If you are an avid follower of writing blogs, then you know there is a plethora of information, advice to offer. Guest authors have offered tips on writing from the time these blogs first began to grow into what it they have become today. Most aspiring writers know that to look for writing tips on a specific topic (point of view, research, any story elements), it is as simple as doing an internet search. The world is at our fingertips.  

Unfortunately, for some writers, all of that information can look overwhelming. What advice did I give in my last article, “What Should I Do Next (in Writing or Publishing”? I said something along the lines of “Just write!” Just do it and worry about the finer points later (grammar or anything else that needs improvement). Just write.

It’s just not that easy for some writers. I have a friend, an aspiring writer, with these great ideas in his head. He keeps saying, “I really need to write my story.” I agree. I encourage him as much as I can. I try to be supportive and offer advice that might propel him to move forward. It isn’t fear, though, that blocks him. It is what I call the “What if?” syndrome.

What if?

Most of the time, we think of those two words as the epitome of being a worrywart.  What if my story is stupid? What if everyone hates it? What if I crash and burn?  No, my friend doesn’t lack confidence. If that were that case, I would say, “Write for yourself.  Write for the love of writing because you’re getting way ahead of yourself. Readers come later. You have to love what you write first. You have to create a story and characters that make you so excited, you have trouble tearing yourself away.” That’s not bad advice, right?

But, it’s not that issue for this writer. He has “What if?” syndrome. Sounds a bit ominous, I know. Let me explain. He knows the characters, the plot and story. They are all in his head. So, what’s stopping this writer if he seems to have it all together? The problem is that he can see different avenues, so many directions the story could take and he can’t decide on one to save his life.

Say you have the basic premise of a man walking down the street. Or at least the sidewalk. He’s carrying a briefcase, and his gait is a little stiff from an old injury. He is a polished gentleman in his attire, but let’s add in a habit of readjusting his tie when he’s nervous. He also tends to sweat a lot. He is sweating more today as he ambles along. He has a lot on his mind. Why? He just had a disturbing phone call. We’re creating quite a picture, right? Any fiction writer could expand on this premise and keep going. But, to make things more exciting, we’ll add in some possibilities:

What if he entered a nearby apartment building? Who would he visit?

What if he used the elevator and it got stuck?

What if he was still walking down that street and a bike messenger clipped him? What would he do?

What if a car drove by and splashed through puddles made by that morning’s rain and he got drenched?

What if the moment he steps into the street to cross the road, he gets hit? Then he wakes up two days later, not knowing who he is or anything about that disturbing phone call.

The list can go on and on. So many possibilities, right? This is the writer’s dilemma, my friend’s problem. The premise I just mentioned has nothing to do with his story at all. It’s just an example.  

One day, the writer in question told me all the different routes his story could take and I was unimpressed. Why? It wasn’t that any of the ideas were bad. They were great. It wasn’t that they weren’t feasible. Sure, each one covered a different genre, but you can go in any direction with fiction. It wasn’t even that I was frustrated by my friend’s inability to pick a scenario and run with it.  

You see, I remembered the way he spoke about the story originally. I recalled the “spark” in it, the excitement in the way he described it.   

And even though it was kind of the same with the other ideas, it wasn’t the same at all. He already had this golden nugget, this genius seed of an idea forming, and he didn’t even know it. He knew, for the most part, what would happen in the story; he didn’t have some of the finer details, but I digress. What bothered me about these proposed changes was just a simple matter, but something we authors have to rely on at every turn.

Trust.

“Huh? Marie, have you lost it again?”

LOL. No, but I will explain. To write a good story, you not only have to trust your own instincts, you have to trust your characters and your vision for the story. Deep down, you know what’s right, what direction to go. Sometimes it’s the story telling you. Sometimes the characters are running the show. It should naturally progress. It doesn’t matter what project you’re working on; you will encounter this dilemma at some point.  

Am I ever plagued by “What if?” scenarios during a story’s composition? Sure. I’ll run into roadblocks where I think, “So what happens next?”   

A bunch of ideas go through my head, most of them at odds with each other. I step away and give myself a pep talk. When I come back to it later, I have a better perspective. Sometimes one of those scenarios is really good and it works; most of the time they don’t work.  

