Tag: writing

Realm Makers: The Voice of God

~ Jessica Deveault

Why am I afraid to write this? To explore the idea, rather than to shut it out altogether? I felt as if God put this on my heart this past week to pour out my thoughts on this event, but every time I sat down to write all I heard were the accusations, the scolding, the voices of correction, the disapproving frown, and caution pounding into my skull, seeping into my body with a tightening hold, saying that shouldn’t open my mouth on things that are best left unsaid, or I should stick to a certain way of thinking that is outwardly acceptable and doesn’t step on any toes.

It would be an easier thing to tuck away this memory and keep it to myself rather than face the condemnation, whether it is merely a projection of my own negative thoughts, my past, or from others, than to face the onslaught of accusations that want to shred the encouragement I experienced last weekend, but would I giving into fear rather than obeying God if I kept my mouth shut when He has asked me to write stories, share words, even such as this?

Even if I may not fully understand what it is I am seeking, is it not better to explore ideas in the safety of trusted friends and family? Is it not better to explore and understand my beliefs, rather than to stamp down anything that rises from beneath the surface, and then, when others have questions of a similar nature to simply judge them for it, too, with an air of superiority and self-righteousness that doesn’t point to Christ but causes greater division and unrest?

Over the last year, I’ve been going down a road, taking a few turns, that have been leading me to question why I believe certain things, whether I believe them because they were told to me, or whether I believe that is actually what God teaches. I’m not talking about the gospel, about whether Jesus Christ rose from the dead, I believe this, and will forever believe this with all my heart, mind, and soul. These are foundational, core truths to my faith, but I am referring to other areas where I have been strictly taught that going down certain paths will, well, essentially, I’ll be diving off a cliff or making a train wreck of my life.

And to be fair, I have seen people who pursue certain teachings utterly destroy themselves, but can there be a way to explore ideas without the danger of self-destruction? I would like to believe I can work through ideas without completely unraveling the foundations of my mind, even if it makes some uncomfortable, for it is hard to question what you’ve always believed in is from God or from a set of rules that were introduced and you never thought to dig deeper, and that has led me to ask:

Can one hear the voice of God?

As someone who has been told to be wary of anything that is not explicitly written in scripture, this has been a hard thing for me to grapple with. Not that there’s anything inherently wrong with that statement, for anything that contradicts the Word should be questioned and evaluated as an error, for God would not oppose Himself. Yet, it seems there are certain circles that, out of fear of how this term, won’t even entertain there might be ways God speaks. Is it possible to receive prompting, nudges, thoughts, spoken outside the written text?

On Sunday morning, the last day of the conference, there was a worship service. It was the first one Realm Makers had ever hosted in the 13 years they had been running. The directors talked about how it never felt like there was a place for a worship service until that year, as they had not wanted to stir division, followed by a couple of cracked jokes about the church carpets and drums. By the laughter that followed, it is a common thing that Christians have fought over. And though I was amused, part of me felt grieved for the church in North America. There are so many things that have caused strife among believers that are not even central to the gospel, and we wonder why some criticize the church.

As the song portion of the service ended, a man came up onto the stage to pray before the main speaker delivered the Sunday message. I closed my eyes. It didn’t feel different from any other prayer, but in the middle of it, it was like his words faded out, not because I hadn’t been paying attention; I very much had been. The room shifted, and my world kind of shrank in on itself. A very clear thought, as if it weren’t even my own, came across my mind.

“I will take care of you.”

It was a gentle voice. Different from the constant negative hounding that often followed me. A sense of comfort washed over me, and I took a breath. Was that just… my own thought? Slowly, the room came back into focus, tuning back into the prayer, and I realized the man was saying that if there were any struggles, anything that was lying on our hearts that we would lift that up to God in prayer, and that in return, we would receive what God wanted us to know

Was it a coincidence that I will take care of you came to my mind at this moment when the prayer was about giving our struggles to God and receiving what He has to say?

As someone who has literally stressed about provision since my college years, whether that was living situations, future ventures, or even receiving help when I’m in need, hearing that was a reminder that I wasn’t alone in the direction I have been working toward. It wasn’t just a random phrase. I had been carrying a burden on my shoulder that I didn’t realize was there, and it was a loving reminder that I had a Father in Heaven who had provided for me in the past, and He was going to do so again in my next stage of life.

Well, duh. It’s not like that’s an extra-biblical revelation if that perfectly aligns with scripture. It’s not like that’s anything special you heard.

Except, it was.

