Day Two: Comfort Zones

~ Jessica Deveault

What does it mean for you to try something out of your comfort zone? Would you give it a chance even if it stretched you and caused you some unease? It doesn’t matter how small or big it is. What is something that would challenge the ways that you think, or push you to become a better version of yourself, to give yourself the opportunity for growth, or even new memories?

They weren’t kidding when a speaker said the conference would be a fire hose of information. After my first class of Publishing 101, I knew there was so much about the industry that I didn’t know about, and that my current manuscript wasn’t anywhere near ready to be published, whether that was traditional or self-publishing. As I looked at the long list of notes I had already compiled from part one of three of the Publishing 101, I knew there was a lot of work ahead of me. Yet, strangely enough, I wasn’t deterred. I felt more resolved than before to follow the steps I would need to become successful as an author. Not famous, guys. Just being able to write a novel and publish it well. For I desire to make the content as best as it can be. “Well, you can’t just wait till it’s perfect,” some might say. True. But also, no one wants to read unpolished trash. That’s what critique groups, beta readers, and editors are for. Helping you refine the trash into gold. (I hope my friend doesn’t come to scold me later for calling my writing trash!) Okay, how about beautiful, lovely trash? No? I can hear the growl of disapproval. Well, I wrote what I wrote. Not taking it back now!

Even if my manuscript isn’t perfect yet, though, that doesn’t mean I didn’t bring a few pages of my draft to my 15-minute author meeting session. Oh, boy. I entered a room filled with tables with professionals in the writing industry and found the author I had set up an appointment with. She asked me what I wanted to talk about. Advice. That’s what I wanted. She gave me a few that I jotted down in my notebook so as not to forget for later, and then she asked if I had brought any of my manuscript. Slightly nervous, I pulled out the first ten pages of my current work in project and handed it to her. She started reading through it. Ah! I hate when anyone reads my work when I’m present, yet I wasn’t going to turn down help. So, keep it together, man!

She started marking some sentences and explaining how wording could be improved or tweaked, but as she went through it, she told me that my writing was good. Though there were common first-page errors that writers make, they were things that could easily be fixed. Not going to lie. That little meeting boosted my confidence. I didn’t care if the page was all marked up because the advice she had given me made sense. I thanked her when the time was up and left with a little more pep in my step.

Afterwards, I headed for a world-building class. I was in my element, loving fantasy, sci-fi, and all the details of what goes behind creating worlds for fiction. At the end of the class, though, when it was time for questions, I had one lingering in my mind. Normally, I don’t enjoy talking in class, but I decided to force myself to ask, giving a reference to the tiny dragons that were in my story world. It wasn’t even that big of a deal asking the question, but I spoke up.

As the class ended, a young woman suddenly came up to me with an excited gleam in her eye, asking me more about my book with the tiny dragons. I wasn’t sure why I was so caught off guard, considering I was in a class mainly for those who wrote in this genre, but it really touched me that she was so interested in my book. More writers joined the circle, and we got to talking about issues in our storylines and thinking through ideas. If I hadn’t asked a question, would that conversation have followed? I don’t know. But I made a few friends that day, friends who understood the complexities of writing in certain genres and writers who have the same passion as I do for storytelling.

Finally, dinner rolled around. I found myself sitting alone in the busy cafeteria. That wasn’t such a big deal to me. It meant I didn’t have to talk again. I know, I know. I had great conversations throughout the day, but that didn’t mean all my nerves were completely gone yet, and a break from that felt good. I sat quietly by myself when three Australians (everyone loved the Aussies) came over to my table and joined me, and I was quite happy to have company, even if my nerves weren’t completely settled.

Then, out of the corner of my eye, I saw one of the literary agents — actually, he is probably one of THE literary agents that is well known in the Christian publishing world, and I didn’t even know about that until I researched the conference.

And he asked to join our table.

Panic, panic! Ahh!

He put his plate down by my seat and excused himself as he went to get a drink or something. Um, this wasn’t part of the plan? Not that I had a plan, but oh no. What if he asked me about what I write? Yes, it’s a writer’s conference, but I didn’t have a great answer for my novel. Well, I had an answer. I just didn’t want to be stumbling all over my words. One of the Aussies saw my reaction, I think a little amused, and said there was nothing to be afraid of and that he was a great guy. I didn’t doubt he was a great guy. I just didn’t want to talk about my book.

Well, he soon came back. And we all started talking.

He did not ask me about me about my book. Thank the heavens.

