No Not One

"You've offended Tony Compolo," Richard tells me on the phone.

Richard is the publisher of my latest book, "A Non-Church Goer's Guide to God" is what it's being called at the moment.

Tony Compolo is the famous "speaker, author, sociologist, pastor, social activist and passionate follower of Jesus."

"What did I do? I ask.

"Well," Richard gravely replies, "When you say 'No Savior will ever sleep in the White House' Dr. Compolo didn't care for it because he's slept in the White House."

"No way," I exclaim like Garth did on "Wayne's World."

"Way," Richard perfectly replies.

"Well," I sigh.

"Yeah we can't get anybody to endorse your book. That's never happened before."

"No way," I say again channeling my inner Garth.

"Way," Richard laughs. "We're putting a positive spin on it. If nobody will endorse your book, it must be good. They're scared of it ... so that's what we going to say."

"You mean none of my Seminary Professors will give me a blurb for the cover?"

"None of them remember you," Richard reports.

"What about Guy Sayles or Bill Berry?" I asks.

"They never returned our calls."

"You know Bill's not the drummer for ..."

"I know," Richard cuts me off. "You've told me."

Tapping my finger tips against my teeth I ponder before asking, "You mean there's not one single person in the world who'll vouch for my book."

"No not one," Richard says laughingly, quoting the old Christian Hymn.

"But you're publishing it anyway?" I say a little determined.

"Yeah, it's the alternative view written by a Baptist Minister about a Baptist Church and how screwed up Baptists are ... and it's funny."

"Alrighty then," I say filled with renewed confidence. "To Hell with Tony Compolo."

"That's the same thing he said about you," Richard says and hangs up.

Then the book was released with my favorite introduction of all my books with an explanation of why nobody in the universe supports anything I have to say.

My Happy Journey!

Obviously I'm having to wean myself off posting song titles as my daily Facebook status updates.

Even though I said I was stopping, I haven't yet.

I amuse myself too much and occasionally they make others happy too.

People asks, "Micheal, why do you use song titles for your status updates?"

I'll tell you why!

It makes me happy!

Happy is something you can never have enough of and dammit, I want more so I'm going for it!

The other thing I'm still doing is writing everyday and that's going to remain a constant too. We are changing the platform though.

If you want to keep receiving them every day, THAT's GREAT!

Just click to www.meellc.com and look at my picture.

Then stop looking at me and look under my picture though this may prove more difficult than you think because it's a damn fine picture!

You can sign up and there I'll be for your reading pleasure, discomfort, spiritual awakening or the first moment of utter confusion in your day.

It'll be fun.

You may be asking, "Why in the hell is he doing this?"

I'm happy to tell you.

After you sign up.
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The Book Club

"It's a bit like becoming a Monk," I explain. "Not in any sort of bad way but life now is a lot of silence, contemplation and waiting on words to come."

Dicky nods head, stroking his beard and says softly to the ceiling, "I understand."

The other members of the group, all women, stare at me without expression.

Sarah stares too, sitting beside me, listening every intently. She's heard me say this before taking it as a negative reflection of our life though I never meant it that way. Now she seems to be hearing it in a different way.

Ours is a crazy schizophrenic life. A large portion of each day is filled with quiet, solitary work that demands lots of concentration with little interaction with others. That's the Monkish part, working from home managing virtual relationships and occasionally orchestrating "community".

When Sarah's girls are here its a relentless series of constant demands and a schedule that takes both of us to manage. We're always carting them some place or the other, often meeting in the middle to swap them off before heading in different directions again. We try to expose them to the world at our house to balance the cloistered upbringing they have at their fathers. Afterwards we collapse.

"If money wasn't an option and you were wealthy, what would be on your bucket list?" Nancy asks the members of the Book Club.

When it's my turn I say, "Well first I'd hire Dicky to take all my phone calls and tell everyone 'No' unless I over ride him to say 'Yes' to someone."

He gives me a thumbs up saying he would be good at it.

"Then I'd buy a large plush House Boat and park it just off shore. Sarah, the girls and I will live there and we'd move if it ever got cold. I never want to be cold again."

Several agree with the last sentiment.

I'm struck my goal to live on a House Boat to be secluded from others is when I'm already living a pretty cloistered life.

