Hypocrisy - A Poem

I'm
   sorry what did you say?
Was busy
   drowning
      in the wake of all the things I can't say pretending to be what I should be
Wondering - whether twould be nobler
    to really change
        or to show you
I think your standards for judging me would be wrong
    if I let you try.

Epiphany

It occurs to me, I really need to stop worrying about trying to say something smart and being wordy and wanting to impress people.

That will be all.

Good Friday

peace descends on
empty churches, empty tabernacles,
unlit candles.

for one day Jesus leaves us alone,
to continue our business,
without nagging us about 'right' and 'wrong.'

wait.

it is great, wonderful, awesome, terrible, horrible
that
God should die,
grant our wish
and die.
and vindicate us, free us from our guilt.

it is good for us, that we should be here
now.
together.
with God.

Holy Thursday

Hollowed stone closes on yet another ordinary day.
Who will betray you?
No, not I.

Darkness swallows moon and sun and stars.
If you have seen me
You have seen the Father also.

The world pauses
To consider the question.

Why even once?
After all that was and will be,
Why ever again?

Who would betray you, hand you over
Now?

Constructive Criticism

This week was spring break so had lots of time to study and write, not that I really used that time well or for that purpose necessarily, but it was there.

In writing world, Echoes of a New Earth (my latest novel attempt) didn't make it to the quarterfinals for the Amazon Breakthrough Novel Award, but did get two free critiques of my first few chapters, both favorable overall, but suggesting where the writing could have been better. I probably shouldn't have rushed to submit, but in a way I'm glad I did, because the advice is definitely solid.

I'm revising a short story I wrote a year ago and using some good advice that was given on my initial draft of that as well. That story was written shortly after my mother's death and essentially was my way of channeling a lot of feelings into one place. It is called The Glass Figurine and is about ... a glass figurine. Eventually, I'd like to revise another short story on which I received some really good advice and submit that to a horror/dark fantasy venue.

And then - there's that phrase again. Good advice. I've been procrastinating as a writer for so long. But for the past few months, even since NaNoWriMo (which felt like jumper cables to my writing battery) have been so blessed by writers' groups and editorial comments. Not only am I writing again, but sharing what I've written, which forces me to try to write well and relevantly.

This is hard. But I'm so grateful for it, for those who often without realizing they're doing it, continue to press me to speak up, to find my voice. It's really good to not be alone in any of this, but especially humbling when some put so much work into their craft AND pause to help others with theirs.

The Prodigal Son

The Gospel for Laetare Sunday is on the Prodigal Son. In a way, I empathize with all three members of the story, which is kind of the point. On one hand, I feel like the runaway son, who misuses God's gifts all too often. I've also been the elder son, wondering why some people seem to have it so easy.

Finally, though, when it comes to the Church and how I feel about it in general, I feel like the Father. If it's that sometimes I sound angry, or feel like a dog chewing on the same bone. I'm still watching, gazing in the distance, hoping for that day when we can all sit together at one feast table. When we can put aside the petty rivalries and animosities, and just love each other. Even if that day will never come. If it ever does I'll be there more than happy to just forget all those stupid things that don't even matter.

That's why - and I don't even know how to phrase this - excommunicating people as a political ploy. We say oops. We say well ... both sides made mistakes. And if only the other person would repent and stop doing <blank> Are we so sure Jesus Himself is so angry with that person?

It's not just funny - haha. It's not just - oops. Jesus said Judge not lest ye be judged. He didn't say - unless you're the pope, or unless you're a cardinal or a bishop. One day there will be a reckoning. And I don't believe people are necessarily going to go to hell for that.

But I'm sure that one day, those who acted with pride will have to look at the person they rejected and realize that they will have to spend forever with this person knowing that when the time came they chose not to help. For all eternity, we'll know who stuck it out and went the extra mile, who did the right thing, and who just couldn't be bothered. We'll know in ourselves. In fact, we know it right now.

A Day Late and ... That's all I've Got

I'm a day behind my personal Saturday deadline for posting something to do with writing and my main excuse is ... I got 50 cents off Breaking Dawn 2 at Redbox. AND I am working on a story for Sword and Sorceress, to submit and in my wildest dreams get in. I finished - sort of - a draft of a story for Fantasy Writer's about parallel universes.

I need to not write about parallel universes, especially when I only have a month to write.

Now I'm starting to think about final papers and presentations and other evil mean beasties.

