The Slubgob Correspondences: Letter II

My Dear Screwtape,

     Your response to my last letter speaks volumes to your lack of humility.  While we wish to inspire pride in the minds of humans, you really ought to know better. Just because we are devils, do not assume that we clamor at every manifestation of pride. In humans, yes, when properly directed. But down here we command the absolute obedience of all subordinates.

     I will assume for the time being that the preceding has instilled in you a sense of humility and you no longer consider yourself beyond my counsel. In light of this assumed humility I will indulge your idiotic fancy that corruption belongs in the heart of the individual and there alone.  While I admit that such an approach – in the past - has yielded many quite delectable victuals favorable to even the most discriminating palettes, you must realize that Hell is an organization. It is a hierarchy who seeks to continue trapping lost souls for the purpose of satisfying our appetites; so quality must - at times - suffer for the sake of quantity.

Remember that one fellow we waited for, the one with a natural sweetness that made our jawbones quiver? That sweetness came not just from his commitment to our cause, but from the return on our investment in his willingness to propagate our message through his calamitous actions.  The quivering was anticipation of those souls still to come and be feasted upon – those souls who followed him as well as those upon whom he inflicted such irreversible despair. The state of a single soul takes flavor only so far; it is only when soaked in a marinade of cynicism, regret, and despondency that its bouquet really comes alive.

In your toast when you named the individual soul as the true battle field, I nearly choked.  True one must turn individuals to us; but if we don’t immediately succeed in making that individual into a proselytizer for our purposes, we are leaving much on that terrestrial table to be scooped up by the Enemy. When someone is firmly in our grasp, they must cease questioning the correctness of their path. By influencing their communication to others, we are able to turn their pride inward and reinforce it continuously – but remember that such an approach must be tireless. The Enemy loves converts.

Remember that fellow on the road to Damascus? There’s an example of someone who could’ve proven most useful to us; but a single moment of neglect on the part of his tempter lost him to the Enemy forever. His letters are still causing us grief.

                                  Your Merciful Master,

                                      Slubgob

The Slubgob Correspondences: Letter I

My Dear Screwtape,

     Now that you have supped on the bounty of your nephew’s incompetence, you ought not think it improper to find yourself summarily demoted.  Do not think you are being punished for incompetence; but for the clandestine nature with which you attempted to advise your dear Wormwood. It must have occurred to you that such wisdom could have served our cause better had it been shared among the masses. Yet you chose to entrench yourself and your wretched apprentice at the expense of greater and nobler accomplishments…not to mention the unflattering language with which you demeaned my position in several correspondences. That’s right! We read every last one of those letters and Our Father Below knows the seeds of insurrection when he sees them.  Did you honestly think you would succeed?  

You are hereby sentenced to teach a class of a thousand Wormwoods.  We have reserved for you a lecture hall in the basement. Now don’t even consider using their failure for your own amusement. Any failure on their part will be regarded as a double failure on yours. The administration has built a rigid curriculum instructing this class of junior tempters on the art of sowing social unrest. You are to follow it to the letter.

You see, temptation of an individual is easy. It is succeeding in the long game which proves difficult. However, it is the opinion of our administration that such obstacles may be avoided by conditioning the mortals en masse to a point of universal moral indifference.  Once this indifference has settled firmly in the minds of those bipedal monstrosities, it is expected our foot soldiers will have greater success in navigating their subjects through the fog-ridden valleys to Our Father Below.

Your job is to teach this generation how to impact the human community in such a way as one blow is equal to ten.  You displayed great aptitude for this in your letters on sowing domestic strife. Now, we would like you to expand beyond the household to the street, beyond the street to the community, beyond the community to the nation, and beyond the nation to the world.

Now I know what you are thinking: that conflict does not necessarily bring about corruption and quite often brings about the opposite. While there is some logic to that, it must also be accepted that conflict more often than not clearly plays to our advantage – so long as it is meaningless. That was the principle error in our handling of the last World War. Since the very survival of civilization depended on its outcome, civilization – with the help of the Enemy – overcame. 

Our new strategy may seem somewhat inverted but we have every reason to believe it will work.  The new path is to personalize social unrest and encourage our human subjects to accept their discontent as an aspect of their identity rather than an external problem to be solved through time and dedication.  What we want here is inaction; or – if action must occur, that it be violent and devoid of meaning. This leads to others either taking the event personally or viewing it in such a trivial manner as to lament the “tragic loss of life” or “the poor souls” or (and this is my favorite) “I feel so sorry for the families.” 

We want humans to think this way while also viewing any commonsense preventative measures as ineffectual and therefore hopeless. We want superficial concern without the dedication and patience required to make any real difference. Such sentiments must never cross over into the realm of meaningful action. You may take comfort in knowing that any sincerity will be quite short-lived once you've reminded the beasts that they can always change the channel.

