I had an epiphany of sorts today, prompted by too little sleep, some wise comments from people I trust, and my own oft-ignored better judgment. Someone very smart told me recently that I'm a round peg trying to fit myself into a square hole, and more and more, I see that's true. I love to write. It's truly what I love best in the world (not counting music, which is a whole other subject) but I've lost some of that joy lately. Some of that is because I like creating more than revising, and I've been in revision land for a while. But the bigger issue is I've allowed my desire to get published ASAP get ahead of writing the kind of stories I like to read, even if my skill level isn't quite there yet. Although I'll read most anything someone puts in front of me - even cereal boxes - I like quirky stories that don't fit the mold, with lots of sexual tension and witty banter and plenty of action. A true mix of light and dark with characters that aren't typical and don't have the typical relationship. But that's not what I've been trying to write. I've been toying with writing what's "hot" and then wondering why my muse has run screaming.
I haven't ruled out anything yet, but I do know I'm not going to write stories I don't love. If I'm meant to get published one day, I will. But it won't matter if I'm not having fun doing the thing I've always wanted to do most.