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I’ve often wondered what it takes to write a book. Presuming a crap-ton of research is involved, I picture note cards and Post-Its plastered to pages of books strewn about a dimly-lit study with classical music playing softly in the background. I imagine pipe tobacco, some scotch, or at least a British accent necessary as well. I assume I’d have to come up with a captivating plot, some interesting characters or, at the very least, teach a worthwhile skill of some sort.
However, could it be possible that my personality and rantings are interesting enough to fill the pages of a published book? I mean really, who has the time to research and study and make outlines and charts and blah, blah, blah, blah, blah, blah, blah? There’s a lot of good TV on these days; lots of commercials to watch, and cereal to buy. Who actually takes the time to properly prepare before writing? Professional writers, that’s who. This self-proclaimed amateur doesn't want to get held hostage in some cabin, Misery-style, because he locked himself away in solitude to write a manuscript. No, sir! I like my ankles far too much. Well, the family just came home and ruined my alone time. See? Who can research and plan with a wife and two kids? Personal rantings are the best I can do these days.
Back again. It’s now 2:45am. I woke up because my right forearm was itching, compliments of Smithville's mascot, the greenhead fly. I rolled over to see the hallway light shining through our cracked bedroom door. No, the door itself isn’t cracked, the door was ajar. Anyway, the doorway was illuminated and seemed to be calling me to get out of bed. I smiled and said to myself, “Ok God, I’m coming but I need to hit the bathroom first. ” As I sat down to pee (yes, I sit down to pee. Especially at night. It’s wonderful. Ask Larry David about its benefits. Who’s Larry David?! Google it! You’re doing yourself a disservice if you like to laugh and don’t know who Larry David is) I started to think, “What am I going to write about?” Then it dawned on me, “That’s it! Therein lies my genius, my Mozart, my Beethoven, my (insert famous prodigy here)! It doesn’t matter what I write, just write!”
Great, now all my illusory fans know my multi-gajillion dollar secret. They will pick up a pen, write a bunch of nonsense, and come up with a best-selling book. Oprah will interview them, they’ll get a cover on Time magazine (far more prestigious than US Weekly [see Delusions of Grandeur]. Sorry, US Weekly, but it’s true. Sue me.), and will probably win the Nobel Peace Prize for Literature. When asked where their inspiration came from, they’ll probably give all the credit to God, completely disregarding the hard work and effort my ego put into this paragraph. Ha! As if I’ll even type up this writing project I may or may not complete due to procrastination, laziness, fear of failure and distractions (like that wonderfully awful full-time job I almost considered taking for $28,000 a year. No thanks! I think I’ll ride out unemployment and keep writing fake manuscripts for non-existent publishing companies because that’s where the money is!).
I suppose even if my book spelled out exactly how to get rich (as if I were privy to such information), it wouldn’t necessarily mean anyone would actually do it. All a book needs to be popular is the convincing idea that the information inside will work for you if you work it. Hope is what I’m peddling here, folks. Do what I did and you too can be in your undies at three in the morning vomiting blue ink on white paper for the sake of your soul. “Oh my goodness! Did he just say he saved his own soul through works? He’s not a Christian! Don’t buy his books!” If that’s what you got out of my last sentence then, well, I almost wrote something un-Christian. But I digress…
I love that phrase! “Something, something, something, but I digress.” How deliciously arrogant and condescending! Wait; are “condescending” and “arrogant” synonyms? Did I basically just say, “How deliciously tasty?” Some writer I am. I’d better keep my day job down at Unemployed. That’s what’s paying some of the bills after all, not this lofty idea of becoming a published author. Stay in the now! Don’t follow your dreams! Don’t sacrifice time or money, Brandon. You’ve got consumerism to consume, dollars to earn, things to buy, debt to accrue, time away from your family to schedule! How dare you sacrifice money for family time? Who do you think you are?
I don’t know who, but I know WHOSE. I serve an abundant Provider that knows my needs, doesn’t care about my wants, and gives me breath in my lungs as I write these very words. I’m here, now, for a reason and it’s not to buy into this Crapitalist idea that money is more important than family, that money is more important than God; that money is God. I do not worship the small-mighty dollar and will not bow down at the altar of the time clock. God’s will is all that matters. My will gets me nothing but beautiful leaves; dazzling, blinged-up terds. And God wants fruit. God can’t eat terds. I mean, He can of course. He’s God, for Heaven’s sake. But He don’t want no terds (double negative intentionally placed).
A fig tree with leaves and no fruit is a hypocrite according to my man J. C. (see The God-Shaped Hole). I wish not to wither, waver, or any other “w” word that would complete my attempted alliteration. What’s alliteration? Look it up. If you’re already smarter than me, I apologize for looking down my nose at you. If you have no idea what alliteration is, seriously, get a dictionary and look it up. And don’t go to dictionary.com either (a wonderful resource by the way. Highly recommend it. Please don’t sue me dictionary.com!). Actually buy a dictionary and look stuff up. My mom used to make me do that whenever I asked her how to spell something (looking back, she probably just didn’t know how to spell the words herself) and I hated it at the time but now I’m thankful she made me do it. Mom taught me how to find the information I needed and gave me a sense of accomplishment and independence. Generally, I would just use another word that I already knew how to spell because I’m lazy and like to cut corners. But when I actually took the time to look a word up, nothing short of a miracle happened. I got smarter!
Not only would I find out what the word meant, but I’d glance at other words on the page and inadvertently find out their definitions as well. Plus, having to sound words out in order to look them up made me a better reader. Those things don’t happen during an online definition search. You could type in “dglepdzinthropy” and the search engine will respond, “Did you mean, “Pinochle?” Yes, that’s exactly what I meant. Thanks for anticipating, adjusting for, and correcting my laziness and stupidity. Spell check is the calculator of vocabulary. It lets people who have no business making certain verbal computations feel like literature Einsteins.
Wow, I would’ve missed all this good creativity had I just scratched my itchy arm, rolled over, and gone back to sleep. Thank God I “saw the light” and got up to write. Now what? Do I just keep going? How much do I write? I’m as tired as a mother (that simile is very fitting. My wife is the mother of our newborn and she’s always tired). I should probably hit the hay. Thanks for waking me up and spending this quiet time alone with me, God. I’m beginning to enjoy our time together and look forward to more of it. I’ll try my best to be willing but You’ve got to give me the eyes to see You, and the ears to hear You because I’m deaf and blind without You. My will is to scratch harder, make the bug bite worse, and go back to sleep only to wake up in the morning more irritated than before. Your will is for me to get up, apply some ointment, and rest in You. God, you are so good!
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