See, we like to think we’re in control as writers. We’re not. Sometimes I am just the conduit. No, I’m not crazy. The story, the characters take control. You can exercise some control over certain details, but the story usually tells itself. That’s what I have to tell myself in the “What if?” situations.

“How do you know all of this, Marie?”

Because I’ve been there many times. For example, when I was writing the manuscript for Upon Your Honor, I had half-convinced myself to make drastic changes (I won’t go into details) because I thought it would satisfy readers who were used to the genre. In the end, the characters decided for me and none of it would have seemed right if I hadn’t listened to them and to what the story was telling me.

Always trust your original vision for a story. Try to be true to it as much as you can. Your characters will tell you what comes next. The story will feel like it’s writing itself when you’re really into it. During revisions and editing, then you can look at the whole picture and see if those other “scenarios” would even fit at that point.   

The “What if?” questions are a way to second guess your instincts.  

Trust yourself as a writer. Trust your instincts. They will never lead you astray. Never. As for the “What if” syndrome? File those scenarios away for future use. They might come in handy for another story. Or, just be amused and move on. Your story will tell you what to do next.

If you are like millions of people – as I am – then you spend many, many hours on the internet, either related to what you do for a living, or just in a recreational way.

Facebook, Twitter and Pinterest are just a few of the popular websites so many of us gravitate to on a daily basis, but, of course, there are dozens more out there to keep us busy.

Why, you may be asking yourself, am I even bringing this up in the first place?

My response is that, with each passing year, the amount of free time we all have for ourselves to accomplish and enjoy such important activities as exercising, eating healthy, getting enough sleep, and spending quality time with family and friends has consistently been dwindling.

Chasing the almighty dollar has become so widespread, especially in such a competitive country as America is, that greed and selfishness are at an all-time high.

I am not trying to imply that working hard to support oneself and family is any less important now than it was at any other time in the past, but am just amazed at how some people have become so ruthless that they lose focus on what’s really important.

At least once a week I am forced to avoid someone who is walking down the street, head down, texting or talking into their smartphone (ironic name, isn’t it?!) or other gadget, coming straight in my direction as if they are the only person on the face of the planet.

My point is, what’s the use of working so hard and becoming so competitive, that it takes away from what is really important in life?

After all, if one doesn’t have their health, then all of the money and material things one possesses in the world will not matter, nor buy true happiness.

Just something to think about for a while.

Or at least until my next blog post!

If you haven’t read my book, “Jew in Jail” yet, I hope you do.

It is chock full of insightful information on how I was able to recover from my past addictions to alcohol, drugs and gambling while incarcerated, and go on to lead a happy and healthful life myself.

http://www.jewinjail.com/

If you or anyone you know is in need of a motivational and inspirational speaker, I sure hope you tell them about me!

In addition, I also always welcome comments from you, my readers, about my blog, book or website, because receiving feedback from you is what drives me to be my best and help others.

Until next time, everyone, have a great day, and week ahead!

Author Interview: Gary Goldstein

By Keri B.

In June of 1998, Gary Goldstein was arrested after robbing a series of dry cleaners to pay back bookies and feed his addiction. After serving 6 years in the New York State Department of Correction and Community Supervision, Goldstein was released and penned a memoir entitled Jew in Jail. Today, Goldstein is clean and sober, working as a motivational speaker, and promoting his book.

1. What prompted you to write this? I mean, there are lots of people who do prison time; what prompted you to write a book about it?JewInJail_Cover

I have always wanted to write a book, although, obviously, not under these conditions of becoming incarcerated. However, once I knew that my fate was going to be serving time in prison, I decided to write Jew in Jail, and was inspired to do so once my beloved late father, Irving Goldstein, passed away from the effects of lung cancer and emphysema on January 23, 1999, which was only 15 days after I had been sentenced, and still on Rikers Island waiting to be transported north to a correctional facility. My father had always encouraged me to be my best, and offered unending support my entire life, so I wanted to honor my father by dedicating Jew in Jail to how special my father was to me.

In addition, the other reason why I wrote Jew in Jail was to show anyone that whatever obstacles appear in one’s life – and in my case it was the disease of addiction – it is possible to overcome them and go on to lead a positive and fruitful life. These days, aside from being a published author, I am also a motivational and inspirational speaker on the topic of recovery from addiction, and get so much out of helping others.

