blackfire burns and if unassuaged, it will consume every good thing I’ve imagined—and neglected—for years.

The time has come to awaken from the dream and to be about the business of writing. I see the peak and it’s time to take steps from sea level. Much is at stake; may God lead the way.