J.J. Raine | Author

Mother–son writing duo crafting magical middle‑grade adventures. Fantasy • Mystery • Heart • Wonder Author of Whispers From the Treehouse. Step into the world where secrets whisper and imagination grows.

[jjraineauthor]

We received our first review, and it is rated 5 stars!!! Thank you, LiAnna Reads on TikTok

Whispers from the Treehouse is a beautifully composed piece of writing bringing to you the importance of speaking up for yourself, and sharing the load when facing struggle, all while doing so in a fun and whimsical way. The storytelling feels intimate and vivid, as though you’re sitting right there in the treehouse, listening to each whispered secret unfold.

The characters are richly developed and feel incredibly real. Their struggles, their joys, their quiet moments of reflection resonate deeply and are so human and so relatable you feel as though the story may be about your owe self. The author has a remarkable talent for capturing the complexities of human connection in a way that feels both gentle and powerful.

Whispers from the Treehouse is more than just a story, it’s an experience. Whether you are looking for something thought-provoking, comforting, or simply beautifully written, this book delivers on every level. I highly recommend this book to anyone who appreciates heartfelt storytelling and memorable characters. And what a wonderful reminder it is that, in all situations of life, we are never truly alone.

Thank you so much to the author for the opportunity to read their work. This was a truly immersive read! 

If Jamison’s strength and determination speak to you — a kid who refuses to let T1D hold him back — you can read his full adventure here. https://payhip.com/b/yjczN

Whispers From the Treehouse

A mysterious rabbit. A forgotten treehouse. What do they have in common? A boy chosen by whispers older than the woods themselves.When thirt

[jjraineauthor]

The whispers are fading...

Whispers From the Treehouse will close with the next chapter update on Wattpad.

If you would like to revisit the magic before The Forgotten Treehouse - Riley's Origin Story begins, you may grab your copy here and return to the magic of the forest whenever the wind calls: https://payhip.com/b/yjczN

Thank you for walking this path with Riley and Jamison.

Soon the forest will be whispering once more.

[zz-shi]

You can always recognize someone who has suffered, they listen more than they speak.

-Sh𝚒

[ghoztreader]

fiction writers this always gets me

you ever have an idea that sounds perfect in your head… but the second you try to put it down, it just won’t come out the same?

like you can see it, you know how it should feel but getting it there is a whole different fight

and somehow you keep going back to fix it over and over

tell me I’m not the only one dealing with this

[jjraineauthor]

We are currently adding to our street team. If you are a reader who loves middle-grade fantasy books, we would love to add you to our team. https://forms.gle/WvygoGLpMPMufkkXA

[jjraineauthor]

Excerpt from Whispers From the Treehouse

Chapter Three  

The Grove Responds

The morning felt strange from the moment he woke up.

Jamison couldn’t quite put his finger on it—a feeling of fuzziness to his thoughts. He had eaten… or had he? At the moment, he couldn’t remember. Maybe he hadn’t eaten enough. Maybe that was it. Maybe the walk he had taken had taken more out of him than he realized.

He followed the familiar path through the wheat field, past the place where the white rabbit had first appeared to him, and into the woods. The trees appeared to welcome him. Their silvery bark reflected the light coming in through the leaves above. The bark reflected the sun’s glow as if coins were suspended in the air. Sparkling. The air was much cooler here, but it didn’t seem to clear his head.

By the time he reached the grove, his legs had become shaky.

He dropped to the ground beside the stump. His breath had become a bit more labored, and his hands trembled. The symbols etched into the stump swam in and out of focus. Jamison blinked several times, trying to steady himself.

His blood sugar had gone low. He knew the signs well. He had been dealing with them since he was ten.

His fingers fumbled with the zipper of his pouch that contained all of his supplies. He grabbed Lance, his meter, and test strips.

Prick.

Beeeeeeep.

He waited for the number to appear.

He sighed. Too low.

He cursed under his breath and grabbed a couple of gummy bears and a granola bar from his backpack. The gummy bears were to bring his blood sugar back up quickly, and the granola bar to level out his numbers. He tore open the wrapper of the granola bar with his teeth, took a bite, and chewed slowly, even when the world seemed to tilt.

Something had shifted.

The glyphs on the stump seemed to pulse faintly. Then one seemed to glow. There was a spiral wrapped around a crescent. It was soft and steady. Jamison stared, his blood sugar beginning to rise. The fog began to lift.

Ahhh. He felt himself begin to warm up again. Become more aware of his surroundings.

He heard rustling in the bushes nearby. The rabbit appeared again, silent and still, watching from the edge of the grove.

Jamison lay down on the mossy ground, feeling its coolness on his back. The half-eaten granola bar was still in his hand as he continued to chew.

The glyph dimmed, yet it did not fade. Its faint glow pulsed—much like that of a heartbeat.

He whispered, “I’m okay.”

The rabbit hopped closer.

And the forest seemed to whisper back.

“That pleases us.”