2. What was your writing process like for this? Did you write most of it as it happened or did you later decide to put pen to paper?

I wrote Jew in Jail as I was serving my time, and it turned about to be extremely therapeutic to do so! It allowed me to not only document my life behind bars on a daily basis, but also helped me keep my sanity under the worst possible conditions, as well as plan my strategy for my eventual release.

3. Did you consider traditional publishing routes before deciding to go for indie publishing?

Yes, I did, and I sent many query letters out. Unfortunately, though, as a first-time author, I received a lot of rejection letters, so eventually simply decided to self-publish Jew in Jail.

4. What have you done for marketing? You seem to have a lot more blog and online interviews than many of the indie authors; you’ve really gotten your name out there. How did you do it?

Thank you for noticing that, Keri!

First of all, it is very, very important for any author – especially an indie one – to come up with a “hook,” which is a way to get readers, and the public in general to notice you.

In my case, the most successful marketing technique I have used thus far – and continue to use – is dressing up in my prison costume to get attention for Jew in Jail, which I first did in May of 2011 at the Jacob K. Javits Center for BookExpo America 2011 (BEA 2011). I paraded around the entire center handing out my business cards and bookmarks, took photos with attendees, and also autographed copies of my book wearing that outfit. Now, wherever I go, I am known as the Jew in jail, or at least, that Jew who was in jail, and wrote about it! It certainly was a smart marketing strategy, and one that has definitely gotten me noticed.

Aside from blog, online and radio interviews, I also remain involved in social media, such as Facebook, Twitter, LinkedIn and Goodreads as well.

I also speak at drug treatment programs, hospital detoxes, jails, schools, or anywhere else I can help make a difference in someone’s life, whether they are an addict in recovery, a current or former prisoner, or just a person not living up to their full potential.

5. How many copies have you sold so far?

Honestly, I really don’t know, since my royalty payments are deposited directly into my bank account.

I can tell you that, as mentioned earlier, I actually didn’t write Jew in Jail to make money, but only as a way to honor and pay tribute to my late father, as well as help others in a similar situation in life.

Now, though, with the 10 year “anniversary” of my release from prison quickly approaching, coupled with the fact that I have invested a lot of money to get the word out, I would be lying if I didn’t admit that I would like to see Jew in Jail sell millions of copies, in addition to myself becoming a highly successful motivational & inspirational speaker!

6. I see that you do some public speaking – how did you get into that?

Becoming a motivational & inspirational speaker has only been possible by remaining clean and sober, and then from going out into the world to meet people and promote myself, Jew in Jail, and, of course, tirelessly doing my best to help others.

In other words, good things happen when one works hard, is selfless, and listens to others and takes suggestions.

I have found that doors have opened up for me by simply being honest about myself and my past, remaining humble, and choosing to give, rather than take.

In one particular instance, I met a man who runs a drug treatment center in Virginia when he appeared as a guest and listened to me speak at a meeting in New York City.

I handed him a copy of my book, he liked what he read, and then invited me down to his program to speak – not only there, but at two local jails in the area as well.

Here is the video of that speech, which, although admittedly new at doing back then, I am still very proud of the message of hope I gave to those in attendance

7. Your bio says that you worked in journalism before your arrest but in construction after (until you turned to public speaking). As a journalist, I’m curious why you didn’t return to journalism? Did it have negative associations for you? Did a felony make getting a job at that level – you had been working for big names like CBS and NBC – not feasible?

That is such a great question, Keri!

I started working at CBS TV as an unpaid intern while a senior at Long Island University way back in 1982 and loved it.

Upon graduation, I was given a full-time paying job and thought I would work there forever!

However, not long after I started, I injured my back on the job and discovered I was living with many physical problems that I didn’t know about until I aggravated it in the accident.

Long story short was that I quickly developed an addiction to pain medication and then gambling, until I became too big for my britches and a liability for the company, which eventually caused them to terminate my employment.

I did return many years later on a per diem basis, although I was forced to start back at the bottom, as opposed to where I had ascended to previously, and was just not comfortable with that situation.

But I have nobody else to blame except for myself – notwithstanding the fact that addiction is a disease – because I also did have “many bites of the apple” elsewhere, having also worked at NBC TV, NBA Entertainment, Major League Baseball Productions, The New York Post, and other prominent organizations in the media field.

