As mentioned, I wrote this book over a year ago. There are a few timeline issues that have to be worked out before publication. Over the next couple of weeks, I will be posting a few snippets from the book which highlight several characters who populate the novel. Some of these snippets didn't make it into the novel, others made it in, but a slightly revised version from the original. This sample provides an insight to a Christian minister with an affliction that normally targets younger people. The Reverend Byron Carter is the father of Caleb Carter, the male protagonist in the novel.
The novel (so far) is in excess
of 70,000 words, and is written in UK English. It is a modern day romance set
in the Scottish Highlands.
The content of my books (so far)
could be classified as Contemporary Romance, but there are scenes in this book
meant for mature audiences only. The humour is strong in each novel, and the
characters, interesting.
The love interest is between
Catriona McCaffery and Caleb Carter, wayward son of a Scottish minister. His
father, the Rev Byron Carter is middle-aged and recently stricken with
Coprolalia, closely related to Tourette's. When his passion for biblical scriptures
is fired up, his language from the pulpit can get extremely colourful.
In no way would I challenge
Christian sensibilities with ill-intentioned profanity. Rather, his condition
and the fight he puts up against it render his character more human for the
effort. I ask only that you read the book to its end before passing judgement.
Happy reading...
Here is an excerpt from the book when the beloved minister of a Scottish village informs his congregation of the reason behind his decision to step down as their minister.
The
church was heaving with a sea of bodies. Standing room only. barely ten minutes after the church doors were opened. Whispers were making the rounds. Some
said their beloved minister of thirty years was ill and possibly terminal.
Others believed he had been offered a more lucrative position elsewhere. People
came from afar to hear him preach, such was his passion. Of late his sermons
had become… colourful. The whispers grew loud but ceased as if by magic when a
groan from the third step of the pulpit announced the arrival of Byron Carter, Minister
of Carnock village church.
Tall of stature, the Reverend Carter
possessed the kind of aura bestowed on royalty and the very best in the acting
profession. High above his congregation, the minister looked out over his
flock. As he leant forward and rested his hands on the solid mahogany railing,
the sun once hidden by clouds burst through the stained glass depiction of
Christ on the cross and bathed him in light. His outline glowed and some were
forced to shield their eyes. Not a single sound broke the silence.
“My friends,” began Reverend Carter, “I
stand before you today to silence the rumors that are making the rounds.” He
did not raise his voice. He had no need. “I possess no terminal illness, but I
have succumbed to an unfortunate condition. A condition known as Coprolalia, a
close relation to Tourette’s Syndrome.” His gaze fell upon the three elderly
ladies whom he fondly referred to as ‘the faithful’ and who now stared at him
with anguish in their eyes.
“Unfortunate because my calling in life
has now become at odds with my ability to deliver God’s message in the manner
acceptable to my superiors.”
Restless comments reverberated through the
congregation. Confusion reigned uppermost in the hubbub that ensued. Byron
raised his arms and the church fell silent once again.
“My condition only comes to the fore
when my passion for the Lord’s message takes over. My language becomes… unworthy
for both Christ’s teachings and for you, my faithful flock. It has truly been a
pleasure to serve each and every one of you, but now I must step down and let
one more suited to the task, spread God’s word.”
Colin, a middle-aged miner from a
neighboring village jumped to his feet.
“So you fucking swear from time to time.
Who here hasn’t done the same?” Colin searched the faces to his left and right.
“I don’t want another fucking minister. You’re my minister. Our minister, am I
right?”
The congregation surged to their feet as
one. All hell broke loose. Byron couldn’t help but notice his son, head bowed,
having problems with grit in his eye. In his early twenties, Caleb Carter was a
rebellious son… and Byron loved him to death.
Once again, Byron held up his hands,
requesting silence, but this time it took a few minutes before order was
restored.
And here (risking the wrath of those unwilling to acknowledge Byron's unfortunate affliction) is one of his other sermons.
Chapter
23 Reverend Byron Carter
As per usual on any given Sunday, Carnock
Parish Church was packed. Hundreds of eyes were turned upwards toward the
pulpit where their minister was about to begin his sermon. Minister Carter's eyes flitted over the masses seated below him, and the few left standing at the back of his church.
