Most of my writing life has been rooted in nonfiction—sermons, devotionals, blog posts, and theological reflections. Earlier this year, I published my first nonfiction book, Grace Rediscovered, which was a labor of love drawn from my own story and the stories of people I’ve walked with in recovery and faith. It was honest, personal, and emotionally heavy in the best way.
After finishing a project like that, I found myself needing a creative palate cleanser—something that would stretch me without draining me. That’s where fiction came in.
There’s something wonderfully refreshing about creating fictional characters who do things I’d never do, say things I wish I could say, and wrestle with the kinds of deep questions that don’t always fit neatly into a sermon. Writing fiction has become a new outlet, one that allows me to play, to imagine, and to explore tension without always needing to resolve it. I don’t have to reach a three-point conclusion. I just have to stay curious and keep showing up to the page.
One of the best discoveries I’ve made along the way is Brandon Sanderson’s YouTube series On Writing. If you’re not familiar, Sanderson is a prolific fantasy author—Mistborn, The Stormlight Archive, and the one who finished The Wheel of Time. But beyond being a wildly successful writer, he’s also a generous teacher. His “On Writing” lectures, filmed from his BYU classroom, are packed with insight. He covers everything from plot and pacing to character arcs and worldbuilding. He teaches with clarity, humility, and zero pretense—just practical help for anyone wanting to get better at storytelling.
I’ve found myself watching these lectures like a student who’s fallen in love with learning again. I’m taking notes, pausing videos to scribble down ideas, and slowly building a fictional world of my own. The characters are starting to speak. The setting is taking shape. And the questions I want to explore—about faith, shame, redemption, and mystery—are finding new expression through story.
Fiction writing is teaching me to pay attention in new ways. It’s reminding me that storytelling isn’t just about what happens — it’s about what matters. And how we name the things we can’t always explain. Stories have the power to shape our imaginations in profound ways.
I don’t know if I’ll ever publish a novel, and honestly, that’s not the point. Right now, this practice feels like something sacred. It’s helping me grow as a writer, yes — but also as a person. I’m learning how to analyze how authors sit with the unknown, how they let characters lead me, and how they trust that a good story will always reveal something true in the end.
So here I am, learning to write fiction one plot point at a time. And in the process, I’m discovering something deeper than just how to build a story — I’m learning how to listen more carefully, to pay attention to the quiet parts, to hold space for what can’t always be explained.
Fiction is teaching me that the most powerful truths aren’t always shouted. Sometimes they’re whispered in the pauses, in the shadows between what’s said and what’s left unsaid. And if I can learn to tell stories that make room for that kind of truth—even just a little—I’ll count it as sacred work.
Not because it’s perfect. But because it’s honest. And for now, that’s enough.