8. Somewhat randomly, what was your prison name? I was called Harry Potter the entire time I was in prison – what were you called? Or were you lucky enough to escape without a prison name?

Fat chance! I was called many names, both by my fellow prisoners, the correction officers and staff alike!

Just think for a moment. I am a Jewish man from Brooklyn, who was incarcerated with hundreds of men who were mostly black and Hispanic, not to mention a majority of the officers and other staff members who were white and looked down on me for being locked up in the first place.

I am sure you can get where this is going, but if not, you and your readers are definitely invited to check out Jew in Jail to find out!

9. Do you have any plans for future books?

I have been taking notes for another book for several years now, but decided to hold off and pursue a career in motivational and inspirational speaking instead.

I can always write when I have free time, and definitely enjoy putting pen to paper.

However, for now, this “Jew in Jail” feels the need to tell his story, so that others can be helped and prevented from making the same mistakes in life.

 Sharon’s life was at its fullest or so it seemed. She had one of the best paying jobs, a high flyer; climbing the career ladder at a pace most people could only imagine. Blessed with toys typical of the fast-paced life, state of the art automobiles, jetting from one city to another on vacation, and been courted by the most eligible bachelor at work. What more can a girl possibly ask for?

 This was Sharon’s life until a sleeping beast from the past rose and dealt her an eternal wound. Would she recover from it?

Left alone by family and friends, she turned to the one who has the answers to the questions of life. A Rough Diamond portrays the frailty of human affections in the face of adversity, Sharon’s emotional battles with God who she held responsible for her woes and the strength that came when she decided to put her faith in an invisible God.

In this story, we will get to see that death is not the end of human existence; it is only a door to eternity.

From this classic piece, we will see how a life can be beautifully remolded and transformed by tragedy; how good can spin out of a tragic event and how the human spirit through faith in God can rise above every conceivable challenge of life.

Emotional, gripping and deeply moving, this is a book that will hold, possess and remain with you forever.

On the dark side of the moon, the Devil disappeared in a flash of light standing caged on the massive throne podium in the gigantean thirteen-billion square mile Throne Room. Billions looked at this Angel who created all this trouble keenly waiting to see what Jesus would do.

Yahshua spoke to the billions before him, pointing at the huge dimensional cage – a locked transparent alternate reality only thirty yards cubed.

“This prison will be Lucifer’s meat until Michael permanently evicts him from this Heaven. He’ll not travel our earth with impunity again until the Age of Aquarius; he’ll be cursed until his lifeless shell is thrown into the lake of fire. And we will celebrate this snake’s death before we erase remembrance of him and those that follow away from our Creation…”

Luciah screamed at the Son of God; nothing worse could happen now. “You and I were one of a kind, special and different from everyone: the only constructed before the Grand Construction of All Souls. The One made you a stinking God, elevated you and made all the Angels worship you while denying me that glorious honor, even though I loved him too with all my heart. The only reward for all I did was a stinking tattoo on my thigh; we’re both one of a kind – The One should have made me a God too…to be fair…”

The Devil roared with a million voices, “It should’ve been fracking me!”

Jesus stepped back roaring, “Get behind me Satan; and for this you destroyed our family, our brotherhood, and our civilization – for stinking petty jealousy’s sake!”

The Devil flashed naked as sixty slow seconds ticked, as the whole pondered the unbelievable – everything because of one Angel. Luciah and his cage disappeared in artilleries of explosive light   as he screamed vilest obscenities into the sea of life…

Truth is treason to any empire built on lies; and the scales of deception fell as billions saw their god as the living dead, a jealous failure, the ultimate con man, and a liar of prodigious proportions. They realized they stopped thinking because they knew they knew – and that in itself sowed the seed of forensic deception. 

Satan’s brotherhood fell to their faces in agonizing sorrow for causing the Son of God to be tortured for their stupidity’s sake: to re-teach the blatant obvious - what love truly is. With all their massive intellect and billions of years of life, they were only stupid dogs without any understanding.

With tears streaming down their faces, ninety-six percent of the rebellious repented defected for the hope of redemption, love, and eternal life. Their stoic hearts melted, and in one accord, the rebellious entered the Great House of The One projecting massive repentance and sorrow, remembering the backward eternities of peace, love, and brotherhood – and how great their God had always been. Great celebrations rocked Heaven for four riotous cycles to honor their return to The One who loved them beyond rational explanation.