This week I have to write about someone writing about Thomas Aquinas. And all I can think is - this is my life.... I have entered into some bizarre parallel universe wherein I am writing about someone writing about Thomas Aquinas.

AHH!!

Okay watching Doctor Who probably doesn't help either. Watching Doctor Who and Breaking Dawn. My mind is like - these two things cannot exist together.

I want to live in just one universe. One universe is hard enough. So maybe that's why I'm editing this story about a young woman who is trying to preserve the figurine which is all she has left of her dead mother. Who is dead. But she still has this glass figurine.

That feels more manageable. Sure the universe is still not real because it has magic and stuff like that. But, it is still only one universe. No time travel. No temporal or spatial shifts to have to explain and try to capture - unsuccessfully - in words, until I'm frankly bored with it and annoyed myself. It almost feels relaxing..

One universe for the next month or so.. And maybe, just maybe I can manage that as a writer who also has to from time to time visit 'reality' to pass finals and get laundry done. And get my blogs posted on time. And pay regular visits to the place of torture - aka fitness room.

When Did I See You...?

⁴ He fell to the ground and heard a voice saying to him, “Saul, Saul, why do you persecute me?” ⁵ He asked, “Who are you, Lord?” The reply came, “I am Jesus, whom you are persecuting." Acts 9:4-5

These past couple weeks have been the start of Lent and announcement that the 'king' of the Roman Catholic Church is resigning his throne, and a good opportunity for house-cleaning and moral inventory. 

One day, there will be a reckoning, and when Jesus asks us why did we persecute him, will we be able to plead ignorance? Because the king said so, and the king was speaking for God.

Oh, really? Do we honestly believe that? Or do we so want someone telling us what to do, telling us what we did or are doing is okay, that we wanted to believe whatever this person was saying must be right, must be divinely revealed. As long as we defend this person, this position, we're okay.

Reaching down deep, as a Christian is my life driven by the newspaper headline, and by pretty clothes and titles, or by God's will? Because as Jesus said - over and over - we can only serve one Master. Not everyone who says Lord, Lord will enter the kingdom of heaven.

Et cetera.

Will our excuses for seeking God in a palace made by human hands hold up? When we know better. We have been warned.

"Truly I tell you, just as you did not do it to one of the least of these, you did not do it to me."

While I fully believe in praying to and with saints and that visible images are useful, not if any of these things help me to remain woefully blind, as Saul was, to the things that really matter. To the people that really matter. Not if we start to think for one second that God is like a human ruler who will be flattered by our praise into making special exceptions.

When it just ain't like that. As I know perfectly well. God does not even make exceptions for Himself, let alone for us, not because God wants to be hard on us, but because He knows we can do better and wants all the best that life has to offer, for all of us, including me, and including 'the least of these.'

Forever. For all eternity. Really. He means it.

Feeling Like a "Real" Writer

Two minor victories in my writing week: got second place at Fantasy-Writers.org and passed the first round for Amazon ABNA. I almost feel like a real writer.

On the dark side of the moon, I'm reading the first couple chapters of my novel and thinking - oh wow, I wish I'd written that differently. Too late now. Let's say my truly wild and wonderful dreams come true, do I want those words to be associated with my name?

There are these boring, stilted, overly wordy words and *I* sent them out in the world with *my* name associated with them. NOO!!

This month, when I'm not reading and commenting, I'm working on a story about an inter-dimensional love affair. It's coming out flat, unnecessarily tangled and boring - and I don't believe it. I don't care if I think it sucks though. Come February 28th I'll still submit it.

Like with anything in life, there is that point where it just has to be good enough. The submission deadline comes. You realize - okay, time to hit send, to put that manuscript in the mail, to say "I do."

It will never be perfect. I'll never be absolutely certain. But I have to act as if I were ready, have to pretend like I know what the hell I'm doing. Because otherwise, maybe books would be written, stories would be told, by some other, hypothetical person. But, they would never been written or told by me.

And this is what I really want to do. To be a writer. I wonder if famous, New York Time bestseller authors ever feel this way, agonizing over their word-choice from their summer home near the beach. I could live with that.

...And I am deceived

You know your life is going to be interesting when you go on retreat and after telling your director you are discerning your vocation - and at least some people say WHAT? That's NOT GOD. She wisely and quietly assigns Jeremiah 20:7-18.