It's funny.

I want more of what I've already got.

Everyone leaves so Sarah and I end up in the kitchen sharing thoughts, concerns, hopes and dreams. She munches on toast while I sip wine. It is most intimate.

We are pleased with tonight's gathering of the Book Club. It's a lot like life. People come and go in it and we're never certain whose who but it keeps happening, bringing a joyous fellowship that boarders on worship.
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"Doing the Right Things for you" is a 28 day online journey to making life the way you know it should be for you. It begins December 2013. Check it out at www.meellc.com/onlineclass

My life as a Writer

Sitting in silence.

I do it a lot.

Of course I do it in my own unique way.

There is always music.

Every day, after kisses, coffee, driving Maddie and her friend Noah to school, returning home to watch Sarah prepare Laurel and Cassidy for their own trip there ... Goddess, Winston, the little gay dog, and I make our way to the Beloved Back Deck where I fire up the computer at the table under the umbrella.

The first thing I do is find the right music.

"I haven't got a song to fit me mood," John Lennon thoughtfully said before launching into "GOD," one of his masterpieces.

Once I find it, right now it's "Deep Cuts" from albums recorded in the 1960s, I take my shirt off and get to work.

The normal routine is to update my Facebook status with a song title, Tweet, check LinkedIn, read the headlines from "The Onion" which make me laugh then "The Atlanta Journal Constitution" which makes me sad and then ... Sarah's rushing Laurel and Cass to the car so I get up to kiss her again, remind her to be "Be safe," tell the girls bye though they don't care because they're in too big a hurry to get this day started.

Goddess and Winston, the little gay dog, wait on my return. They don't bother getting up to say bye to the girls.

Sitting back down, I start "losing laundry" ... meaning more clothes come off.

Resuming my seat ... I sit ... and wait... in silence ... with Jethro Tull's excellent song "Up to Me" blaring away from the computer which I intend to write on ... while I watch the sun rise ... listen to the Cicada sing ... feel the ocean breeze ... watch the leaves dance ... hear the world come to life with the rest of us.

Then something happens.

Inspiration hits. God says something. My fingers take on lives of their own. Whacking away at the keyboard, I lose everything happening around me ... there's no music ... no Cicada ... no ocean breeze ... no dancing leaves ...

I am one with the words.

I whisper them as they come to life ... making them prayer ... transcending everything around me.

An hour or lifetime later, Sarah returns home and I jump up to get another kiss to two ... or more.

Most of the time she's ready to get to work at the quiet end of the house.

She doesn't like my music playing while she works.

Unless she has something to say. Then she says it until she's satisfied I've heard it regardless of whether or not I heard it the first time.

When this happens, I've learned it's best to keep quiet.

Even if I say something like, "Oh, I know Babes," ... that just convinces her I haven't heard a damn thing she's said so she says it all over again ... and again.

When she finishes, she gets to work in silence and I may not see or hear from her again for hours.

I return to the Back Deck where Goddess and Winston, the little gay dog, are waiting and grooving to Crosby, Stills, Nash & Young confess they "Almost Cut my hair. It happened just the other day."

But now the words are waiting ... drawing me back into another world ... where it is silent ... and Godly things spark from my fingertips as I lapse into prayer.

That is my day.

Every day.

Book History

My first book came out right after I'd left the place it was about. Sitting on Daytona Beach, I saw "The Society of Salty Saints" for the first time and read about a rag tag, inner city congregation that somehow took off and, because I'd been the "Professional Christian" in charge, a publisher was interested and asked me to write a book.

It did well and I was asked to write a sequel.

So I did.

It pissed the publisher off because I decided to only use quotes from Clarence Jordan's "Cotton Patch Gospels". Clarence is the only prophet Southern Baptist ever produced and translated the New Testament into a modern day southern vernacular. The publisher thought I was compromising the continuing story of the gritty church in the city.

So they dropped me.

By this time I was in Savannah, Georgia and because "Salty Saints" had sold well, another publisher gave me a contract for "Partners In Grace". It was very much like the first book and it did really well so they wanted me to do another. "Why the Homeless Don't Have Homes" is the only thing I've written to win an award and it got me invited to lots of places.