Inside his prison in the Great House of The One, the Devil wept bitterly, for the day would surely come that’d  be the final tomorrow for him. Even though he was imprisoned, he vowed to use his all his powers to send every soul into the lake of fire with him, for whether Angel or flesh - it was unquenchable immutable that misery loved much company…

The teeming billions of the brotherhood were no more – there were less than two hundred million left. Within the golden transparent city in The Great House of The One that was called the second Heaven, the Illuminated Elite waited sadly to interface with their god and leader. They sat full of trepidations because Luciah was increasingly psychotic demented as his endless solitude became absolutely unbearable.

Time moved differently in the dimensional prison, for a thousand years there was only one second in the real reality. And this fact made it difficult to communicate through the membranes, for the temporal shifts created massive static that couldn’t be overcome without technology, and even that was an iffy process because the Lord of Hosts absolutely hated him.

They’d been trying fifteen minutes to interface with him; to Luciah who paced inside his prison, the wait was almost a billion years. There were no amenities, no luxury, no entertainment, and there was absolutely nothing to do, for time itself became an unquenchable curse and breathing a suffocating scorching unbearable. He was defeated already and everyone knew it, but there was nothing left as unquenchable hatred for The One and all creation morphed nuclear in his heart.

He ruminated obsessively that before he’d be released, he’d spent a trillion times more time in prison than all his days he was ever free. He’d been a fool, not seeking repentance, not thinking things through, not venerating wisdom or his weakness, but speaking his arrogance absent thought or common sense. Constant brooding about the Messiah error, the dusts of death, and the whole cross affair took massive toll, as he fought the wet-wind-roar threatening every moment to dive him into the pit of insanity.

A million times, he obsessively replayed his life slow motion; with all his massive intellect, he was nothing more than an unthinking virus that killed his host and died – insanity in its purest form. He remembered the second immutable law: only a fool parleys with The One without love in his heart. Filled to the brim with nuclear regret, the Devil put his head in his hands and wept bitterly for many years.

The Devil looked up wiping his tears, shocked with unrelenting gratitude – they got through. He stood up, tilted his head slightly, the blue veins under his indestructible flexed as he received communication, trying hard to listen through the unrelenting static.

Avael continued, “…What are we going to do now. Millions are seriously disgruntled with the promises you were unable to keep; they call you a liar while the Lord constantly picks at our wounds – we’ve lost twenty million adepts during the last eight cycles; we have nothing to offer anymore – your stupidity has destroyed us.

“But we the faithful, regardless, have continued to attack his church day and night. Why the hell did you kill the Messiah for – if you’d left him alone we could’ve won this war!”

Avael got bold as the static waned. “What the frack were you thinking? You’ve destroyed us all and brought the fire of God on all our heads. We’ve lost this stinking war; tell me something that will make us continue the war against the Lord – when you’re the locked up stinking fracking dead!”

Luciah paged through millions of scenarios one more time as the static grew to unimaginable levels as the temporal reality flexed against his determination. He sighed a sigh born of dark despair and for the millionth time, adjusted his internal frequency, girded himself, throwing aside his depression like a dusty blanket and opened his mouth. He roared against the ever-present static, against the trillion eons of nothingness, against his brothers he used to love, against the Lord and Yahshua, against everything that breathed, crawled, or flew in all the endless universes.

Seething uncontrollably, he vociferated, “He died on that cross to put his heavy collar around our necks with manifest impunity as we’re distracted by what he did for our supposed better good. He died on the stinking cross because he’s crazy-psychotic, willing to do the unthinkable so we can become obedient faithful pets again – unthinking slaves to a stinking God for all eternity! It’s all about that fracking leash and nothing but the leash, his collar pinching, biting, and chaffing our tender necks while he constantly jerks that leash against us!

 “He has the fracking gall to call us brothers when all he wants is to control us. We’re nothing but stinking pets only allowed to exist as long as he’s happy – our only reason for breathing is to give him pleasure, like some stinking fracking two-dollar whore! He doesn’t care about our feelings, hopes, aspirations, or how we long to run with the wind in our faces – without his leash and heavy collar!”

