A Pagan's Nightmare (31 page)

Angie was just warming up. “You can’t earn salvation, people. Perhaps some of you think you can earn it, but there’s simply
no standard to which any of us can point and say,’So and so has reached the standard of behavior that gets them in,’ and then
turn and say, ‘but so and so is just a few niceties short… too bad for ol’ so and so.’ “

Two brief giggles from row ten were likely as much nerves as humor.

Angie paused, took a breath. “It doesn’t matter what religious name or symbols you attach to your surroundings, or what nickname
you call yourself, be it DJ Ned Nazareth or Saint Crackhead or Spiritual Scooby-Doo… . It’s not enough. Even if you change
every lyric to every secular song and make disco the object of your personal vendetta, then give every cent you have to UNICEF,
it’s still not enough. You can call your art a ‘A Skippuh’s Nod to God’ or a ‘Bossa Nova for Jehovah’… but it won’t get you
to heaven. Nor will it get you any true peace on this earth.”

Another breath, a glance my way. “And by the way, plenty of people will
nod
to God, but what we’re supposed to do is
bow
before him, not nod as if he were just our domesticated neighbor out collecting his Saturday morning paper.”

More giggles from row ten.

Angie then picked up her empty McScripture carton and set it atop her head like a crown. “Tell me, everyone, does this earn
me bonus points? Nope, all this gets me is recognition that I’m a crazy woman from Jawja with a French-fry carton on her head.”

No one laughed this time.

Angie gazed with compassion at the audience. “If anyone here would like to bypass hell altogether—whether or not the place
involves legalistic do-gooders—then you need to place your faith in the one who conquered death.”

Light gasps, one stifled chuckle.

Then Angie uttered the word
Jesus,
and several studio execs and actors added winces to their gasps.

Angie said, “Sorry to be so blunt—and I can assure you that I’m one flawed female—but I hope you’ll recognize that pure gold
spilled from an imperfect package is still pure gold.”

I’ll admit, within that setting, around all that diversity of opinion, I even winced a bit myself. But while Angie spoke I
had taken out a fine-point pen and written a synopsis on the back of a business card:

Larry, our options appear to be:

1) Hope heaven/hell is irrelevant. (Weil all have bodies of light.)

2) Earn it by being nice. (Who says hoYi much is enough?)

3) Jesus on cross clears the May (for anyone riho accepts, even you.).

P.5. To choose vJrong = riorst nightwiare?

I handed the card up to Larry and he read it. For a moment he appeared pale, as if just now realizing the seriousness of what
he’d composed, as if he’d never considered that his showing the triviality of legalism might point him the opposite way, toward
the transcendence of the gospel.

Angie’s conclusion to her sermon contained both a reference to Marvin and the phrase
false prophets.
This caused Larry, who was now standing behind her in row three, to point at himself and mouth “Is she talking ‘bout me?”

I shook my head no. Larry may have been the only screenwriter in the Bible Belt to write a non-Christian’s comic allegory
of hell, disguised as apocalyptic spoof, but he was hardly a false prophet. Confused, sure;a victim, maybe—but nowhere near
prophetic. Except of course for that first day in my office, when he dropped his manuscript,
thwack,
on my desk, and told me we would soon sell the film rights. Nailed that one.

Angie finished her mini-sermon and the theatre fell silent. Someone in back crinkled a carton. I thought it might get tossed
at my wife. But no. Restraint won out.

Then my son surprised me with his boldness. Zach stood beside Angie and said, “I agree with my mom.”

Carla and her small-of-the-back hair stood next. She put her arm around Zach. “I agree with his mom, too.”

Then I felt my family’s eyes on me. Then Larry’s, as if to ask,
Well Ned, what
do
you believe?

Ned Neutral was on stage in front of half of Hollywood—and he was searching for shades of gray.

I felt the heat, the stares. I saw future movie deals crumbling in my fingers. But then I took a deep breath and stood beside
my wife and took her hand and brought to the surface what I had always kept so hidden. “I agree with my wife.”

Larry sat again and nodded at me, as if to say, “I’m glad you believe what you believe, and I’m glad that the two of us are
friends.” Miranda offered a wink, then turned to tap Angie on the knee and whisper, “You got guts.”

I can tell you this—no one converted anyone else to his or her way of thinking that night. But from the tone and quality of
what followed, the afterlife discussions likely spilled over into several L.A. breakfasts and power lunches.

As host, Mylan moved into the aisle and did the best he could to mediate. “Well,” he said, clearly sensing the need to intervene,
“this has certainly been the most interesting premiere discussion in my memory.”

A brooding actor who played the part of Marvin stood in the back and said, “Can we please change the subject from religion
back to the film?”

Mylan eased into the third row, put his hand on Larry’s shoulder, and smiled a producer’s smile. “Why don’t we ask our author
what he’s working on next,” he said. Mylan held an imaginary microphone to Larry’s lips. “Tell us, Larry, what can we expect
from you in the future?”

