Dear Readers, I need your help.

I did a lot of soul-searching and brainstorming during the last weeks of December, and as a result, I somehow ended up deciding to write another book. Not the historical novel that I was already working on. A different book; a nonfiction book I’m super-excited about. The problem is, I’m still super-excited about my novel, too.

I want to write both books. And I want to write them now. A part of my crazy, goal-pushing mind thinks it would be possible to write them both simultaneously, but I know that’s not realistic at all… I could make one my focus, and write small amounts on the other (a very small word count could be accomplished in 15 minutes a day) but I simply can’t commit fully to two books at the same time and expect to finish drafts of both of them this year. (The crazy part of my mind says, “This year? Come on, you can finish them both by June!” Yeah, she’s that crazy.)

I feel like I am in love with twin brothers, and I have to choose between them. 

Let’s call one brother Mr. Fiction, and one brother Mr. Nonfiction. (Bear with me here; I think personifying them might push my thought process to a new place.) 

Mr. Fiction is my first love from the time I was a child. I loved Mr. Fiction with all my heart, and devoured his works. When I started to pursue Mr. Fiction seriously, I learned everything I could about him. I took classes, I read guidebooks, I subscribed to newsletters and magazines about him. I dissected him in every way I knew how. I wrote short stories, then a book about him, which I tried to get published. I’m still trying; I’m succeeding in very small ways, but much of it is out of my control. I have endless ideas for ways to engage with Mr. Fiction, but the relationship feels stalled. I often don’t feel good enough for Mr. Fiction.

The thing I love best about Mr. Fiction is that when I’m with him, I seem to connect to an other-worldly creative space. I can’t access that special place unless I am working with him.

Mr. Nonfiction is my Mr. Darcy. Younger Leanne never spared a thought for him, and looked down upon people who claimed to enjoy his company more than that of Mr. Fiction’s. But sometime in my late twenties, I decided to give him a chance. And I found that it was possible to love Mr. Nonfiction just as much, and in some cases more, than Mr. Fiction. I became a devotee of the people who wrote about him. I started a blog to get closer to him. Mr. Nonfiction teaches me about myself and the people around me. I know what needs to be done to pursue him, and I’ve already had more success with it than with Mr. Fiction. I can sense more success in the future, and even if I don’t attain it traditionally, I can attain it nontraditionally with this blog, and with future e-books and websites.

The thing I love best about Mr. Nonfiction is that I can be myself, with confidence. 

See? Don’t they both sound amazing? A woman hasn’t had this much trouble deciding between two loves since Scarlett O’Hara and the Tarleton twins.

Mr. Fiction is the future I’ve wanted my whole life; Mr. Nonfiction is the future I’ve only just begun to want.

Readers, help. What do I do? Which do I peruse? Give me some hard, cold advice. Tell me I have to break Mr. Fiction’s heart, or Mr. Nonfiction’s. Tell me that I’m crazy to think I could have a strong relationship with both of them at the same time. Tell me I can put one of them on hold and come back later with equal passion and intensity.

Tell me it’s not a career-making or breaking choice.

Tell me to stop being a fool in love.