But I was actually super happy that he joined the table because the conversations we had were so fun. I got to learn a bit more about what it’s like being a literary agent, and the publishing industry, and he also made me laugh so hard about a story about a slush muppet. I think I was nearly in tears. Even if I didn’t exactly push myself out of my comfort zone, I’m really glad I didn’t go to a quiet corner of the cafeteria where no one would have seen me, but I placed myself in an area where I left it open for others to join my table. Even the small steps I took to push myself out of my comfort zone brought many new memories. Everything I did was worth it. Maybe next time I’ll be able to take more steps toward growth.

Day One: The Little Things

~ Jessica Deveault

I was sitting down at the Chicago airport, waiting to meet up with a couple ladies I would be taking an Uber with to the conference, and finishing up my overly priced wrap, when a young woman approached me. “Excuse me, can I pray for you?”

The question startled me. What had she just asked? I mean, I knew what she asked, but I was in disbelief. Wasn’t this something I had heard or seen that happened to other people? Surely, not to someone like me. But it was me she had asked.

The only thing my muddled mind could think to say was, “I’m going to a writing conference.” Though inwardly, my insides were an emotional wreck, and that was really what I could use prayer for. I hadn’t slept well that night, and the entire morning, my nerves refused to be reasoned with, even though I tried to pray through it and read scripture.

She prayed over me, wishing my conference would go well. As she ended, I stuttered over my words, but didn’t care as I asked her how she knew I needed prayer, or how she had the boldness to go up and ask people. She told me she was led by God, and that if I asked, that was something God would show me how to do, too. And it truly was a desire of my heart that I could become more bold in being able to encourage others through prayer. Without even asking, she prayed over me again, that this would be something God would help me with in the future.

As she said goodbye, I sat there, unable to quite comprehend that just happened. A complete stranger. A believer I had never met. In the airport crowded with hundreds of people. And I happened to sit down in a spot where this young woman had been standing. That was no coincidence. God had placed each other in our paths, and though my nerves didn’t quite calm down after she prayed, I was assured that I wasn’t alone in this. It felt as if God was saying he saw me, and knew my struggles, and that I was going to be okay.

Except I still hid.

Even after meeting with three lovely ladies (another answer to prayer) who were attending the conference as they helped me navigate through the Chicago airport and order and Uber to take the Wheaton Campus, I left their company as soon as I was registered and went to my dorm room. Part of me wished I could stay there, not move, forget that I had come all this way. Silly, I know. I had invested in this conference, so staying in the room forever wasn’t an option, but my internal struggle did not want to release its hold.

Yet, I got back up, forcing myself to face what I did not want to, and left the safety of my room. Somewhere amidst the wandering, as the opening session wouldn’t start for a while, I sat on a bench outside the main building.

What am I even doing here, Lord? I questioned. Could I even make friends if I were so paralyzed by this ridiculous anxiety?

Just then, a young woman walked by. Then slowed down. Then walked toward me. She smiled warmly and greeted me, and we both realized that we had messaged each other on the conference app a few days earlier. Instead of staying seated alone on the bench, I joined her on a walk around campus. Again, I knew this wasn’t a coincidence that she had walked by me at this timing. God really wasn’t leaving me to struggle alone in my mess.

Now it was time for the opening session.

I can’t remember much of what was said because I was burnt out, so as the session came to a close, and we applauded the speaker, all I wanted to do was get back to my dorm room. Yet the head of WTP Conference came up to the mic with closing remarks, and she invited us to head down to the lounge and meet up with other writers, tempting us with snacks, perhaps, but saying just go there, even if it was only for three minutes. Just three minutes.

I really didn’t want to go, but I could commit to three minutes, couldn’t I? And she did say there were snacks. I like snacks. Slinging my satchel over my shoulder, trying not to make contact with anyone else, I headed in the direction of the lounge would be. When I entered the room, it was already buzzing with activity. Many were already seated at tables, engaged in conversations. I headed to the back of the room where the snack table was and grabbed a small plate of food (they were good snacks, by the way) and wandered back through the main area. I wasn’t intending to sit with anyone, but I guess God had other plans. Again.

An older gentleman was sitting alone at a table, and he waved me to join. Well, I wanted to get to know people, so I should sit down, even if it was only for a little while. As I sat down, I secretly hoped we weren’t going to talk much, or that he would do all the talking. Before we even had much of a conversation, he continued to invite others to the table, and soon the table was filled with friendly faces. One lady started going into the history of C.S. Lewis, and I felt myself settle in, enthralled by the stories of what she was telling us. Though I was still tired, I did not regret staying past the three minutes.