Larry stood and cleared his throat. He paused and basked in the attention. He even pulled Miranda up beside him. I knew he
was working on two different manuscripts, and figured he’d say something
about his sequel. Instead he told Mylan and the audience that he was working on a medical thriller with deep spiritual undertones,
and that he had titled it
Doctors, Femurs, and Blasphemers.

Miranda patted him on the back and said, “You go, boyfriend.”

No one else said a word. Mylan looked in shock, as did my wife.

I was nowhere near shock; I had already agreed to agent the project. In my orange polo shirt, I would agent it.

Not that I had read any of the story, mind you. All Larry had told me so far was that two of the doctors were named Ned and
Angie.

And that was good enough for now.

Discussion question for non-Christians:

• Was it wrong to steal Castro’s yacht?
  

Discussion question for Christians:

• if you were given Castro’s yacht, would you sell it and give the money to foreign missionaries? Or would you keep the yacht
  and invite the missionaries to go for a short ride whenever they came home on furlough?
  

Discussion question for married people:

• Which was Agent Orange’s most impressive feat—selling the manuscript or putting up with Angie?
  

Discussion question for single people:

• Would you go out with someone you met on E-Marviny? Why or why not?
  

Discussion question for anyone who likes to e-mail authors:

• Should Larry title his sequel
  My Big Fat Orbiting Cheeseball?
  (If your answer is no, feel free to e-mail your suggestion for the correct title.)
  

For years people have accused Christian novelists of using their characters as mere mouthpieces for doctrine, using them to
tell the world what Christianity
is.
Last year a friend and I decided that it was high time someone write a novel about what Christianity
is not.
Larry and I did our best, and we welcome your comments via my Web site,
www.rayblackston.com
.

Blessings to all who can laugh at themselves,

P.S. Larry and I confess that our idea for a Broadway musical of
A pagan’s Nightmare
is still in the “Hmmm, should we do this?” phase. But I do know that Larry has already left phone messages for Sister Sledge,
ABBA, and Paul McCartney.

Ray Blackston is a native South Carolinian and full-time author. He left the corporate world in 2000 to focus on creative
writing. He is a graduate of the University of South Carolina, with a degree in Finance and Economics, although this did little
to prepare him for life as a novelist. He also serves on the drama team at his church, participates in a weekly men’s accountability
group, and enjoys playing golf and visiting South Carolina beaches with friends and family. As a sidebar to his time spent
writing, Ray has a passion for teaching budding writers, both at conferences and in a local writers group. His first novel,
Flabbergasted,
was one of three finalists for the Christy Award for best first novel and was chosen as Inspirational Novel of the Year by
the
Dallas Morning News.
More of Ray’s background is available at his Web site,
www.rayblackston.com
.

Exclamation Points!!!!!!!”

—Today’s Religious Fanatic

“Thou hast made much mockery; therefore, ye shall receive not our vehement condemnation, but our esteem. For thou hast brought
great mirth unto us.”

—King James Fiction Review

“We can all pray that we’ll one day live in the world Ray has imagined.”

—Legalism Today

“Tune in every night this week for a chance to buy your ‘Rock on with the holy movement or burn in heck—your choice!’ T-shirt.
Blackston’s novel—and this exclusive T-shirt—are must-haves in this pagan-filled world!”

—Holy Shopping Network

“A world ruled by religious fanatics? God forbid!”

—Today’s Pagan Woman

“Man, the Bible Belt was bad enough when guys just went to church to meet girls. And now this!”

—The Jay Jarvis Flabbergasting Fiction Review

Larry Hutch may have a few loose screws in his head, but he’s determined to create a hit with his latest manuscript. While
dealing with personal crises, he conceives of a strange new world: on a routine Monday morning in Atlanta, an unwary “pagan”
finds himself one of the last remaining unbelievers in a world populated by Christians.

Christians can buy gas for twelve cents a gallon, while everyone else (the pagans, that is) has to pay $6.66. The radio stations
alter all song lyrics to conform to “Christian” standards–the Beatles belt out “I Wanna Hold Your Tithe”; ABBA’s “Dancing
Queen” becomes “Dancing’s Wrong.” Even French fries, newly labeled “McScriptures,” are tools for evangelism.

Larry’s novel is a big hit with his agent, Ned. But Ned’s wife–a committed Southern Baptist–is less than amused. And Larry
has yet to show the manuscript to his new girlfriend, even though he’s made her the unsuspecting heroine. It will take deft
handling from both men to keep their lives and their relationships intact when the world witnesses
A PAGAN’S NIGHTMARE.

“Ray Blackston’s
A PAGAN’S NIGHTMARE
is a delightful tongue-in-cheek look at some of our sacred cows… and he’s not afraid to tip them over! Ray does a great job
of reminding us what’s really important–not the trappings we’ve created for ourselves, but our relationship with a living,
powerful God.”

–Angela Hunt, author of
Magdalene
and
The Novelist

David Lawrence Photography

R
AY
B
LACKSTON
is the author of the Flabbergasted trilogy. When he’s not crafting a new novel, he explores South Carolina beaches with friends
and family, competes in golf tournaments, leads a writers’ critique group, and relives his youth through a large collection
of eighties music.