Author J. R. DuBois: Unfiltered

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...