It came when I needed it. Do you know how hard it is to live with a constant voice that condemns all the time, that wants to cast doubt at every turn, that literally wants to tell you not to believe the things in the Bible when things get hard? But my mind felt open to hearing God’s Word, and the Holy Spirit used that moment to bring a vivid remembrance of who He was and what He is doing amidst uncertainty. How often, even though we have scripture, we fret about our struggles. We talk about trust all the time, but we’re not very good at it.

Okay, well, that’s not exactly outside of scripture, the “voice” is it?

Fair enough. Another story, then?

Earlier this week, after being challenged by a believer to pray specifically about what God is asking me to do with my writing, I felt a strong prompting that this blog post needed to be written, even if it was only for a handful who would read it. So I would do it.

Yet, when I got through the first draft of this post a few days ago, I sensed as if God were saying that this wasn’t the version He was asking for, and deep down, I knew He was right. I was holding back in my writing, trying to politely tailor my words to make it appeasing to all audiences, telling the story in the least controversial way possible. That wasn’t authentic.

So then I started again, and a series of things happened. The encouragement I had been filled with from the conference left as I was attacked with negative thoughts, doubts, and fears, crushing my confidence that being a storyteller and writer was what God called me to be. It was a back-and-forth battle between “Is this really what God wants me to do, or am I just making this up in my head?” and beginning to question whether I should even write the post at all.

But I knew how strongly I had felt about it and that I couldn’t continue to operate out of fear.

Yesterday, the intensity peaked. An unusual pressure in my chest from fear grew. It made no sense. It worsened as I was around friends, as if the emotions didn’t want me to speak about the joys I had found at the conference, about the joys I was discovering with my faith, my passion for writing, and God.

It wasn’t until I went home later that night and called a close friend that I broke down over the phone saying I was so sick of being ruled by fear, that it was not only holding me back from writing, but holding me back from speaking to friends, and fulfilling the role God was placing in my life. So she prayed with me. Read scripture with me. For over an hour. As she was praying words of encouragement over my life, I could feel the negative voices ramping up nasty words; it almost felt like they weren’t even of myself, as if they would not let me go.

At the height of the spiritual battle, a negative thought spoke, trying to drown out the words my friend was giving. Just give up.

Whoa, whoa, whooooaaa.

Says who? That sounded like remnants of the deep darkness I had walked through months ago, and sometimes still dip into. That wasn’t from God. It reeked of hopelessness, of life having no meaning, and I had to fight it, and God had given me a friend to fight them with. She continued to speak words of truth and life until the lies were silenced. By the end of the conversation, I felt so exhausted and drained as if I had gone to war. I was unable to write anything that night, but the words of darkness were no longer there.

And here I am, a day after. This morning, the negative thoughts tried to return, but I didn’t let them, and later I sat down to finish this post. It still wasn’t easy, but I’m tired of hiding and pretending. I want to be done with that. Whether or not God prompted me to write this blog post, I’m writing it because it is a good thing. I’m looking forward to seeing where God takes me in this adventure and praying that He will help me through the voices that want to deter me from stepping into a role He’s leading me toward. If it isn’t in contradiction to His character and His Word, then who am I to ignore promptings and thoughts from the Lord?

Realm Makers: Reconnecting With Friends

~ Jessica Deveault


The room was filled with at least 400 people, maybe more. Round tables were covered with white cloths and there were more forks than I knew what to do with, a couple of spoons, and some dishes already set. When I saw on the schedule that there would be a semi-formal dinner, I hadn’t known I’d get this treat! It was Friday evening when those who cosplayed as Lord of the Rings, Star Wars, or really, anything, would walk across the stage and be judged on their outfits. I joined one of the tables along with the other attendees who would happily view the contest.

As the room filled, out of the corner of my eye, I noticed a young woman in a red dress weaving through the crowd and tables. She looked familiar. Was she someone from a workshop I had attended several years ago? There wasn’t time to go up and check as the costume parade across the stage began, and the meal followed afterwards

As the evening came to an end, bellies full with delicious food, everyone cheered with the fun conversations of being in a room with writers and creatives, people started to leave. I wasn’t going anywhere quite yet. I rose and made a beeline for where I had seen the young woman in the red dress. As I drew closer, a smile broadened across my face.

“Catherine?” I walked up behind her.

She turned around, with a delightful smile lighting up her face. “I thought I saw you earlier!”

Happy to see each other, we embraced. It was so good to see a familiar face in the sea of strangers, but also wonderful to find a friend I hadn’t seen in years.