[jjraineauthor]

Whispers From the Treehouse

A mysterious rabbit. A forgotten treehouse. What do they have in common? A boy chosen by whispers older than the woods themselves.When thirt

Excerpt from: Whispers From the Treehouse

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Chapter One: The Rabbit in the Wheat

Jamison sat on the porch of his grandparents’ farmhouse, the wood warm beneath his feet from the rising sun. The rocking chair creaked softly as he leaned back, a chipped enamel mug of cocoa cradled in his hands. Steam rose from the mug, warming his hands as he cradled it. The morning air was thick with the scent of dew and wheat, and the quiet hum of cicadas filled the silence like a forgotten lullaby. On the farm, the constant hum or ringing of cell phones simply didn’t exist. No signal out in the country, bouncing off cell towers. No loud honking of horns, nobody rushing to get to work, or yelling at one another to get out of the way.

Just a quiet—silence and peace. Nothing but the sound of cicadas. He had been here for three weeks now. Three weeks of stillness. Three weeks of silence. Sometimes he felt lonely, isolated. Three weeks of early mornings and long, slow afternoons. Evenings spent at the pond fishing with his grandfather. He actually enjoyed spending time with his grandfather and listening to all of his crazy stories. Some stories were so outrageous, he swore his grandfather made them up. The farm moved at its own rhythm—unhurried, unbothered. Jamison didn’t mind the quiet most of the time. Not really. But there was something inside him that itched—it was like a question he hadn’t figured out how to ask yet. He felt suspended between two worlds: he was too old to be considered a child, yet he was too young to be considered anything else. The farm was peaceful, but it still wasn’t his home. Well, it didn’t feel like it anyway. His grandparents were kind folks, but distant in their own way—they were wrapped up in their routines and memories that didn’t quite include him. They weren’t used to having kids around anymore. Not after they had raised his dad and he had moved to the big city.

Jamison helped with the daily chores, feeding the chickens, stacking wood, and wandering throughout the fields and surrounding forest. But mostly, he just sat in the rocking chair on the porch thinking. And watched everything around him. And he waited. For what, he didn’t quite know.

Jamison set the mug down on the small table and reached into the canvas bag he kept in his backpack. The backpack had become a part of him. An extension of who he was. The chair creaked softly as he shifted. He pulled out what looked like a pen—a fat pen. It was larger than a regular writing pen, sleeker, and it had much more purpose than an ordinary pen. It was special. It held his insulin. It was a lifeline.

He took out his meter and the small lancing device he and his mom had nicknamed Lance the Lancet when he was ten years old—the same year he was diagnosed with type 1 diabetes, during the COVID-19 pandemic. Those were scary times. It seemed like it was the longest week of his life. Each day, his mom had called the doctor's office, trying to get him seen. They were only taking patients at the time who had COVID-19. At least that was what the nurse had kept telling his mom.

Thankfully, his mom kept calling and was finally able to speak to someone who made an appointment for them to be seen. By the time they were finally seen by the doctor, he had lost over 30 pounds and could not even stand. A mere shell of who he once was. Eyes sunken in, mere skin and bones. He hadn’t been able to keep any food or fluids down.

[cremsie]

forgot about this doodle

[thoughtkick]

“Support your friend, even if you don’t support their situation.”

— Unknown

[artsy-puppy]

Medical scars are always so shamed on the internet, I have calluses and marks from my diabetic equipment on my thighs and stomach. These two places ive always been self conscious about, like the idea of someone I love, cuddling with them as they rub there hands along me getting to these raised bumps on my legs or chest and feeling disgusted. Again just the idea of it.

I know that if they cant look past that then they dont truly love me for who I am but it's still a thought I think about when I shave or get a odd pain in the location.

In spite of all that I still love my body and try to take care of it. Had to vent on main 😓

(But if anyone has any tips they'd like to share I'm all ears.)

Also a necessary shout out.

FUCK LILLY 🖕 (Those who know, know.)

[ariesrin]

15 more words to use instead of 'said'

...If your character is confessing to their love interest:

Confessed

Admitted

Revealed

Breathed

Whispered

...or if they're lying through their teeth:

Shrugged

Claimed

Waffled

Deflected

Hedged

...if they're in a playful or joking mood:

Quipped

Snorted

Chuckled

Mocked

Jeered

[runner-owen]

1,567 words today! So far lol

[studioleko]

Over the whole month of March I managed to write a total of 8,218 words across all of my projects, with the most I added to one being 1,801 words. Considering the last few months where I've barely written 300, March was pretty productive!

I think the writer's block is finally slowly seeing itself out :))))

[bisireads]

You hit “The End” feeling like a legend… "Then edits hit you like a plot twist 😭

To be honest, how many drafts did your last book take?

Do you have a WIP?

[thegrayelephent]

Me when I write for 30 minutes: 1k words

Me when I write for 2 hours: 500 words

Me when I write for 4 hours: -300 words

[claireonacloud]

Sketching in Malta - so much inspiration inspiration, so little time 😭

[qbdatabase]

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The Moth Keeper by K. O'Neill: Anya is finally a Moth Keeper, the protector of the lunar moths that allow the Night-Lily flower to bloom once a year. Her village needs the flower to continue thriving and Anya is excited to prove her worth, but what happens when being a Moth Keeper isn’t exactly what Anya thought it would be? ….. View the full summary and rep info on wordpress!