Crossroads Fiction - I'm naming a genre for women 55+ claiming who they’ll become.
A crossroads ~ that moment when you realize you could keep going the way you’ve been going, or you could finally make the turn you’ve been avoiding.
Since I began writing fiction in my early seventies, I’ve been trying to describe what I write. Not romance, though love sometimes appears. Not “women’s fiction.” That term is so broad it means almost nothing. Definitely not chick lit, which was never meant for women like me or the women I write about.
I write about women over 55 standing at a pivot point, the moment life asks them to start over. The time they know their lives are not winding down but opening up, navigating change, choice, and what comes next.
That pivot is when they come to a crossroads, that moment when you realize you could keep going the way you’ve been going, or you could finally make the turn you’ve been avoiding, possibly because people have said that we shouldn’t be striving for more.
The decision is about something often kept quiet in our private thoughts.
Who will I become now?
That question doesn’t get asked enough in fiction. Not for women our age. We’re supposed to have already become. We’re supposed to be settling in, winding down, fading into the background of someone else’s story.
I refuse.
And so do the women I write.
How the name came about
The term emerged in conversation with Claude. I was trying to describe what I write, and “crossroads fiction” surfaced as a way to name it. The metaphor is ancient. The genre is new. I needed some convincing that this is something I can do, but I asked myself, “Why not?”
What makes Crossroads Fiction different
It centers on women 55 and older, not as wise grandmothers or cautionary tales, but as protagonists with unfinished business.
It doesn’t require a happy-ever-after. The transformation is internal. Purpose. Identity.
The decision to stop disappearing.
It can wear different clothes. One crossroads story unfolds in a small utopic canyon where a misogynist man tries to put a stop to an elder’s dream.
Book 2 follows a woman facing tremendous challenges when she thought her post-retirement life was planned.
Book 3 will be a woman finally telling the truth about who she loves. The stories change. The question doesn’t.
It’s fiction as a mirror, not an escape. These aren’t stories to get lost in, but you might. My hope is for you to find yourself inside.
I didn’t set out to create a genre. I just wrote what was true for me. Stories where women my age aren’t invisible, finished, or waiting for permission.
My readers told me what those stories were doing for them.
They said they saw themselves. They said they weren’t ready to leave the women when the book ended. They said they wanted to sit and talk to the women.
So I strengthened it. And the more I listened, the more I realized: this isn’t just my story. There’s a gap in fiction where there’s no category for stories about older women at pivot points. A silence caused by that gap. Silence has a way of becoming a category once someone names it.
So I’m naming it.
Crossroads fiction. Stories of older women at the pivot point, deciding who they’ll become.
If you’ve been looking for yourself in fiction and coming up empty, maybe this is why. Maybe the genre you needed didn’t exist yet.
It does now.
Whispers of Echo Canyon is the first book in my Women of the Canyon series. Mirage of Trust is second. I’m writing it live on Substack.
Five women, five crossroads, five chances to refuse to disappear. If this resonates, the door is open.


I can't wait to read more of your work. I too am writing novels in that genre. I am editing my first now and writing my second. I am toying with starting my a publishing company specifically for this genre called Not Done Yet publishing.
Naming the gap is half the work — once you name it, people realize they've been feeling it without having words for it. "Who will I become now?" is the question I keep circling in my own writing. Not in fiction, but in memoir — the same pivot point, just without the protective distance of a character to stand behind.
I've been thinking about how much harder it is to ask that question in first person, on the page, under your own name. Your women get to refuse to disappear inside a story. I'm trying to figure out how to do it out loud. I think we're working the same territory from different directions.