A friend I'd gone to Seminary with was now working for another publisher. He called asking if they could publish my next book and I said, "Sure."

Horrified they read the manuscript of "Running with the Dolphins & other Tybee Tales."

"Um, Micheal," Scott said when he called, "we're a religious publisher. We only do Christian books."

"Lots of people use God's name on Tybee," I replied. "Especially late at night."

When the book came out, it did crazily good and remains my most popular writing.

So Scott was even more horrified when the next book was "Playing Hide & Seek: A non-Church-goers guide to God". Most books have a preface written by someone vouching for it. Nobody would vouch for this one and I actually got hate mail before it was published.

When it did come out, the publisher dropped me.

The next one was "Out from under the Rock", sort of a sequel and I gave all of the money it made to Union Mission. It made lots of money. I didn't get any.

So I decided to write a book that would make me a lot of money. Tour of Homes is a big, ambitious tome that didn't make me any money. It got good reviews though.

Then I got distracted did lots of writing but it wasn't book stuff.

Sarah walked outside one day and, "It's time for a new book. Why don't you write one about Winston, the little gay dog?"

As far as we know nobody's written a book about a gay dog ... so I did.

Then Sarah walked outside and said, "It's time for another book. People have been asking."

"Well I just finished the book on Winston, the little gay dog, yesterday," I replied.

This was received with incredible silence, crossed arms and an "Are you kidding me?" look.

So, Sandy Bottoms & Duct Taped Hearts (http://www.meellc.com/wordpress/newbook/ ) is done and will be out soon.

Winston, the little gay dog, is pissed because he thought his book would be out first. He just stormed out wearing a little sweater with the words "Writers Suck More" while flipping me his middle pad on his paw with nails painted red.

What do you do?

No matter what, I seem to always get under somebody's skin.

Or in this case, fur.

Coffee Breaks and Deadlines

The managing partner burst outside to my office where I sit naked typing and working on my tan. She seems perturbed which is hard to understand because it's an absolutely glorious day. The sky is blue, the sun bright, the pungent smell of the marsh hangs in the air and the breeze off the ocean is crisp. The Beach Boys  are saying, "Don't worry Baby." It's a great day to be at work!

"Where's my list?" she demands. "The deadline is now!"

I don't understand people who have indoor offices with artificial light, recycled air, an organized desk and a functional filing system.

"Well?" she asks when I fail to answer.

"Almost done," I lie.

She makes a face, blows a puff of air from her mouth to the strand of hair that's fallen in her face, and marches her cute little ass to her corner office in the main part of corporate headquarters.

"Well Goddess," I say to  my dog laying under my bare feet, "I guess it's time to get started."

She rolls her beautiful amber eyes and goes back to sleep.

My assignment is to choose my favorite blogs for the book that's coming out in October. The managing partner is, of course, finished with the cover, the package design, the art work, the marketing plan, the pricing, and the hard copy, e-copy and Kindle layouts.

On the other hand, I haven't done jack shit.

That's not entirely true.

I have been going back and reading old writings. It's hard picking favorites. It's like having to choose who I love most ... Jeremy, Kristen or Chelsea? Some things just can't be done.

Reading about Winston, the little gay dog ... my Guardian Angel ... the Cat Lady ... drunken bicycles ... the sad little holy dock ... Fran's thousand shades of green ... long talks with God over glasses of wine ... stumbling through the door marked "Exit Only" at The Breakfast Club ... travels to Belize, Key West, San Juan Islands, Costa Rica, and St. Martin ... Bill Berry (not the former drummer for REM but the other one) ... Johnny O ... the Carnival of Friends ... Sarah and I ... love lost and better love found ...

It all makes me laugh or cry.

It's an emotional exercise! A tough assignment! An impossible deadline!

"How far have you gotten?" she asks disrupting my staring off into space thinking these things.

She's standing halfway in and halfway out of the sliding glass doors ad the sun is hitting her face just right, and she's wearing a red UGA tank top that's tight across her breasts, and short cut off blue jeans showing off her fine thighs and tanned legs.

"It's coffee break time, right?" I say standing up.

She flashes her Mona Lisa smile.

We head to the Rec room.

God I love coffee breaks!
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