“Today, members of the congregation, I
am going to touch on a subject, or two, that might have many of you believe
that I am blaspheming, but I promise you it is not so. I can’t help but feel
that many of the biblical stories that are ‘set in stone’ as it were, are in
fact misunderstood. I see some furrowed brows out there, but please, bear with
me. Let us start with Moses leading his people around in the desert for forty
years. Forty fucking years. Are you shitting me? If Moses had been
Scottish and had led his people around in circles for forty fucking days, some of the boys would have taken
his directionally challenged backside
behind one of the few bushes found in the desert and given him a good
thrashing. Look, I know Moses didn’t have a compass, but there were plenty of
fucking stars glowing up there in the night sky for him to follow, surely? Forty years to find the edge of
the desert? Bullshit!”
I looked out over my parishioners. Fully
fifty percent of the women were holding their hands up to their mouths in
disbelief. Of the men, only two of the church Elders followed suit, however, not
one pew was disturbed by someone leaving.
“What evidence do we have to support the
story of Moses wandering around in the desert like a fart in a trance for forty
years. None. Not so much as one broken fucking pot ever found. So what is the purpose of the story? Is it
just a tall tale, or a fictional story engineered to relate a moral, then after
a particularly bad translation from the original language to newer languages,
the real meaning of the story was perhaps lost? Did Moses ever actually exist?”
I
raised my hands up in front of me, palms up, as if requesting an answer, any
answer. Silence.
“Noah’s
Ark! Another little gem. The Bible tells us that Noah was around five
hundred years old when his first son was born and around about six hundred
years old when the flood made its appearance. Really? Apparently, God, who could make the world in six days was
prepared to wait six hundred years to wipe humanity off the face of the Earth
for forgetting about him. Death by drowning for all except Noah and his family.
And the animals went in two by fucking
two, yes? NO! This is my problem with blind fucking faith. First of all, we
know people don't live for six hundred years. We also know that a God who can
make the world in six days could bring forth a flood in about six fucking seconds to wipe out humanity. We know
deep down that no matter how big this boat was, it wasn't big enough to hold two of every kind of animal. SO,
was the size of the boat misquoted?
Was Noah's age simply a misprint in
the Bible? Was the person responsible for putting those snippets of information
in the Bible just arithmetically challenged? We don’t know. How could we? I
understand that the easy answer is simply God
can do anything, God could have made him live for a thousand years, if he
wanted to. Was he simply showing off?”
I
leaned forward, resting both of my elbows on the front rail of the pulpit and
surveyed the sea of faces in front of me. There seemed to be some dissent in
the ranks. Murmurs were breaking out here and there. The only person who seemed
to be taking all of this in stride, was my son, Caleb. This fact alone made me
smile. The rather attractive addition to my congregation seated beside him, was
looking around at the quiet commotion going on round about her. I saw my son
glance at her, but appeared to offer no comment. I stood up to my full height.
"Members of my congregation,"
I roared, “how many of you think that my job is only to preach to you?" The commotion took a little
time to die down as my parishioners finally gave me their full attention.
"My job, at least half of it, is to
make you think, to make this an
interaction, rather than one minister's
monologue. If I were merely to preach the message every week, some of you might
be in danger of falling asleep. That is not
going to happen. Not in my church. So
how do I get you to interact emotionally and mentally? How do I get you to
think rather than let my words wash over you? To connect to the subject at hand in a meaningful way? Simple. I might just decide to say something
outrageously controversial to wake you up. How many of you slept through what I
had to say about Moses... or Noah and his Ark? If the Lord had wanted Moses to
spend forty years in the desert, then
forty years it would be. If the Lord felt that Noah needed six hundred
years to achieve the task he had set for him, then it would be so. Personally, I think that the Lord was giving
humanity an extra six hundred years before wiping them out with a flood, to see
if they would change their wicked ways? ”
I
cast my eye over my flock as once again murmurs broke out all through the
congregation. A few chuckles could be heard here and there. Still leaning on my
elbows I decided to push the envelope. I
summoned one of the Elders and handed him a microphone. I whispered in his ear
before addressing my flock again.
"Does anyone take issue with my
methods? Does anyone here... anyone at
all... take issue with how I brought Moses or Noah into the
conversation?"
I
didn't really anticipate anybody standing up, but there she was, dressed all in
lavender, including the biggest hat I had ever seen. Elspeth Wilson, my Bible
class teacher. The Elder walked smartly over and handed her the microphone.
"Minister Carter," she said, wasting
no time, "I would be the first to admit that I was gravely offended by your treatment of Moses and Noah... at first.
The methods you use to spread the gospel are unorthodox to say the least."
She paused and looked around, aware that she had everyone’s full attention.