I'm a bad former Protestant. I'm not one of those people who knows what exactly is in every part of the Bible. I think of Jeremiah and think - okay, so he did whine a bit but mostly it was uplifting - I have a plan for you says the Lord, a plan to prosper you, et cetera.

I forgot about this passage that ends colorfully with Jeremiah cursing the day he was born, oh AND the announcement of his birth AND his father for not killing him in the womb.

It would be better not live at all than to hear in your own judgment of evil, a death knell upon your own soul, and wonder if I'm choosing to not just talk about only nice and happy things. Maybe I enjoy the repeated, random detours into the Negativity Zone.
But.

Sometimes things are bad, and that needs to be confronted, honestly.

Like Jeremiah, I feel deceived. God tricked me. He told me He had a plan and was going to give me a good life - and I believed it, in my own finite human limited way.

Because, I honestly thought all of this was going to go very differently. I thought there were some things that were just not possible, or that were just necessary and I was kind of okay with that until the winnowing fork went deep into my soul, where it was NOT okay, evidently
And now what can I do? Walk away from Jesus, from the Father because what they've asked is hard? Impossible even? Like that has ever helped anyone, to tell God what He *can't* do. Right.

I don't hate men, and don't want to attack the human race, just trying to figure out how to say - you started it. Not as a matter of blame. But because I'm literally powerless to end a war I never wanted. As every woman who has been in that kind of relationship knows you reach a point where you either say things 'picking me up and throwing me bodily out of the house is wrong and needs to stop' or leaving the relationship altogether, because there are intractable problems NOT being resolved with violence. If you really love the guy, and I really love these men - you have to say STOP and LISTEN TO ME.

I'm not trying to say women are better, but that both are equal, that man is NOT superior to woman,even if stronger physically and fiscally and intellectually (due to superior education). That does not make oppression okay or God-ordained.

And then it really doesn't help that I'm not a political activist. I have no idea how one goes about saying such things and tend to get annoyed by that kind of thing and sort of hope this won't mean having to carry a sign.

Honestly, among other things, I'd much, much, much rather be playing LOTRO or reading Asimov or some good manga than talking or thinking about human rights which is the province of people among other things MUCH better than me. Why is God telling ME about this?

I feel as if God invited me to Him for fellowship, to be His baby girl, and tricked me - because oh by the way, child of God does NOT just mean being docile in the corner seen and not heard.

Duh. That's why they nailed Jesus to a cross after beating him to near death. Forgot that part.

Anne

Waiting and Reading

So, I have a  novel and a short story submitted for contests and while I'm waiting on the results, and doing things like laundry and school work, I'm getting caught up on reading and critiquing other people's work.

I can see the wisdom in honoring those who have come before us, what they have to say.

And at no moment do I feel that more intensely than in these in between times. As creative, introspective people there is something difficult and hard - but necessary and welcome - about reading what others have to say, and saying things which are not always 'nice.' None of us want to be the proverbial master who is so insecure that we spend this in between time 'hating' on other people. It goes without saying that we learn, and benefit from, those things which bother us.

As always, when in the presence of another person, let alone asked to comment on what they have written, it is an opportunity to first of all appreciate how precious that is.  And second, to act like the proverbial wise steward, who knows that first and foremost which must give respect and live in respect if we are ever going to get any ourselves. I have to put aside the pride that sees only my world of which I am the visible center. I need to acknowledge that others are probably thinking similar thoughts from within their own universe of which they are the visible center.

Thoughts like, wow that was great - I wish I could have thought of that. And wow, I made that same mistake and as I'm pointing it out I wish I hadn't done that too. Or, I'm not sure if that works or how I feel about that yet, but it touched me deeply for some reason, or it made me laugh and I'm not sure it was supposed to. So, I'm not sure if I should SAY that made me laugh and if so, if my tone should be apologetic or congratulatory. Hm...

Or (the first thought on my mind when presuming to critique anyone) I really wish I'd spent more time during that block I set aside to work on my writing to actually (gasp) work on my writing rather than getting distracted looking at funny pictures on Facebook. Then MAYBE I'd be a better writer right now and not write bizarre critiques that make no sense in ordinary human-comprehensible English.

And - last but not least - oo, Squirrel. (Seriously there are these hyperactively acrobatic squirrels right outside my window and every now and again I think the tree is about to collapse or something. This is very distracting.)

We're all human here. I think. (Hm, and for this month's challenge on fantasy-writers.org, we're supposed to write about two people who are in love but don't know one another's true identity. That could be interesting.)

