Maybe Your Problem Was Never Starting Over
It Was Splitting Your Focus
Sometimes I feel like the unluckiest person in the world.
I look around at people who started their writing/coaching businesses at the same time I did — or even after me — and somehow they seem to be thriving while I’m still trying to figure things out.
They’re launching courses.
Growing audiences.
Making consistent income.
Building momentum.
Meanwhile, I’ve spent years feeling like I’m constantly rebuilding.
If I’m honest, part of the problem has been me.
I keep switching directions before anything has time to grow.
I’ll focus on one thing for a while, get discouraged because it isn’t taking off fast enough, and then pivot into something else. Then I repeat the cycle all over again.
The hard part is that none of the things I’ve worked on were bad ideas.
They just weren’t fully aligned.
The Graveyard in My Google Drive
You’d probably laugh if you saw my Google Drive.
Half-finished novels.
Abandoned outlines.
Random chapter ideas.
Book concepts.
Character sketches.
Story worlds I swore I’d come back to someday.
Some of those stories have been sitting there for nearly a decade.
And the crazy thing is, writing fiction is what I’ve wanted to do since I was a child.
Not “sort of wanted.”
Not “thought about occasionally.”
I mean deeply wanted.
The kind of dream that follows you through every stage of life no matter how many responsibilities, jobs, setbacks, illnesses, or disappointments get in the way.
But fiction takes time.
That’s the part many people don’t talk about enough.
Building a fiction career is often slower than people expect. Readers need time to discover your work. Series take time to build momentum. One book usually doesn’t change everything overnight.
So I convinced myself that nonfiction would be the smarter route.
More practical.
More teachable.
More marketable.
And to be fair, I do care about helping writers. I genuinely love encouraging people to face their fears, write boldly, and pursue purpose.
But lately I’ve had to admit something difficult:
My heart has never fully lived in nonfiction alone.
The Difference Between Writing About Story and Actually Telling One
I think this is something many writers wrestle with.
Sometimes we choose the thing that feels more “responsible” instead of the thing we’re truly called toward creatively.
For me, nonfiction often felt like I was explaining the journey.
Fiction feels like I’m living it.
When I write about Sassy Johnson, Memphis, grief, mystery, faith struggles, broken families, purpose, fear, and healing, something different happens inside me creatively.
I don’t have to force myself to care.
I already do.
That doesn’t mean nonfiction was a waste.
Actually, I think I finally understand what role it’s supposed to play.
The Moment Everything Started Connecting
Recently I realized something that honestly changed how I view my entire writing business.
In my mystery series, my characters can actually reference and benefit from the same kinds of lessons found in my nonfiction books.
That was the first time my fiction and nonfiction stopped competing with each other in my mind.
Instead of trying to choose between:
- fiction or nonfiction
- creativity or business
- storytelling or teaching
…I realized they could support each other.
My fiction can become the emotional experience.
My nonfiction can become the practical framework behind it.
Imagine a reader becoming invested in a character’s struggles with fear, confidence, grief, purpose, or reinvention — and then discovering there’s a real-world companion book that dives deeper into those same themes.
Suddenly, the books are connected.
The stories reinforce the lessons.
The lessons deepen the stories.
That feels authentic to me.
Maybe the Real Problem Was Fragmentation
Looking back, I don’t think my biggest problem was lack of talent or lack of ideas.
I think my biggest problem was fragmentation.
I’ve spent years building disconnected pieces:
- nonfiction books
- newsletters
- blog posts
- ghostwriting ideas
- fiction concepts
- devotionals
- writing advice
- business ideas
- mystery novels
Individually, none of those things were wrong.
But I kept treating them like separate paths instead of one ecosystem.
The truth is, everything I write tends to circle the same core themes anyway:
- purpose
- fear
- courage
- identity
- consistency
- reinvention
- faith
- creativity
- healing
Those themes show up whether I’m writing nonfiction or mystery novels.
So maybe the answer isn’t to abandon everything and start over yet again.
Maybe the answer is to finally bring all the pieces together.
The Dangerous Habit of Constant Reinvention
One of the hardest things for creative people is staying with something long enough to see results.
Especially now.
We live in a world where it constantly looks like everyone else is succeeding faster than we are.
Everywhere you turn there’s another:
- six-figure launch
- viral post
- overnight success story
- publishing milestone
- income report
And if you’re not careful, comparison will convince you that your slow growth means you’re failing.
But slow growth and failed growth are not the same thing.
Sometimes slow growth simply means you’re building something deeper.
A fiction series takes time.
A readership takes time.
Trust takes time.
A meaningful body of work takes time.
I’m learning that consistency matters more than constantly chasing a brand-new direction.
What I’m Trying to Commit To Now
I don’t want to spend the next ten years almost writing novels.
I don’t want my Google Drive to become a graveyard of unfinished stories.
I want to build something connected.
Something lasting.
Something meaningful.
So I’m trying to simplify my focus:
- write the fiction I’ve dreamed about for years
- let my nonfiction support the themes inside the stories
- continue building community through newsletters and blogging
- stop abandoning ideas before they have time to mature
Will it work overnight?
Probably not.
But honestly, I think I’d rather slowly build something I truly care about than quickly build something that never fully felt like me.
And maybe some of you need to hear that too.
Maybe your breakthrough won’t come from becoming someone completely different.
Maybe it’ll come from finally committing to the thing that’s been calling you all along.