Antichapter 14: God’s In The Meeting!

“Pick up the fucking phone,” said the antimuse impatiently as she started to dial.

“Hello,” said the Voice, without waiting for it to ring.

“We’ve got a problem,” she said. “God’s in the meeting.”

“Is that bad?” Asked the Voice?

“She’s God,” said the antimuse. “She’s going to know that I’m lying. She’s omniscient, for God’s sake!”

“I’ll see what I can do,” said the Voice. “I know someone who might be able to help.”

“He’d better be quick,” said the antimuse. “The meeting’s starting in the next section.”

“Don’t worry,” said the Voice. “If it doesn’t get fixed in this draft, there’s always the next one.”

New Chapter 5: The Authors Arrive

“So,” said Metatron to me as we watched the departing muse, “are you moving?”

“Yes,” I said. I slid my computer from the head of the table to the seat to the right.

“You can’t sit at the right hand of God,” Metatron said. “That’s for me. Section 21.” More pages appeared. “You can sit at God’s left, or further down the table.”

I nodded, moved my computer to God’s left, and sat down. I left a place for the muse to my left. “Can you ask the other Seraphim to stop saying ‘Holy, Holy?’ I asked. “It’s getting on my nerves.”

“They’ll stop when God comes in,” said Metatron, “which She will do after everyone is seated. Section 55, Paragraph 1.” He pointed to more pages that suddenly appeared. “Of course they’ll have to get up again. Section 58, paragraph 2.”

Six paragraphs after this chapter started, the muse returned, and just a few minute later, the authors and their muses began to arrive.

They were my heroes, and they were coming to help me! Just as I’d imagined. But something was wrong. They weren’t smiling, as I had imagined. They looked grim. No, worse. Some of them looked at me with unmistakable expressions of contempt. They took their seats, muses by their sides, copies of my draft in front of them. The muses didn’t look like the ones I’d imagined, either. They look hard. And nasty. The authors were frowning. Shaking their heads. Several were talking with one another, or with their muses. Their voices sounded strident and disparaging. The few laughs that I heard were derisive.

The muse stood. The room quieted down. Metatron raised his hand and stood up. “Holy, holy, holy is the Lord of hosts, all the earth is filled with Her glory,” he said. He gestured and we stood. The door opened and God walked in. She walked to the head of the conference table. She sat down. We sat. God looked at the muse and waved her to continue.

“Thank you for coming,” the muse said. “You’ve all read the draft.” Heads nodded in agreement. God just looked at her.

“It’s pretty much crap,” she said. Heads nodded more emphatically. God did nothing.

“It’s worse than crap,” said Annie LeMott. “I can’t believe how awful it was, It’s just completely stupid. Its not shitty. It’s shit.”

“You see,” said my inner critic. “That’s what I’ve been saying.”

I looked away.

“I think you’re right,” said the muse. “I was being polite. I didn’t want to discourage him prematurely. It is shit, not crap.”

“He deserves the truth,” said Steven Pressfield.

“I agree,” said the muse. “That’s why you’re here. I’m a muse he just met and I say it’s crap. He’s tired of listening to his inner critic, who also says it’s crap. You’re his heroes. You are some of the most brilliant writers and teachers of writing in the metauniverse. He’ll believe what you have to say. And if there’s anything that he can do to create something that isn’t total shit, you’ll know what it is.”

There was a long pause. The writers looked at one another. My chest ached. I could feel tears coming. I looked around the room hoping to see a friendly face. Only God’s face, serene, did not register disgust or contempt. Finally Brenda Euland stood up.

“I taught writing for nearly fifty years,” she said. She looked at me. “You’ve read my book If You Want to Write, haven’t you?”

“Yes,” I said, looking at the floor.

“Remember me saying: ‘Everyone is talented, original and has something important to say?’” She asked.

“Yes, I do. It was a beautiful thought,” I said.

“Well,” she said, and she paused. She waited until I finally looked at her. “You’re the exception. You’re not talented. You’re not original. And you have absolutely nothing important to say.”

“That’s it!” God said. “I don’t like the way this chapter is going.” She waved her hand and the chapter ended.