The next day, on Saturday afternoon, I browsed the schedule to see which session I was going to next. I had missed Part A earlier that day wasn’t sure which Part B session I should attend. Was there something that would benefit me most? A practice I’d been making more of a habit of, even in the smaller things, I decided to pray, asking if there was a particular one that I should go to. No, I didn’t get any magical revelation. No prompting. Nothing stood out. That’s okay. I glanced over the schedule again before closing it and went into the Expo Hall (as where most went in between sessions, cause look at all the shiny things). I walked through the booths and ended up bumping into Catherine. She was about to head to one of the sessions and said I could join her if I wanted. The one she picked hadn’t been inclined to go to, but I decided, sure. Let’s go with a friend.

As we entered the class, we sat down and pulled out our notebooks. Only five minutes into the session, the speaker pulled up a slide about perfectionism vs. high achievers. Oh, boy. I knew I was meant to be here. I was all too familiar with the ways of perfectionism. Yet, as she drew comparisons between the two, every click of the slide revealing more about the traits of both, it made me realize how unhealthy perfectionism was, and it went deeper than I wanted to admit.

Both Catherine and I scribbled down notes the entire class, shooting each other glances every so often, sometimes groaning, as the points struck us. As the speaker taught, she even drew several examples of what perfectionism was from her personal stories and how it harms us as individuals, and how writers can be susceptible to this slippery slope. I am thankful Catherine invited me to join the session with her as they were words I needed to hear.

Sometime later, or maybe this was before, everything about the conference kind of blurs together at some point, Catherine asked. “Did you know Mr. S is here?”

Mr. S!!!

He was here, at Realm Makers?

“Where?”

I was thrilled to hear!

Though I looked for him that Saturday, I found no trace of where he was.

And yes, he is Mr. S. It’s not because I’m shortening the name for anonymity, but because that is how he is known to his students at One Year Adventure Novel, both Catherine and I had been a part of. He’s just Mr. S to all of us, even years later. He is someone I consider to be one of my first writing mentors, as he taught me how to write a novel in one year as a teen. His ongoing dedication to show youth how to craft stories is amazing (though he’s too humble to talk about himself), and creating a space where young Christian writers can have a community both in person and online to learn. It was back in 2011 that I attended one of the summer workshops, one of my first writing events, and they are still memories I cherish as I befriended writers, joined my first critique groups, and felt filled with a passion for storytelling. So, yes, of course I wanted to find Mr. S, who helped me take the first steps into becoming the writer that I am today.

Sunday morning, after the worship service (might just have to write a blog post about that, too), I went to find Catherine. At this point, I knew where she would likely be located because there was a booth she hung out at. (Am I a stalker now?). I wasn’t at the table long when bagpipes went off. Who in the world was playing bagpipes in the Expo hall? A group of us searched through the Expo, trying to find the one who was playing, but they disappeared. Well, that was short-lived. I hoped they come back. They didn’t.

As we gave up the search, Catherine asked, “Have you seen Mr. S yet?”

No, I hadn’t. I had been looking since she had mentioned it the day before, but hadn’t seen any sign of him.

She pointed, “He’s over there in the red shirt.”

I looked over. Sure enough, he was.

Excited, I hurried over, Catherine coming with. I think I interrupted his browsing, but when he saw me, it felt like meeting an old friend. We hugged, and we talked about OYAN. Catherine and I reminisced about our first OYAN workshops experience, but we also just talked about life, how things were, about hardships over the last few years, and it meant a lot to me that they shared their stories. Really, it did.

It was a real blessing to be able to catch up with friends I hadn’t thought would be at Realm Makers. I don’t know if they’ll come across this post, but seeing both of them this past weekend was a balm to my soul. When you meet people who have a love for the Lord, and just a love for people, you can really tell.

For some reason, the handful of deep interactions I had at this conference and how people just listened with care made me ponder. Are we not but pale reflections of a Creator, of Jesus? Yet these few interactions uplifted my heart so much. If these are but reflections, then I should wonder how much more caring and compassionate a perfect God in heaven is? It’s a concept that I struggle with from time to time as God just feels so distant, but He’s not. He’s closer to you than even your closest friend. If these were just fractions of goodness, how much more is God? I thank God He allowed me to reconnect with old friends and that I was able to lean into knowing Him a little better than before. My faith journey hasn’t been an easy one. Though I have been a Christian for a long time, God has been showing me over the past couple of years that I have some disconnect with my relationship with Him, and He’s been healing that through many different things, and I am thankful for it.



