The Pulitzer Prize & Me

To tell the truth, My Beloved Sinners, I have these past few weeks been seriously considering bringing this important ministry here to an end. After all, my informative and inspiring advertisers aren’t paying nearly as much as they use to, and you can bet your last starving Nigerian subsistence farmer big Pete Akinola and his boys didn’t get where they are today without keeping a tight leash on the bottom line. Just ask little Howard Ahmanson: if Jesus had wanted us to take His little jest about rich men and needle’s eyes literally He wouldn’t have devoted so much time to warning the disciples about the evils of Homosexualism.

Consequently I’ve been busy exploring the possibility of making some real money by writing a successful fantasy series targeting children and grown-ups who like stories without any positive female role-models. My first novel is now completed, and you’ll all agree it’s a truly unforgettable tale: it’s about a young wizard named Harry who, inspired by an older and extraordinarily good-looking Doctrinal Warrior, forswears sorcery and devotes his life to saving the world by bickering about the minutiae of Pauline exegesis and endlessly obsessing over other people’s gender and sexuality.

Strangely enough I initially found literary agents unwilling to respond to my invitations to consider the manuscript. Everything changed when, under the obvious guidance of the Spirit, I resubmitted it under a nom de plume: obviously my reputation as the Leading Conservative Biblical Scholar was too intimidating, and the name of “J.K. Rowling” - which I chose purely at random in a manner not dissimilar to that by which the Apostles appointed whatever-his-name-was to keep the chair warm for St. Paul – allowed my readers to relax and consider the work upon its deeply significant merits.

Sadly, however, the resultant flood of interest was halted by a wave of extremely uncharitable correspondence from a firm of singularly vicious attorneys representing some English woman of whom I’ve never heard, and in relation to whom I can’t stress strongly enough that any resemblance between her own moniker and my penname is purely accidental.

Even so, since their threat to take the shirt from my back wasn’t made in a warm-and-fuzzy Luke 6:29 kind of metaphoric sense, I have since felt called to return to my clerical vocation and scrap this particular project. Which will undoubtedly cause Sinners everywhere to rejoice; in fact it wouldn’t surprise me if someone even started a thread at Viagraville purely for the purpose of allowing the liberals frequenting that place to express their gratitude.

Mind you, I still haven’t entirely abandoned my calling to the Nobel prize for literature, and it wouldn’t be at all surprising if you all soon find me signing an impressive contract with Harlequin/Mills and Boon…

… pressing her trembling breasts into the strong and sensitive Man of God’s chest, Bellatrix Lestrange gasped as his strong and fearless arms drew her closer. “You’ve set me free, my darling. Tell me the conjurer with a face like a rattle snake won’t ever take me away from you. Promise me, I pray of you, that we’ll be together forever…”

“Hush my beloved”, comforted the steel-jawed Doctrinal Warrior as his firm and caring hands stroked her head, each caress drawing her further into the timeless wisdom of his embrace. “Nothing shall ever come between us; not now nor forevermore. I’m Father Christian and I teach the Bible.”