Author J. R. DuBois: Unfiltered

It's been three years since Mom died. For the most part, I'm fine. For the most part, I don't dwell on or even think about it much because for years, we lived apart, she in another area code or state, us operating on different social schedules despite talking semi-regularly, etc, but deep down, she was always there. She was my ultimate cheerleader, my sounding wall, the object of intense frustration, and held more of my heart than I ever knew she did--and still does. Because we lived apart for the last several years (it sounds like estranged, but I just mean literally apart--her there, me here, etc), many times, Mother's Day would come upon me, and I'd go, "Oh!" and give her a call, we'd chat, then we'd carry on our merry ways until the time came for someone to visit the other. This year is no different. Except this year, I didn't realize I was angry. Last week, I spent an incredible half-week with like-minded, Christian fantasy writers at a re...

I cried today. It wasn't even 6am. There's a myriad of reasons I could expound upon as possible causes for my tears or the listless toil I've been experiencing, but specifics don't matter. But apparently, I've been like this for a while now. Before opening this draft, I perused the titles of my previous blogs, and there's been a theme, and one I don't like.  I think it comes from suppressing what I know my heart and soul needs in the name of how this world (read: society) defines self-care, rest, and rejuvenation, which often equates to some version of isolation even though, unlike most writers, I'm an avid people-person. (All while admitting that I am still actually human and do need some of that, too.) In short, this definition and chasing-of-the wind (thanks, Solomon) has been negatively affecting my art and my efficacy at work and, if I'm honest, my general state of mind. You know, when Jesus was actively here on Earth doing His Ministry, He woul...

The other day, one of my writer friends said to me, "Stop trying to listen to advice that you know in your heart wasn't for you. Publish the d*mn book. It's ready and so are you." I have to say, it was one of the most loving things someone could have said to me. A lot of folks today cherish encouraging words and actions on the parts of their loved ones and significant others. And I do, too, I suppose, but what I really cherish and value is when they speak truth over me, independent of how it might make me feel in the moment. My book is ready for publication. There is something small I want to tweak in the beginning to decrease the wordcount a bit, and Lord knows I have no cover and haven't formatted it or gotten any ISBN numbers, etc, but I'm holding off on doing so until I finish the first draft of Jezra so I don't mis-represent the characters and bleed the different motivations and personalities across the manuscripts. But. It is still ready. Even as is....

I feel like I'm desiccating. Not that I'm not alive. Not that I'm sad or depressed. I'm restless . I feel like a suped-up car, throttle down, revved up, my wheels spinning into the ground, going nowhere despite how hard I'm pressing the gas. I'm tired of waiting. I'm tired of toiling. I'm tired of putting all of my efforts towards things which don't seem to appreciate the effort. ( Matthew 7:6 "...do not throw your pearls before pigs, for they will trample them under feet, and turn and tear you to pieces." ) I feel torn to pieces. I feel yanked in different directions. I feel like I can TASTE what I'm supposed to be doing, where I'm supposed to be going, how maybe I should be doing it, and yet stunted for trying to get all the answers now, and to do it my way, on my terms, in my time. When I was with my friends in Georgia, I felt... whole. Now, that's a lot to put on some friends. This is me telling them, in the event that they...

I just spent two hours staring at my screen, being distracted by my phone at hard scenes, being distraught that my cats didn't cuddle me as they usually do while I write on rainy days, and for all my trouble, managed to write about 150 words. (Of course, the moment I start writing THIS, my boys finally want to come cuddle. Praise God. There is something absolutely magical about a cat's purr.) There's also something absolutely magical about creative flow, when everything just WORKS. Today, I pulled teeth to write a measly 150 words of a scene which I may not keep when I join Nicole for a writing retreat tomorrow at our favorite cafe and creperie , but man, when the Muse starts yammering... I can write thousands of words in the same allotted timeframe, and it. is. magic. But today. Today, today. Today's been a decent day. I woke early for work, but not as early as I usually do, so I got to sleep in some, trained some fabulous clients, got a new one started, then jaunted t...

Hi again, from me & my Romeo. So a lot has been happening this last month-ish. Last time I posted was at the beginning of January, and thus far, my main efforts have been digging into this second book of mine (coined the Jezra Story for now), and selecting a platform for a monthly newsletter combining three seemingly un-related topics across fiction (duh), faith (double duh), and fitness (triple duh). ( Check out my Substack here ; second installment forthcoming.) But! Also, in addition to all of this mess, I've been *trying* to consistently post on social media (which is actually harder than you'd think, though, in theory, all I should need do is just share what I'm already doing), AND an agent REQUESTED A FULL COPY OF MY MANUSCRIPT . Now. This is a big deal. BUT. It still by no means means (lol, means means... English is funny) that I'll be offered a letter of representation, and now I'm in a waiting game for a couple months to learn whether or not they like e...