Anne

Detachment and Love

I've written and re-written this one twice already, and this is my third try at hitting delete and starting over. Right now, this is the thread I see weaving through my decision to stay Roman Catholic or 'leave' and become Protestant. Which would be better for me in a lot of ways, most of which are due to what I sincerely believe to be profound moral errors by fellow Catholics. I'm a (more or less) rational person who believes very much in a supernatural God - who has supernaturally encouraged me to rationally and maturely assess all the information at my disposal, including the supernatural things.

And I ask myself again - why did I become Catholic? I can't put aside the personal reasons, which are the main ones, but I can't really talk about those either, and I would be selfish and not godly if I stayed only because it confirms my own supernatural experiences. Those are real and matter.

But in the more general sense, it is because I agree with the teachings. And specifically I agree with the teachings that matter, because they matter. Not just because I'm interested in getting a laundry list of factual information about God that can be used to further my relationship with Him. In fact, how to put this -my relationship with God is fine, 24/7, although I don't always perceive it that way. I'm not Catholic to improve my relationship with God. If that were all I was interested in, I can see much better options.

I know sacraments are good and necessary for  the redemption of the total person and to testify to the inherent, immortal goodness of the world, which is in the perfect will of God that I love.

That's why I'm Catholic. Our administration of these sacraments are imperfect. And long story short - that is why I'm here. I made a promise to Jesus. If I walked away because how we purify  the things of this world is clearly imperfect, I'd break my promise to Him. On the other hand, I have the example and knowledge of my Father in heaven. If I failed to state these grave errors and injustices, I'd be betraying everything the Father has taught me to do, while I'm here.

So, there it is. 

And on a practical note it's better not to 'leave' an institution but reform it from within in large part because as history has shown - if we do not deal with our problems today, they will come up again and again. It's an illusion to think a completely different church would be any better. In fact it would just be a matter of time.

What it means to serve Jesus, what it means to do good, is as pertinent and as much in need of being lived here and now, as ever it was, or ever it will be.

And now, because it's Saturday afternoon (my personal deadline) I'm just going to have to post this. It still sounds angry. I guess maybe that's because I am a little angry now. Grr…Argh… (https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=pOlKRMXvTiA)

Me Looking at Me Looking at Me

Writing about writing feels a lot like composing lyrics for a song about what it's like to sing. The challenge would be to NOT hum along.

Rather than talk about talking about talking about it, I'll just do it. Oh, wait - ha, I already am. Look at me looking at me doing it. Okay, time to stop before I get dizzy.

I am mentally working on a story for http://www.fantasy-writers.org/ monthly challenge, to write about a character with two faces. This one is probably going to trend dark, fantasy-horror, Jekyll & Hyde with a twist, inasmuch as the 'evil' side is the character's true nature and she is really trying to be good, which is why as we meet her, she is honestly disassociated from a murder she has just committed.

And of course the story is about the supernatural MC realizing (or maybe refusing to realize - I'm not sure about that part yet) she actually did those things and integrating them into his total personality. That's all I got so far. I don't want to fall into a trope like the evil vampire turned good motif. But gravity seems to be pulling that way.

The challenges and fun of being a writer.

Like my MC, I do not have homicidal tendencies, that I know of. But I am trying to get into the mind of a supernatural killer not only able to do things like that, but to keep that part of it from herself, as if she were in fact two different people.

I do know what it's like to disassociate myself from something I'm thinking about doing - but would never actually do. I mean, I'm a good girl and good girls don't murder people right? We just think about it, for intellectual purposes.

Maybe I should go for a neat, fuzzy story about bunnies.

Then again, I've seen Monty Python.

The World I See in You

My second, spiritual/cultural related post...

"I don't believe in politics, no heavy handed moralists

Right wing supremacists, lame brain rhetoric

Cultural genocide, judgment from the justified

Your world isn't there."

This sounds a lot better with the music, and is from Margaret Becker's "The World I See In You." Unlike me she was born Roman Catholic. Like me, she returned to the Catholic church for a reason.

I actually had this long, convoluted essay in which I attempted to explain 1) why the Roman Catholic Church IS gender-biased and 2) why this matters to the rest of the world.

But I'm still trying to figure this one out, past the bitterness and Other-bashing. I can't lie, I know that of course women can be priests. The ability to be like Jesus is not restricted in any sense to gender or economic status or class or heritage. And ordained ministers are visible signs for the good of the people they serve. Those are the bare facts. The Truth unchangeable. Because it is literally not possible to convince me otherwise.