At Realm Makers: Unexpected Comfort

~ Jessica Deveault

The river rushed by in a peaceful, flowing rhythm, with the beautiful rays of the warm afternoon sun casting a gleaming reflection over its currents. I stared vacantly into its flow as discouragement dimmed out what should have been a lovely view. Ugh, not again. I was sick of these emotions. This was my second writing conference of the summer, and though the anxiety wasn’t the same intensity, other thoughts assailed me. A bit of impostor syndrome. No, wait. A lot of it. Then, conviction. Things I saw about myself that I didn’t like, that needed change. Then came the ever-present inner critic that wanted to pull me back under, even though I had been fighting for months to rewire negative thought patterns. It’s difficult to go against a lifetime of bad habits.

I sat there on that bench, turning my face away from the sidewalk as people passed, as tears began to form in the corner of my eyes, as unanswered questions pestered my mind. Fears sprang up, twisting their gripping words, trying to squeeze out the joy of being among writers, my passion, a place I felt at home. Frustrated, I started to pray. Though they were scattered words, and I didn’t know exactly what I needed in that moment, I knew God had helped me through the first conference in the way I needed, and I knew that He could do it again.

Though I really didn’t want to interact with anyone, my heart still feeling raw and exposed, I didn’t want to miss the conference because of the spiraling thoughts that wanted to take over as they always seemed to do lately, so I slung my bag over my shoulder and headed back up the flight of steps into the conference center.

Hundreds of writers were milling about, laughing, talking, some dressed in costumes, some in nerdy shirts, immersed in conversation. I longed to join in the jovial mood, but it wasn’t possible in that moment. Since it wasn’t time for my next session, I wandered into the Expo hall. More laughter. Liveliness all around. Booths filled the hall, stacked with books, amazing cover art, cute dragon plushies, and fantastical things authors love. I slowly went down one of the aisles, making sure to avoid anyone as I half-heartedly scanned the merchandise. Why couldn’t I leave this burden behind? Why did they have to continually follow me whenever I went?

As I neared the end of one aisle, I looked up and realized I recognized the banner on one of the booths, and standing behind it was the creator of a writing challenge I had been a part of several months ago. It was a challenge that helped me write my second novel within 90 days, the shortest amount of time I had ever completed a draft. Though I still wasn’t feeling myself, I picked up my pace, kind of excited to go say hi and at least thank the man who had developed a challenge and helped me write a new manuscript that I was kind of proud of.

As I got to the booth, I saw he was busy talking to a customer and held back. Since I had stopped, someone else who was manning the booth asked if I wanted to roll the dice to win a prize, so I rolled the dice and got a pretty cool map.

And then I went to say hi.

I wasn’t expecting much from it. I just wanted to say thank you. That had been my intention, but then I started talking about the 90-day challenge, and soon fell into a conversation about where I currently was with my writing and my life. Words just poured out before I could stop myself, and I’m pretty sure I cried. Yes, I did. Seems to me I can’t stop doing that these days, and I love doing that in front of someone I hardly know. Yet, he listened. With compassion. With a sort of warmth and genuineness that invited me to keep going. I felt seen. I felt heard. I felt understood.

It was weird

Not in a bad way. Just…I’m not used to it, still.

For some reason, a part of me is so used to being dismissed, or given awkward looks when I get emotional, or just maybe…annoyance. It’s what I expect, even if that hasn’t been the case mostly anymore; but it’s like my body is waiting for that to come. Instead, I got the opposite.

Then, he asked if he could pray for me.

What?

I had not expected that. Funny, cause the Bible talks about praying a lot, doesn’t it? And yet whenever a believer asks me that question, I always get taken off guard, especially if it’s someone I’ve never talked to before. As if we can’t pray for each other outside of our own local church? Why is that something some of us shy away from, or just simply have never learned to do? We say prayer is important, yet we are hesitant to pray?

Of course, I said yes to prayer. Although let’s be honest, sometimes we say yes just to look like good little Christians, even if we have cynicism hidden away, not believing it will do anything, but it would be a poor Christian thing to do to say no to a prayer. (Don’t worry, this wasn’t one of those times I was being cynical; I would tell you if I was!)

Then, a second thing happened.

He asked if he could place a hand on my shoulder.

Again, what? Excuse me? I mean, yes, I see that happening to other people, but I don’t experience that very often. (Hmm, repeat theme from previous blog post, I see). Of course, I said yes, again. He gently put his hand on my shoulder and we both bowed our heads, in a busy room full of people. I didn’t care. I think a younger me might have been embarrassed by that, but I felt touched and…comforted. It was like I wasn’t alone, carrying my burden. I can’t even remember what he prayed about, but that discouragement I had been battling with started to lift. How could it stay when I knew that this wasn’t a mistake that I had bumped into this fellow believer, who had a passion for writing, who had listened to my story, and had asked to pray with me? That wasn’t a coincidence.