                                 Your Merciful Master,                                                    Slubgob

The Slubgob Correspondences: A Sequel to C.S. Lewis’ The Screwtape Letters By J.H. Bernard

Prologue

     This is not my idea. Much like my predecessor, I happened upon the following letters by chance and was quickly sworn never to disclose their origin. Suffice it to say I was shocked by some of what I read and the antidote to such shock was remembering the disclaimer cautioned by Mr. Lewis: “That the devil is a liar and nothing he says should be considered true even from his own angle.” The reader would be wise to remember these words.

Yet regardless of such ambiguity, I still feel it is in our interest to study how the forces of darkness conspire against us.  My views on theology, the soul, demons, and angels differ – often substantially – with my predecessor. He believed in angels. I do not. He believed in demons. I do not. He believed in an eternal soul while I believe that a soul is something one earns over time. What we do agree on is that there is this thing called God and that one’s happiness is dependent upon one’s closeness to this God. We also agree that there are certain tendencies within us which may ultimately result in our alienation from God. This tendency may be called concupiscence and the act whereby we indulge it may be called sin.

     When I say I do not believe in angels or demons, what I mean is I’ve never encountered such beings and see no need to think of them as real in the sense that you and I are real. I haven’t encountered God either, but I believe God is real because I view God as a necessity. If existence is real, God must be. I do not intend to defend this position here, merely to note my inclination toward it. Angels and demons are real only in that they serve to personify certain aspects of human nature to help us delineate right from wrong.

     I’m reluctant, however, to classify them as “myth”; partly because the term has been so distorted by modern culture and has instead become synonymous with “false”. I don’t think the creators of our myths ever intended them to be taken literally. When some well-meaning Hellene first uttered the tale of Dedalus and Icarus, I don’t accept that he or she believed – or intended others to believe - that two men made wings from wax and feathers to fly out of prison. But just because that event never occurred doesn’t mean the tale is devoid of truth. Its truth is about the damage caused by pride; just as the tale of Lucifer’s rebellion, the literal occurrence of which is of equal insignificance.

     With modernity we’ve fled from mythic truth to embrace science. In postmodernity we have come to regard science as suspect and have created myths in the form of new age mystical nonsense. When referring to “myth” in any non-pejorative sense, one risks becoming either a charlatan in the eyes of science or a guru in the eyes of mystics. Neither of which is desirable for someone who simply wishes to examine truth through story-telling.

     I make no claims as to the authenticity of what follows. Readers are invited to draw their own conclusions as I have.

The Return

Well, I took a couple months off but I am back again.  Though my following is small, I seem to have one at least so I thank the readers. At least there's some people interested in the ramblings of an amateur and heretofore unsuccessful author.  But hopefully that will come to an end soon. After receiving no positive responses from prospective literary agents regarding my novel, I decided to take matters into my own hands and the past two months were consumed by that effort.

One may be inclined to ask: What does this schmuck mean by taking matters into his own hands?

By that, I mean I was granted an opportunity experienced by few others in this field.

Toward the end of September, I woke in the middle of the night to the sound of footsteps in my downstairs. By the time I realized the source of my stirring the steps were already coming up my staircase which terminated right outside my bedroom door.  I stretched out my right hand to see if my wife was still in bed with me and she was so there was some anxiety stood up and grabbed two spherical paper weight made of solid marble. I stood their like a pitcher on the mound - if pitchers on the mound held two balls instead of just one - prepared to hurl these objects at the first sign of an intruder.

Then, the door opened.

But the figure in my doorway posed no danger and I felt this once I encountered his presence. I didn't throw the balls at him but I didn't let go of them either.  He spoke English in a thick Italian accent.  It was Virgil.Virgil, the epic poet. Virgil, composer of the Aneid.  Virgil, the man who led Dante through the afterlife in his Divine Comedy. And this time, he wanted me. Of course, I went with him.  If this man can get me to Hell, I thought.  It'd be a perfect place to succumb to the Devil's bargain and exchange my eternal soul for talent and fame...after all, it worked for Robert Johnson, and he didn't even go to Hell to see the great bargainer himself.  Mr. Johnson just sat there at the crossroads until the Devil came up and tuned his guitar.

He died just a few years later. Poisoned by his old lady.

My trip down to the inferno wasn't nearly as dramatic as the great Dante's.  It did have its moments, like seeing three tombs reserved for Ted Cruz, John Boehner, and Mitch McConnell.  But I digress.

I never got down far enough to meet the Chief.  I understand he was preparing a banquet for the Tea Party Express...overseeing it personally, or would it be "anti-angelically"?  I don't know.  But when Virgil brought me back, I wondered what the point of the journey was. The next morning, I understood.

The journey was a means for inspiration.  An inspiration I shall be recording here with my next posts.  Stay tuned.

A day late...but the same amount of dollars

So I made a commitment to post every week on Sunday but such commitments are easily broken when thwarted by a hangover.  Seven or eight gin martinis rendered this writer incapable of meeting this duty.  I suppose I'd feel guilty if I had some followers - but I don't so...I don't.

No more news to report on the representation front; but I'm not really expecting any for a few more weeks. The latest batch of correspondences which went out last week will most likely not be answered for a few more weeks. I'm being patient for the time being and using this period to work on some of my other stories and build my repertoire.

But meanwhile, I'm marking time.