"Despite this,” she said,
turning her attention back to me, “ I can only speak for myself when I say that
there is no other minister I would
rather hear the Lord's message from, than you."
As
quickly as Elspeth Wilson had stood up, she once again took her seat. All hell
broke loose. She was the only one left sitting, as the entire congregation
surged to their feet and gave her a standing ovation, echoing her sentiments
about their minister, about me. I
made eye contact with my son. He was smiling and shaking his head. The girl he
brought to my church was clapping as enthusiastically as anybody. I saw her
nudge Caleb in his ribs before I turned my gaze out over the multitude.
"Settle down, settle down, or we'll
never get out of here," I said, tongue-in-cheek. Clapping turned to
amusement before dying down as I raised then lowered my hands encouraging
everybody to regain their seats.
"Let me lead you in prayer."
Church
was over for today. As the members filed past me, each shaking my hand in turn,
comments like "You gave me a fright there, minister" were
commonplace. The last two filing out of my church were Caleb, and the young
lady who accompanied him.
"Just when I thought you were
losing your touch, dad," he said, a grin plastered all over his face.
"Aren't you going to introduce me
to your lady friend Caleb? Always nice to see a new face you know."
"Dad, this is Catriona," he
said, and turning towards her, added, "I rather think she enjoyed your
sermon."
"You might just be the most
unusual, but also the most entertaining minister I have ever met,” she said,
her eyes sparkling, “ I see now where Caleb gets his quick wit from."
"And his good looks no doubt,"
I replied.
"Why minister, that goes without
saying."
"Hold on to this one Caleb, even I
can tell she’s special."
"You see," said Catriona,
looking into Caleb's eyes, "it took your dad only thirty seconds to
realize that."
"I beat him by twenty,” my son
replied, “ I only saw you for ten seconds on that bus, Catriona."
Observing
the banter between the two of them, plus the body language and the eye contact
told me there was something special going on here. I took a closer look at the
young girl and felt myself nodding as if in private consent. This young lady was special, I could feel it. Please Lord, I caught myself
thinking, don’t let him mess this up.
“There is always
room for one more at our dinner table, Catriona,” I said.
“Yes,” agreed Caleb, “please join us. Say
you will.”
I
was impressed. So used was I to women chasing after my son, calling the manse
day and night asking for him, that to see his eyes pleading for a positive
response was a genuine experience for me. Catriona glanced downward.
“I would love
to, really I would, but my Aunt will already have prepared a meal for me, and
it would be unfair of me to make other plans. Perhaps some other time, if that
is okay with you, minister?”
Genuinely
considerate of her Aunt’s feelings, I found myself really liking this young
girl.
“Absolutely,” I replied.
“Then let me walk you home,” Caleb said,
putting his arm around her waist.
“That is what a gentleman would do,” she replied, gently removing his
arm, but then linking her fingers with his, showing him what was
acceptable to her.
“I’ll see you back at the manse dad, in
about twenty minutes, okay?”
“It’s only a couple of minutes to my Aunt’s
house, even if we walk slowly,” said Catriona, “I’ll make sure he’s home in
fifteen minutes or less, minister.”
“Give me the full twenty minutes
Catriona, please. I’m going away for a week. That’s seven days I won’t see you.”
Catriona
glanced in my direction.
“If he’s begging, young lady, give him
the twenty minutes,” I said.
“Are you begging, Caleb?” she asked,
teasing him without mercy.
My
son narrowed his eyes, and turned his gaze on me as he answered. “Yes, I’m
begging.”
“Don’t tell me,” I said, enjoying every
minute of his discomfort, “tell Catriona.”
“If it would bring either or both of you
some kind of inner happiness, then yes, I’m begging for an extra five minutes.”
“I shall remember this moment forever,”
I said, winking at Catriona.
Catriona
turned her attention to my exasperated son. “Shall we go, my prince?”
Caleb
looked at me and raised his eyebrows as if to say, “Can you believe this?”
A sadness came over me as I remembered
that my ex-wife Glenda had had the same power over me that Catriona seemed to
have over my son, and I missed it. I watched as the two of them walked off hand
in hand, chatting excitedly to each other. Caleb had needed a mother’s
guidance, I knew that, but fate had decided against it. It was, I believed, the
main reason that my son could never seem to find fulfillment in a steady
relationship. He could not hide his distrust of women, from me at least. I
often wondered if his inability to have long lasting relationships was because
he secretly feared that women would leave him, just as his mother had done.
Right there and then, I made up my mind to contact his mother. Sooner or later
he was going to have to learn the truth.
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