The Fiction I’m Dreaming About
Before I ever wrote a devotional, I was a storyteller at heart. I used to create characters in my head and imagine entire scenes while folding laundry or lying awake at night. I didn’t always write them down. Sometimes, it was enough to just live in that quiet space where imagination could breathe.
Now, I’m finally giving those stories a place to grow.
Fiction has always felt like both a mirror and a doorway to me. It is a way to process what I’ve been through, and also a way to dream beyond it. I love writing romance, especially the kind that blends emotional depth with the beauty of falling in love. The kind of story that lets people escape the weight of the real world while still gently helping them feel seen.
Some of the books I’m working on are inspired by my own experiences. Others are born from questions I’ve wrestled with quietly for years. Some are completely made up — fantasy worlds with dragons and kingdoms and characters who are a little braver than I’ve ever been. And some are rooted in very real moments: family tension, first love, forgiveness, identity, and what it means to let someone see the parts of you that are still healing.
Each one holds a different piece of me.
There’s something vulnerable about writing fiction, especially when the emotions are real even if the story is made up. Sometimes I write scenes and wonder if anyone else will understand the feeling behind it. Other times, I finish a chapter and feel like I’ve said something I’ve never had the words for out loud. That’s when I know I’m on the right track.
Dylan has been one of the biggest encouragers of this part of my writing. From the moment I shared my stories with him, he saw the potential before I fully did. He reminds me often that these books matter, that people are hungry for stories that hold both softness and strength, heartache and healing, questions and beauty.
I’m not in a rush to publish them all at once. But I am writing. Little by little, scene by scene. And I’m dreaming about the day someone picks up one of these books and sees themselves in it. Or maybe finds a little peace. Or maybe just feels less alone for a moment.
Because that’s what fiction has always been for me, a place to escape when life feels heavy, and a place to return to when I need to remember that even broken things can be beautiful.
Reflection Question:
What story or idea have you been holding onto that deserves space to grow?
Is there a character, a memory, or a dream in you that’s waiting to be written?