Written by Andrew Joyce

A Literary Prayer

My name’s not  important, but it’s up there somewhere. So I guess it ain’t no secret. Anyway, this is what I gotta tell ya. And I don’t have much time. You see, I escaped my confinement, but goddamn it, they’re on my trail. I’ll be dragged back to my computer when they catch up, so I gotta spit this out while I can.

I’ve written a book or two, I’ve been there and I’ve done that. But over time, I went kinda crazy. I wanted to … no, that’s not right … I had to … I needed to … write the best damn novel since The Grapes of Wrath. Yeah, I know, that’s why I said I went crazy. So crazy I am.

I broke off human contact. I disconnected all wires that invaded my abode. I went old-school. I kissed girlfriends good-bye. I shook hands with friends, tellin’ ’em I was going into seclusion for the duration and I wasn’t comin’ out until I set the world on fire with my literary talent.

But here’s the deal:

I’m writing, I’m researching. I’m twenty-six chapters in. I got the last sentence of the book in my head. I just have to get there, but there are so many words standing between me and that last damn sentence. Please, Lord, please let me get there. I gotta put chapters behind me. Those future chapters … those future words … are callin’ to me. They need me to give them life. I need them to give me purpose. I need help with this next chapter.

Lord, I’m facing a white wall. You help me get this one chapter on paper and I’ll never ask You for another thing … not another goddamn thing. Please, Lord, give me this next chapter.

46 thoughts on “A Literary Prayer”

  1. ANDREW (ahem), you asked what happened to Zoe….she’s still with God, asking Her to help you get to that last sentence. It’s a lot of work, apparently, making supplications on your behalf. You oughtta kiss her paws–or at least send her treats!

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    1. Maybe I should try that. No wait, I can’t draw … I can barely write nowadays. My tableau is an old man sitting at a computer with a question mark over his head instead of the light bulb of inspiration.

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        1. I’m nothin’ if not full of bullshit. I got it now (the chapter) … I just don’t know if it’s any good. But don’t worry … when I’m done, Im gonna have 200,000 words that is either gonna be genius or something less. But you, as a writer, can understand this: It don’t matter. What matters is the act of creation. We were all made in God’s image. That means we gotta create or stagnate. And stagnation is so fucking boring. See ya at the end of the year when I have this goddamn thing done and finished. ‘Till then, keep smilin’, mi amiga.

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  4. The dear Lord’s gotta answer your prayer because the world needs to read the next best book since Grapes of Wrath. And you are the guy to do it. Really. I know, ‘cause I’ve read what you write. Good to hear from you, Andrew.

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  11. The Lord loves fabulous felines, Andrew, and, in fact, He and I are pretty tight. So, I’ll put in a meow or two for you.

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  13. I have no problem with your absence, although I miss your sick humor 🙃. It will give me a chance to read and review the remainder of your books. I’ll be ready for the new one. Whatever you need to do to stimulate those brain cells to move forward just do it. Perhaps one of those funny looking cigarettes that mellow you out. Whatever it takes. Good Luck.

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    1. If I smoked one of them “funny cigarettes,” my liver would get jealous and say, “What’s the deal? You’re supposed to be killing me first with your vodka.” Then my lungs would get into it, bitching about them having an equal right to be destroyed, blah, blah, blah.
      So, to keep peace in the family, I’ll continue on destroying my liver. My lungs will just have to wait.

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