 

My concern is that the former pope, who from what I can make out was brilliant and meant well and REALLY wanted to present bodily difference as morally significant, in the process said something incorrect. I know this is often painted as an attempt to hold onto power and in a sense, I'm sure it was - just as any decent but prejudiced person might defend, say, slavery as necessary for the good of society while honestly believing it is not demeaning to slaves to be in a sense owned by another human person.

So now people are under some kind of delusion that women can't be priests not for any rational reason, or even just because that's the way it's always been done, but because God says so. People feel morally compelled to accept this and if they deny it, think that God will be angry with them. This is exactly the kind of attitude that led decent people to concede in the murder of Jesus and early Christians.

I find it troublesome that anyone thinks they are in a position to say what God can't do, ever, apart from actions contrary to God's nature. God would never tell people to commit genocide, and that is why I don't take that part of the Old Testament literally. Also, God would never lie. God will never tempt people. I can think of a lot of things I know God would never do, and I can comfortably say God won't do that.

But God would never allow a woman to represent His Son as a minister? It simply is not possible? The Church is not authorized by God to choose their own representatives? The Church MUST accept the ruling of 'God' on this matter? The Church is authorized to choose non-Jewish men, and only celibate non-Jewish men with functional male parts intelligent and educated enough to go through seminary. But the Church is not authorized to choose women?

I understand - maybe it is a bad idea, maybe now it is not the time, maybe people are not ready. That I get. But honestly, the more I pray about it, the more it seems to me like the very adamant stance the former pope took is proof that this is something that really bothered him. It is a lot like me when I've struggled with an idea that I really don't want to accept, and you make that one last stand. No. It cannot possibly be true. Because. It just can't.

I'm Catholic and I believe in the doctrines of the Church (as opposed to its administrative and liturgical decisions, even when 'the Church' is SURE those things = official, theological doctrine, like oh, the earth being flat and that Galileo was therefore a heretic for being scientifically honest.) So, I am praying to Blessed Pope John Paul II who I believe can hear me right now. Karol, my beloved brother. Pray for us. You are in heaven where everything is clear and know what you were thinking then and what you are thinking now. So help me connect the dots here because I really want to know. I ask that in Jesus' Name. 

And as always wish all our people all the very best, and for the truth, and for justice. If there is something I'm still not seeing that seems relevant, help me to see it. Anyone. I really will try to be teachable in terms of why, maybe, women's ordination is something that can wait a few decades, or until this present world is done. It's just the whole Because God Said So and it can Never Change thing weirds me out. Our Creator gave us our lives, gave us free will, gave us intellect, and He wants us to use them.

Much love always.

Anne

The Text is Dead - Long Live the Text

I've decided to alternate between writing related blogs and spiritual/cultural related blogs, as part of my at least one blog a week New Year's Resolution. So this is my first writing-related blog and it's on the need to edit things out, and my struggle with a particularly difficult passage.

My MC is suffering from depression at the start of the novel, and much like Dostoyevsky's The Idiot - I want to describe this but without actually being depressive.

So I'm just going to post the excerpt below. I definitely want to take out most of this, if not all of it, but the part at the end where he has the epiphany, I like that part a lot. It may have to go with the rest, but I'm trying to think how to cut this drastically but maybe still keep part of it. And then I laugh at myself, because - I don't necessarily want to give up this passage FOREVER like suicide, but do want to look at the underlying causes for its melange and maybe rehabilitate it so as to be productive in the society of the rest of my novel...

For the rest of the summer, Robert explored the forest and the sea, never wandering very far, feeling as if he were turning into some kind of hermit or mystic, the kind of person who claimed all the mysteries of the universe could be found in a single leaf fallen from a single tree or some such nonsense. Until now, he had never put much thought into such things. Now, he wondered if mystics were failed children like himself, left behind by a world which had become so interested in progress, in the new and extraordinary that it could never seem to be satisfied with the everyday and close at hand.

While brooding and not wondering what his friends were up to, because he knew they were having stupid and random fun, Robert read articles on his paper. While reading one of many articles, while alone in his home Robert found out that although it was no longer possible to die, it was still possible to fall into clinical depression.  And that was what seemed to be happening to him. According to the articles, he should look for some help. But, he did not want to. He really did not want to talk to anyone, and that seemed unfair.

