So, I’m almost a full month into my grad school experience and I’m quickly coming to the conclusion that this whole thing is horribly overrated. I’m hoping it gets better once I’m able to start my workshops, but until then, I’m stuck reading more 18th century Gothic romance than I ever wanted to read (which isn’t hard seeing as I don’t want to read any of it). Not that it’s (all) bad, mind you. It’s just not my thing. If I have to study literature, and it appears that I do, I’d rather study post-colonial world literature.
It won’t come as a shock, then, to learn that I haven’t done much in the way of creative writing. I do a lot of writing for the blog, and for my classes, but nothing much on Enraptured. Here’s a small excerpt from the book. Maybe if enough people yell at me to finish it, I’ll get excited about it again the way I was when I started.
The church was full and every light blazed through the windows as the town gathered for service that night. Tiffany and David, her husband, sat in the front pew in places of honor next to Mrs. Harold. There was an electric buzz through the crowd, even though everyone, save for Jeanne, was present and accounted for. The prayer tree had been activated after Tiffany called the pastor earlier that afternoon and by church time everyone knew there would be an announcement made. There was no music tonight, no opening prayer. The crowd hushed as Pastor Harold walked onto the stage and took his place behind the podium. He sat his Bible down unopened and looked out over the faces staring back at him. For a long moment, he said nothing. Here and there a person would fidget in the uncomfortable silence, but mostly people quietly stared back at him and waited for the important announcement they knew was coming. Pastor Harold placed his hand on the Bible’s cover as if to open it. It was an old book, older than most of the people in town. His wife nagged him to purchase a new one, one that wasn’t binding-cracked with dog-eared coffee stains, but his Bible was his ally. He wouldn’t abandon it just for showing signs of aging. It loomed on the podium like a proud combat veteran, a lone survivor in an ancient war knowing another battle was inevitable. Pastor Harold removed his glasses with his other hand, and raised his hand from the Bible, rubbing his eyes. He replaced his glasses and then spoke.
“Brothers and sisters, it is with a heavy heart but also a resounding joy that I’ve called you all here tonight. The joyful news is that little Jeanne Montgomery has been called to our Heavenly Father through Rapture. We’ve all had a hand in taking care of Jeanne at one time or another, so it is a credit to us that she was pure and strong enough in her child-like faith to be honored this way. But we should not be proud! The joy of this news makes my heart break because she was the only one. I see you all here tonight because you were not called. Sin crept in and kept you from being righteous enough to be worthy of God’s call. I’m here to talk to you tonight because I, too, am flawed. I’m unworthy to be in the presence of God. Yet, only God is perfect. We can mourn our shortcomings but we cannot forget that we are here to do God’s will. We are not worthy enough to sit at his feet, but we are all still his children and we still have work to do.”
When he finished speaking, he pocketed his glasses and walked off the stage to where his wife was sitting. Silently, she gave him her hand and he pulled her to her feet. They walked together to the front door of the church, signaling to the congregation that the service was over.