I know a little about a lot.
Now in my seventies, with more years to reflect on than to anticipate, my expertise—or lack of expertise—has dominated several key areas of my life. Not that my life is over yet! I’m reminded of a joke about an old farmer. Asked if he’d lived on the farm all of his life, he replied “Nope.” Then added, “Ain’t dead yet.”
Me too.
Not dead yet.
From a negative perspective, I could be labeled as a jack-of-no-trades. More optimistically, I’m a guy who tries a lot of different things.
With another rejection from a literary agent arriving a few days ago, and a score of rejections since the summer, I’m doubting my chances to get published while I’m standing on dirt rather than my ashes scattered over it.
More on my writer’s woes in a moment.
I’m a retired minister. Next year is the 50th anniversary of my ordination. In that half-century, I’ve been an associate pastor, served small rural congregations, a new church start pastor, a three-point charge* pastor, and senior pastor. I’ve also served as a campus minister, a hospice chaplain, and my final years were as a hospice grief “specialist.” While my official title sounded impressive—Bereavement Support Specialist (BSS)—I felt more like a BSL. Bereavement Support Learner.
All my ministry involved learning on the job.
I’ve been involved in a cornucopia of sports. My earliest memory fragment is playing baseball with my father when I was four. In high school, I took up tennis. During high school and into college, pick-up basketball games were my go-to sport. I wasn’t good at anything, but enjoyed playing with others while getting a fun “workout.” After a divorce in my late-twenties, I started jogging to burn off angry energy. It evolved into a positive routine. Many of my sermons were mulled over while I circled the neighborhood. With aging knees, I replaced running with biking. If I excelled at a “sport,” it was hiking. My backpack trips were wonderful adventures. Some of my best ministry happened while leading church groups into the wilderness.
And then there’s my writing.
I’ve published a modest number of essays and short stories. Equally modest were the payments from various paper and online magazines. Getting my name in print often represented the only payment. I’ve self-published, again with success in the modest category. Around the same time as my ordination (1977) I completed my first novel. I think it’s in a dusty box in the garage. That manuscript was followed by more unpublished novels. During the 1990s, I took a leave-of-absence from ministry and concentrated on writing. I created a franchise character, a protagonist who’d appear in a series of mystery novels. My hero was, surprise, a minister and amateur sleuth. I found a literary agent to champion my work. The novel never interested a publisher and my agent soon quit the publishing business.
I’m sure her departure had nothing to do with me. Right?
Here’s where my lack of expertise, and perhaps lack of focus, becomes a problem. Yes, there have been best-sellers with pastors (or priests or nuns) as part-time snoops. But a Christian minister as the crime-solver caused agents and publishers to wonder: is this for the Christian market? Or the mystery market? What market is it? Both? Neither?
The what-market-is-it question hampers my current novel. Publishers and agents want to make money. A book that fits comfortably in a popular genre is an easier sale.
I can tell you what it’s not. In 2026, these genres sell the most books in fiction:
Romance
Suspense and Thriller
Fantasy
Science Fiction
There are other popular genres like horror, young adult novels, graphic novels, and romantasy. I’m not even sure what romantasy is, other than it’s not what I write.
My novel, Wild Blessings, doesn’t easily fit a category. And no pastor appears anywhere. Is it commercial or contemporary? Maybe. Is it literary or upmarket? Probably not. My novel is a coming-of-age story set in the Yosemite wilderness. It also contains elements of a hero’s journey. When those descriptions accompany genres like it’s a sizzling romantasy in a mid-life coming-of-age tale or a sci-fi story with a teenaged alien orphan on a hero’s journey, the author is more appealing to the accountants.
The essays I’m currently writing like this one (for my webpage and Substack) serve as more damning evidence. Recent weekly posts have mused about my dog, hospice care, gun violence, and the Trump administration’s shenanigans. There only connection is my curiousity.
Shouldn’t I stay in my lane instead of swerving across the literary freeway?
What is my lane?
As always, I have more questions than answers.
Thanks for reading. More next week . . .
in Peace,
Larry Patten
*3 churches at the same time, which also meant 3 worship services in different towns on the same Sunday morning.