Robert sat on his porch, in the midst of a warm and sunny day, not a cloud above, the air so clear that barely a wisp of breeze moved. The world felt beautiful, tranquil – and dead. It was a lot like how he felt inside.

Like everyone in the world, he had been given his paper as soon as he was old enough to read, which had been three years old, because – his parents told him – he had been a bit slow. Most kids started reading long before then. That was the year before he had started school, when he was four.  They had showed him how to use it. He could still remember sitting with his mother on the sofa, her hair falling over her arm, brushing it as she showed him where to press, how to navigate the menus. From this handy device, he could access all kinds of information.

He was even able to look up things like “parents leaving” and “twelve years old” and almost no one had written anything about it. That’s how unusual it was. Out of billions of people, he had to be the oddball, the one who experienced some freak occurrence almost no one did anymore, although formerly when earth was new, people had. But that was completely different. And as for recent incidents, the few stories he had found, it had been a mutual decision and was mentioned only as being sad, too bad they could not stay together.

What he did find out was that people who were all alone, had no hobbies, and had lost touch with the outside world and one another were liable to fall into clinical depression. As far as Robert could make out, this was because God had designed people much like rocks, such that a person in motion tended to stay in motion, but people at rest tended to stay at rest. After a while like that, their physical bodies became used to stillness and their emotions became damaged and then before very long it was difficult, if not impossible, for them to do anything.

He even tried to say that out loud, to be funny. “People in motion tend to stay in motion, but people at rest tend to stay at rest.”

But it was not funny. There was nothing funny about this at all. Apparently it was a fact of their human bodies that if people were alone for too long they became sad and lonely and felt cut off. There were even groups of people talking about this, support groups. But that would have meant admitting he had a problem.

And this was not Robert’s fault. So instead, he sat on his porch, biting his lip, running his fingertip across the paper and feeling its smooth surface.

Clinical Depression.

In a way that alone made him feel a little better. There was a name for it, and as it said near the bottom of the list of symptoms, it meant he might have “suicidal thoughts.” He had not had any before this, but now he did. In fact, that was the best way to describe. Here he was, in the perfect world, no more sin, no more death.

And he wanted to die. Robert wanted to die.

He wanted to scream out to heaven, wanted to tear down his house with his bare hands, wanted to be able to express what was inside of him in some kind of immensely self-destructive manner. Why wouldn’t God let him die?

Robert sat on the porch, put down his paper, and really thought about that. Everyone thought eternal life was a blessing, a really great and super thing. But what if it wasn’t? What if for people like him, hopelessly stained by something that wasn’t even his fault, for something that was done to him, it was a punishment. God would force him to live what that mark on his soul forever. In fact there was no if. It was happening to him right now. “I want to die,” he said, half-expecting an answer, for a voice from heaven to shout, ‘No.’ Nothing happened and the silence was worse. The silence was God’s way of saying He, or She, did not care. Robert’s prayer was not even worth listening to, let alone responding.

“I. Want. To. Die.” He said it again, louder. There was still no answer. “I want to die!” he shouted.

There was not even anyone close enough to hear him. It was summer. Swan was virtually deserted and would be for the next month. “I want to die. I want to die. I want to die.” He said it over and over. There was still nothing, no response, only silence.

Not even a hint of breeze stirred the warm summer day, as if the world were holding its breath, waiting to say something. But there was only nothing. Not a whisper of movement. Nothing.

“I really mean it,” he said. And then, he thought he felt – something, as if a tiny voice were speaking into the dry and barren day. It might have been just his imagination. It was not a sound. But he thought he felt someone say, or convey without words, the briefest of answers. Just two words seemed to capture the answer he felt brushing against his mind.

“I know,” the voiceless voice seemed to say. And then, nothing.

Robert went very still, as if suddenly afraid the slightest movement or action would break the moment. He was even afraid the voice might be about to kill him, to take him at his word and kill him. And, if so, he hoped that he could explain first, could maybe work out some terms of agreement wherein he got to do a few things more before he died. He held his breath, afraid even to breathe, until he could not take anymore. He exhaled, harshly, breathed in again, then said, “Okay, maybe not right this second.”

To his surprise, the sound of his own voice and the tension he had felt for a brief second actually made him laugh. He had actually been afraid that maybe God was listening and might kill him. And, okay, that was weird and surreal. But, also, oddly enough, funny.

End excerpt. This passage needs help. I don't want to put a bullet in it and let it die..