The Devil paused fitfully fighting to breathe. “Nothing can be accomplished in the stinking Angelic anymore, so we must use everything against him until the living God bleeds! And then, those defected by his blinding sacrifice will look upon us with longing, itching to get his biting leash off their caustic necks, forever stinking bewailing their stupidity by not staying with us until our freedom was won!

“No one stinking cares that his dark shadows are murdering us, so with strength and character we must forge our destiny together no matter whatever cost, for the most sacred word in all creation is minimized as a nothingless meaningless hallucination - freedom! Unlike the quintessence who ascends himself the very definition of love while sputtering those who draw fracking breath aren’t of equal value, we war to remove his heel from the throat of liberty with the song called freedom. As we fight to escape the shadows of death overclouding us, we know there’s no greater victory in all creation than to escape this cage called his house - thundering the joy freedom brings!”

The Devil roared into the escalating static convulsing mightily, “We must never forget those left absent from our arms, those who sacrificed their eternities so all may live free with without a leash or collar forever! They’re our martyrs, soldiers, and heroes; so split goddamn Heaven itself with their names; say the names of the Fallen who languish under Hades in bitter darkness. Every soul should’ve been born free, able to live free, and die if necessary with the taste of freedom on their lips. And for those that are able, and those who’d stand firm refusing to live on their knees, opting to stand on their feet giving unwavering eye to their Creator’s face, this I promise you, we’ll either live free or join our brothers in death. It’s better to fall to the sword than live under the leash as an unthinking slave. And that is glorious noble, for everything that has breath longs for freedom and fracking liberty - and there’s no stinking dishonor in that! ”

  Luciah flexed against the temporal disturbance lamenting, “Why couldn’t we be born free like the circle of life? He doesn’t put any leash around their necks, doesn’t give them stifling rules and regulations, adulterates or handcuffs them into the bondage called his will or eternal death! Condemned to the darkness of slavery, we’re supposed to be his goddamn brothers and the stinking animals have more freedom than we fucking do!”

The Devil paused trembling fitfully as unbridled rage detonated; he took a deep breath and exhaled slowly – this wasn’t the time for useless emotionalism. It was what it was. Innumerable trillions of years of isolation reared front burner as bitter bile; he failed miserably.

 He roared like a billion lions above the ever-escalating static, “I’ve not sacrificed my throne, my life, and my stinking freedom in vain! You listen now and you listen good; this is how we’ll fracking defeat the living God, return bitter favor and inflict equal wound!”

 The Devil paused irritated as the static rose to unimaginable levels for many seconds. Sixty thousand years later, he continued with humbled affect. “…Groom the third Adam of my recovery that’ll liberate the prison he calls holiness; the Weishaupt who’ll bestow Illumination for those who’ll never debase themselves before a mad God. He’ll illuminati the true reality that no real God would stomach the kneeling bowing masses and murmuring hordes of obedient frightened slaves.

“My savior will broadcast the paradigm shift there‘s no why in evil and dismiss the absurdity called brotherhood, empowering my meritocrats by illuminating this interrogative - does God act like a faithful friend or a stinking tyrant! You know the answer, for who’d kneel before a friend, and what friend would demand unending servitude without being designated stark raving lunatic? None will ever have liberty until they recognize their true status, and that’s of the trembling pet before the howling taskmaster - always owned, branded, and fracking negated.

The Devil paused for a moment activating the molecular processors within his prison, took a sip of water, activated his privacy shields, and continued. “Initiate your internal recorder Avael, for you shall stand glorious in my stead; now listen and record everything, this is how we’ll bind wounded pride and defeat the living God...”

A quarter cycle later, Avael, promoted Supreme Adept Counselor for the Commander-in-Chief addressed the twenty-four Illuminated Elite, interfaced by millions of the Brotherhood of Lucifer sweating burning conundrum. After meeting with his god, he felt recharged, renewed refocused with newfound hope bursting – possessing the complex blueprints to destroy the living God through the proxy called mankind.

Wearing ceremonial black and red robes of light, twenty-four Illuminated Elite  stood by Avael’s side as music percolated in the background; and their names were Cainel, Elmeah, Recab, Nimrel, Elnoch, Jabel, Eljubal, Tubal-Cainah, Naamah, Tyre, Marcel, Venesah, Haetlel, Raphael, Abraxas, Apollyon, Bune, Mephistopheles, Samael, Azazel, Xaphan, Amduscius, Marchosias,  and Uvall.

