Thursday, April 29, 2010


I used to belong to the Church of the Breakout Novel. I wasn't much of a believer in the sermons, but I enjoyed the gossip from the pews and the feeling of doing well I received from letting the liturgy pass over me. Having been washed in the steam-driven liturgical bath, I was blessed in my endeavors.

Then, as I repeated a psalm with regards to the proper introduction of characters, I realized that I had slipped. No longer was I believer in the general goodness of the Church of the Breakout Novel, which doesn't harm me and shouldn't be judged according to the actions of its adherents; now I had fallen into the benighted darkness of believing in that I had a voice.

We are taught that it is not so. Voices belong to the angelic choir of geniuses and they, by their nature, are able to make of nature a gem in which faulty inclusions are the relic of the earth and not the transmogrification of the angelic pressure in the forming of the gem. In other words, it's the fault of the base matter that it breaks when lifted and refined, not the skill of the angel in doing so. The rest of us should strive to perfect our base matter.

So much for the Church of the Breakout Novel. It was a comfortable place to rest and a good place to absorb the blathering of those that do so that you don't have to do for yourself. In what heresy should I trust in next?

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