As the night ended, and I headed back to my room, I wondered if there was a chance I would be able to settle into this conference. It seemed that God was using the little things that day to give me encouragement exactly when I needed it. Though it didn’t fix the overwhelm inside, it made it easier to handle. To be honest, I am so used to being the one who goes out of my way to encourage and help others, and for some reason, it didn’t occur to me that God can put people in my path to do the same for me when I feel incapable.

I think what I learned that day was that God sees you, even if it may seem like a small, insignificant thing, and he can help you through that, too. But also, reminding myself that small acts of kindness, whether that be praying with someone, inviting a stranger into your circle, are sometimes bigger than you may realize. You never know what someone is going through, so if you have a prompting in your heart to reach out, maybe step out and do it, for you never know how that will impact someone else and make their day.

God Hears A Writer

~ Jessica Deveault

Anxiety. The ball of tension that simmers in the background, which often no one sees, but it clings to your body like an unwelcome guest. Even when it’s an event you’re supposed to enjoy and have been planning for months to attend, an uncertainty crawls into the nooks and crannies of your heart with fears you have suppressed and kept underneath for so long.

I haven’t been to a writing conference in seven years. 

Seven years. 

Though I have never stopped creating content, weaving words on the page, even completing two manuscripts (though unpolished) in that time period, it was a part of me that I kept mostly to myself. However, nearly two years ago, I decided I wanted to become a published author, and though I have no idea how to get there, I am on a journey of learning. 

And that means running into defensive walls I unknowingly constructed and facing the lies I believe about myself that I didn’t even know about. They are lies I need to reframe in the light of who God says I am rather than what others have said, whether that is my broken perception of who I thought should be (and sometimes still do) or whether it was words unintentionally said that shoved me into a shell and led me to not accept the parts of myself that God designed me to be. 

Yet, here comes anxiety. That unpleasant emotion no one likes to feel. That we wish we could simply run away from. Or shut off and feel nothing at all. 

But I couldn’t. It trickled in the day before I was to leave for the Write-To-Publish conference, a conference I had excitedly registered for months prior. I knew it wasn’t just jitters from traveling to a new place – that was something I had done plenty of times before. Heck, when I was 20, I flew to the States, without a cellphone, trusting a friend would know where to find me at this airport, with only the anticipation of the adventure that I was about to participate in. 

I tried to make sense of it, but couldn’t, and then realized it wasn’t only anxiety I felt. There was dread. There was doubt. There was sadness. There was a brokenness that 33-year-old me felt that 19-year-old me never went through at her first writer’s workshop. Something had broken that enthusiasm and joy, morphing into a version of herself that was proper and acceptable to a society outwardly, but dried and shriveled up inwardly. A person I had constructed that only showed pieces of herself and only revealed my inner heart to those she thought wanted to hear the thrum of what brought her joy or the echoes of what brought her sorrow.

Where was this person who was unafraid to make friends? Jump into new things with excitement? Join conversations without caring about what the other person thought? Now, I was avoiding people, hiding in corners, wishing I were a fly on the wall so I could listen to the interesting conversations, but not wanting anyone to see I was there in return.

Why?

Because I didn’t want people to know my story. I was ashamed – and perhaps am ashamed – of who I was and am. I didn’t want anyone to see the pain of my present or the failures of my past, and if I dared share anything? The danger of being misunderstood and dismissed entirely. But this wasn’t living. This wasn’t who I wanted to be.  Or want to be.

So I prayed. For I didn’t know what else to do.

Father, what happened to me? What broke me? Is there any way I can become the bright young woman I once was, but, even a better version?

I asked this, for I know even that 19-year-old carried many unseen burdens, and perhaps it was those burdens that grew, and over time, they crushed me as I was no longer able to carry them. They accumulated as failures mounted, as heartbreaks happened, as dreams were swept away and turned into realities that were unfulfilling in the promises of just do xyz and you’ll succeed, and the years of struggling with waves of depression and doubt and a sense of self-loathing that I buried from the eyes of many. 

And I continued to pray as the anxiety continued its ugly, controlling spin.

God, I’ve been so broken and…

I paused. I felt as if God was prompting me to rest while at this conference and to… not hide myself

Gulp.

Don’t pretend to be someone I’m not? Don’t pretend to be happy when I’m not? Ask for help…from strangers? Though, I knew this was a Christian conference, that seemed scary. I don’t know how to do that. How to I take down the layers I have built? How do I be courageous despite the emotional storm raging within that says it’s not safe to share your pain, your hurt, your emotions, your passion? Even among writers, a place where I should feel free to express my love for this amazing craft, resistance pulled in such a heavy way. How…do I be myself again?

I didn’t know the answer to that question, but God did.

Read with me, this week, as I unfold the story of how God answered my prayers in so many ways throughout the Write-to-Publish Conference.