Slight Breakthrough

So I spent the week trying to improve my hook and therefore, my query.  The assignment I've given myself was to find a way to explain my plot in a way that revealed a more specific genre. So I wrote another letter and tried it out. Here's my first paragraph:

"This is my first novel. I currently work in an office in downtown Pittsburgh where I negotiate supply contracts. I'm just an average guy with an insatiable curiosity about the world and a compulsion to explore that curiosity through writing. I have a B.A. in Communications. There are currently three things which interest me most: Cosmology, Economics, and World Affairs.  I studied Economics and World Affairs while in college; but, in my adulthood, I have taken a somewhat informal interest in Cosmology - meaning I read everything I can while also periodically engaging several professionals in the field. I don't know enough to have a degree; but I do know enough to see how the Universe’s state of accelerated expansion serves as an apt metaphor for the relationships of its inhabitants."

It's a little more biographical than I'd prefer but the agent, on her website, said that this is what she wanted. I wrote this first paragraph with the intention of laying the ground work to explain the significance of my title. The final sentence introduces a connection between the larger Universe and its connection to the people. The second paragraph then connects the story to the current historical moment and ties this in to the future state of the world in which the novel is set. My final paragraph went over my modest history of writing credits.

Now while I didn't knock the socks off any agents yet with this revised query, it did yield my first non-canned response:

"You sound like a thoughtful intelligent guy and so I hate to be negative. Especially since the scenario you present isn't all that far-fetched, definitely not something I'd call science fiction. probably something that falls into the area of dystopian future, which has become something of a hot area.  But it is not my area, and so despite your thinking of it as literary fiction, editors are likely to see it as more in tune with those who do dystopian books. That's not a crowd I know, so I don't see myself as the most effective agent for you. Keep the submission around and you're likely to connect with an agent who is more fluent in this area. Good luck."

It was the first time an agent ever bothered to tell me something useful about my project.  Even though it was a rejection, this agent pointed me in the direction of dystopian literature...which wasn't something I ever considered as a "genre".  So, as you can imagine, this response gave me a much-needed boost of confidence. 

I plan to continue with this particular explanation when querying agents who work in the dystopian area. Of course, I will have to tailor the other portions to the specific guidelines listed on an agent's website but at least I now know two things which I hadn't before: 

1. Approach agents looking for dystopian literature. 
2. The new hook I have written has at least been able to pique one agent's interest...it's just not the right agent for this work.

Hopefully I will be able to affect the right agent in the way I affected this one.  I have regained the energy to keep slogging through.  Maybe next week's entry will reflect even greater news.

Another Week...

Happy Labor Day, Visitors.

Wife and I just came back from a cookout with some of our dearest friends.  I took the opportunity to practice my "pitching" skills with regard to my recently completed novel.  The friend hosting the party proved a good sounding board. I've been thinking a great deal about my hook and while I shy away from referring to this particular work as science fiction, I can't deny the presence of such elements.  Kurt Vonnegut once had a similar dilemma. 

I think it's in the introduction to Slaughterhouse Five where Vonnegut writes about his reluctance to accept his work as science fiction because such works were typically urinated upon by literary critics.  But despite such critical obtuseness - which unfortunately is too common - the genre bears many titans...Vonnegut, of course, being among them.  Ray Bradbury, Isaac Asimov, Ursula K. Le Guin, and Philip K. Dick have accomplished much in making the genre respectable from a literary standpoint; and it would be insulting to discuss such literary success within the genre without mentioning HG Wells and Jules Verne. And who could neglect the woman whom I regard as the mother of science fiction - Mary Shelley?

Science fiction works best when embedded as a sub-genre within literary fiction - meaning, the story attempts to articulate a uniquely human truth which is only discoverable after considering humanity's relationship with technology.  And given the accelerated state of human culture, one that changes so rapidly in the face of new means, how can anyone decry as irrelevant the only literary genre which considers the effect such convenience bears on the human condition?

The problem is that the genre is host to much pulp. There are many who would regard such a description as an insult but I do not use the term disparagingly. Pulp exists to apply to most people most of the time.  This is to say that it is merely common, not necessarily bad. Comic books are pulp and I don't think I know any avid readers who weren't first introduced to the written word via comic books - avid male readers at least...I tend to find females more attracted to the works of Judy Bloom and R.L Stine.  

As we age, our tastes change representing a migration from such humble beginnings toward greater and more complex characters and plot lines.  Critics are always looking for that next step forward in identifying new narrative truths which is why they are reluctant to regard Stan Lee similarly to a Ray Bradbury...not that one is better than the other, but they are each experimenting with two grossly different storytelling methods and are therefore incomparable in any literary sense.

There's no doubt that the crux of my novel rests in technological advancement - namely, whether or not the presence of a maintenance assessment application in a robot constitutes an instinct of self-preservation.  I'm reluctant to describe it this way because it sounds like the plot of a plethora of pre-existing tales of living machines. Terminator, 2001 - hell, even Short Circuit all deal with this theme.  So I need to describe this plot element while differentiating it from existing narratives. 

This will be my homework for the week.