And the prayer wasn’t the only thing I got out of that meet-up. As I was talking through my circumstances, he asked me what I thought God was calling me to do, and I felt myself freeze inside. What was God calling me to do? Yes, yes, typical Christian answer, “Everything you do, do it all to God’s glory!” That’s true, but let me ask you this, although we ought to do everything to God’s glory (whether big or small) what if God is calling you do something with the gifts He’s given you…and…maybe there are things you are holding back on, because of fear, because of uncertainty, because you simply don’t trust Him to provide for you as you take the steps down a path you’ve never done before? What if you are praying for direction, and maybe He’s given it to you, but you’re ignoring that answer because it isn’t the one that aligns with your plans, or how you believe the story should unfold? What if we aren’t taking that step out in boldness that we should be?

In part, I know after my first writer’s conference that I felt assured that I was storyteller, a writer, and that is something He has been putting on my heart that I should be pursuing, but when this question came up, I could almost feel something pressing against my heart, as if I know there are things that are holding me back, but I’m not sure how to tackle them. Or too afraid to. I’m in the middle of figuring it out, with God, and that’s honestly a hard place to be. In the uncertainty. But it’s okay. Because God knows why this journey has been difficult for me, and I am fully confident that He’s going to grow me through it. He has been helping me. Not in ways I expect, but it seems to be that’s kind of how He works, isn’t it?. We don’t often know how our stories are being written, but we have a God who does, and sometimes we just have to realize He knows what He’s doing, even if we don’t know the answers ourselves.



Day Three: When Your Heart Sings

~ Jessica Deveault

The walls before me were decorated with many drawings of landscapes, of maps intricately designed, showcasing world-building and imagination, along with a collection of book covers that were printed in various editions throughout the years. I hadn’t known there was a museum where I would find both C.S. Lewis and J.R.R. Tolkien’s works, their desks, the books they owned, and even the wardrobe! I had grabbed one of the tickets for the tour, about twenty-five of us would go on, but I had somehow not gotten the memo that we were meeting as a group before going to the Wade Center. That’s okay. As I waited for the group, I wandered around the room, examining showcases with a quiet awe.

As I came upon a wall that showed Tolkien’s creativity, I stared, almost mesmerized. A strong ache of longing pulsed inside me. This is where I belong. It felt like my heart was saying. This is what I was made for. This is what I love. I almost started crying in the middle of a museum, maybe just the overwhelm of being at a conference that revolved around writing caught up to me, but also just seeing how other authors of the past created such beautiful things was captivating and made me wish that I wasn’t so afraid to pursue what I love more fully. Before any tear fell, I noticed there was a camera directly above, staring down at me with its beady little eye. I pulled myself back together. That would have been embarrassing. They’d wonder why was this random chick shedding tears over a display? Because it’s amazing, okay?

Anyway, whether or not that sounds corny to you, I don’t know. But I can tell you that I’ve never felt that way toward math. Gross. You’re telling me there are people out there who love math (weirdos). Just kidding, we need people who like numbers, so people like me don’t have to.

But really. Here’s the question. Is there anything that makes you just come alive, even if you know others don’t feel the same? I can definitely think of some friends who would have sat through the same sessions at the conference, and their eyes would have glazed over with boredom. When I came home, a friend asked me, “What was your favorite session?” I couldn’t give an answer. Usually, there are some I like more than others, but at this conference? It was as if every single one filled a need that I had. I absorbed everything — except maybe for the one evening session where I was nearly falling asleep from being too tired. My bad.

Yet, every single workshop I’ve been to that involves stories, it’s like my heart sings. I can immerse myself in writing without being bored. Being able to create such amazing stories and worlds and all the things that come with the imagination is where I thrive.

Why did I decide to blog about this? Well, here’s the thing I’ve been pondering. I think some of us have been given gifts or talents or whatever you want to call them, but sometimes we just put them on the back burner, not trying to master skills that we’re designed to do, that come naturally to us, or have a passion for. I’m not talking about those who can’t dedicate time to learning and building on their gifts or talent because they don’t have the time or resource to do so in the stage of life, I’m talking about those of us who might know we can do something with our gifts (even if in small ways) but don’t do anything with them out of fear of failure, fear of not being good enough, fear of well “I’ll never be good as so and so, why bother”? Who cares? You’ll never get better at something if you don’t try, and give yourself the patience and grace to learn how to get better at it. If there is something that makes your heart sing, don’t even do it for others. Do it because it’s something you love to do. Do it because God gave you this ability and gift to do it. Don’t waste the gifts you’ve been given. Instead, find ways to master those talents and enjoy them!

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.

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.