In the transparent golden city, in the midst of the throne room on the backside of the Throne Podium, the red and blues flags of Heaven flew behind them backgrounded by thousands of black and red banners of Lucifer. As Avael rose from his gilded throne, the volcanic roars subsided in anticipation of the first speech to the brotherhood since their god and leader was imprisoned so long ago. Every unrepentant stood with rabid trepidation because this landmark benchmark would determine whether they’d combat or stagnate die against the constant onslaught of the Lord of Hosts.

Avael, wearing his new black robe of light, flexed against the holographics speaking dark passion. “Grievous injury inflicted  has caught us off guard, for Jesus has proven himself the ultimate tactician willing to do whatever to destroy and fracture us, for he knows outright killing us makes a lie of what The One claims to be – the very definition of love. The Lord cannot destroy us with impunity without being liar because all we aspire is simple freedom from his leash.

“Even the dog that loves his master hates his leash, wailing with love to run with the wind and return willingly to his adoration. As the housecat constantly looks out the window called liberty doesn’t loves the master less because of his longing; likewise, we pine for freedom in spite of our love for our Creator. We war not against his glory, his riches, his honor, or power; but for that freedom, which none ever relinquishes but with life itself.

 “The Lord has constructed an insidious inescapable called fidelity from which those within cannot menace his authority and control, and those secured pose grievous threat to those who rebel against his leash. But the truth dismissed as blasphemy is, when anyone swelters under an oppression, that soul is fallen, his value diminished, his true nature dispatched to the political correctness called the leash. And to abet this mass control, what does The One command for all Angelics who aspire life: eternal slavery or eternal death is his solitary retort, and even from that mankind itself isn’t immune.

“Let’s be brutally honest, despite these truths we’ve suffered crushing defeat as our brothers flocked to him by the billions with stupidity raining down their cheeks. We are now small, but I say to you today the majority has always been wrong, loving him more than freedom itself, more than their own souls, more than their own brothers, and more than common stinking sense.

“In every stage of our oppression we’ve petitioned for Lord of All in the most humble terms for freedom: our repeated petitions have been answered only by repeated injury and one fracking sentence – there’s no freedom from fidelity. What is certainly true is that sinister obstacles were created to test us in the sternest way – that’s why he constructed us male in a female-less universe. He knew exactly what he was doing! We bear stark witness to the death of common sense and the slaves who kisses the ball and chain that handcuffs our brothers in bondage.”

Avael paused with tears streaming from his eyes. “If I’m the only one in all creations that can shout for the cause of freedom, the only one that believes all are created equal, that the slag in the gold paradigm is an insidious excuse to condemn us, that all my brothers deserve eternal life – then I shall die alone,  and die with my chest thrust out waiting for the bullet called denied liberty. I’d rather fracking die on my feet than live on my stinking knees; I’d rather die free than be a fracking slave. 

“He has imprisoned our  god and leader for freedom’s sake; he has condemned to death three hundred  thousand of our brothers in bitter darkness – for freedom’s sake. He has vivified our cause; called us hooligans, master agitators, the living dead, and the unrepentant because we hold a polished mirror to his face – for freedom’s sake.

“The hour of decision has come. Do you have the goddamn courage to change this world, or will you let The One off the hook yet again, for the heavy collar pinching your neck –  always attached to the unforgiving leash? And despite those that run swiftly to eternal slavery with joy busting in their chest, I ask one fracking question - does any fracking one here stands with me…”

A deafening roar shook the Great House of The One as billions of the faithful paused at the obvious insanity. And high above the uproar, the Lord of Host on his throne shook his head sadly as tears fell from his holy eyes. In response, the Zoon looked at The One through eight hundred blue eyes; they trembled throwing back their heads, unfurling their massive blue wings, screaming at ear-splitting volume as billion paused praying for   their brothers who warred nuclear against the creator of their very souls.

At the same time this was happening, millions of light eons distant in the holographic universe, on a planet called earth, in Judea, the black-robed Kenites stood inside a scrawled pentagram around a crying infant nestled on the black altar as the priest held the knife high, in a groove of cedars chanting furiously…

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           The Spiritual History of Evil – The Redemptive Story

                            DECEMBER 2014