 Howdy Ho! ((Why won't this thing let me post a picture!? It says I have to sign into Google, but I did, dang it.)) Since my previous post, I've had some significant traction, where the creative process goes. I heard back from one agent, but she desired me to cut my words down from 173,000 to 120,000. Give that this story was already going to be a trilogy turned duology turned single book (with series potential), it had already had a plethora of words sliced from it, but I did my best. Instead of 50,000 words, I was able to slice a little more than 11k. Not too shabby, considering there was little I could slice from the plot. I did reach back out to her, but am still awaiting feedback. Additionally, I submitted to the last remaining agents on my list for 2024, and have already received one rejection. I am grateful I was even given an actual rejection, as ofttimes, you are waiting until a certain time passes to know if you were rejected. (Perhaps I shouldn't say YOU, but tra...

 Hello and good morning. Except it's afternoon. Actually, I think it's the start of the evening. Is 4pm evening? *shrug* It is when you wake at 330am for your 5am clients! Anyway. Conduit of Fire is officially complete. The only thing that remains to be seen with it is for me to hire a professional editor and follow the publishing procedure--ASSUMING I don't get picked up by trad-pub. It has officially been 4-5 months since my last submission to the 3 folks prior to. No dice. I have 6 other names I can submit to, and I intend to, but it's weird how life interrupts your intention. So the James River Writing Conference is coming up, and one of the agents I paid to speak with suggested I go to it. It will be about $400. The cost isn't the reason I'm deciding not to go. It is because 1) there's also the Hampton Roads Writing Conference I want to go to, and 2) it is also $400, and 3) [the main reason] I really want to have a full rough draft of my second book bef...

How can you rest in the Lord when all you fear is the day His hand will not protect you? Just yesterday, my own struggles were ripped from my chest in such a visceral way that I had to pull over (I was driving). I hadn’t even cried so hard when I watched Mom die. I saw something that took the culmination of the last two years--of the last five deaths (two grandparents, two cats, and my mother), several illnesses and subsequent relational issues, my fear of losing yet another loved one, and the pain of watching the rightness in this world being made wrong--and ripped it out of me. I know people talk about being torn down, about being brought to their knees and rebuilt, but I don’t think folks who haven’t felt that realize what that means. There are no words to that sort of pain. That level of despair. Of hopelessness. If you'd have asked me to stand, I don't think I could have. People like to approach Christians and expect them to have the answer to the problem of evil, only t...

 Hey conduits. Maybe I shouldn't call you that. Who knows how many conduit-based books I'll write... Conduit of Fire is, after all, written as a stand-alone with an open ending "just in case." So, I'm done with my book for now. Which is amazing! This said... I'm not writing anything at the moment, simply reworking and fine-tuning the existing multi-edited draft, and it's not enough. I need more. But, given that I've legit been working on this story for so long, turning it from a single book to trilogy to duology and back, I'm listless. I've finished the story I began ten years ago. What now. CP Angela suggests I write something different. Get out of that land and play. I think I want to? But I do love it. But also I'm trying to decide WHAT. When I first wrote this story, I was just messing around with it, writing for fun and to fill the time between school and work and life. Then come 2020, I took it seriously and gave it a theme and fleshe...

 Hello conduits! It's been nearly one full year since I've written. My last post was about the grief I've been wrestling with losing two cats and my mother within three months of each other. It's been rough. God and life are still good, though, but the main reason I've been M.I.A. (A.W.O.L.? Both apply.) is that I realized that this journey of writing this story could be altered just slightly to reduce a trilogy/duology into one book. And I did it! The book, and the story I intended to write which I've been avidly working on since 2020, is complete. Done. I have three CPs reading it right now to give me final feedback, and I've signed up for the Virginia Writing Conference next month, and have registered for all services offered. I have, in actuality, entered into the phase of beginning to get my book out there--even if it takes a wee bit longer than intended. So. I recently read the stats. Given the fact that most businesses are overworked and understaffed,...

Hey there, conduits. It's been several months, after which I'd said I didn't want to do to this blog as I had all the others. Well, in this case, there wasn't simply one good reason, but three. If you all have been following me, you know that 2022 was a heck of a year where cat health was a thing. It started in January when my grandfather died on the same day that my eldest cat got diagnosed with IMHA. Throughout that year, my husband and I battled how to help serve our elderly boy without going deep into thousands and thousands of dollars in debt, all while having various issues with the others -- none due to environment; our house was and is fine and healthy to be in. So, Granddad died. Jynx developed IMHA. Ozzy (Oswald) suffered chronic UTIs throughout the entire year, developed stress-related cystitis, which he still has today (just brought him back from the vet for another round of antibiotics and anti-inflammatories, but we're figuring it out). Romeo swallowed...