And here we go!
I'm doing mini_nanowrimo in order to fulfill my spn_j2_xmas assignment. I just banged this out but I'm pretty damn proud of it.
And this is the only public post about the story until it's unveiled in its totality. I adore Good Omens so this story is going to be awesome to write!
Seven Years Ago
Scholars of past and present have fiercely debated about two passages in the Bible:
1. In the beginning God created the heaven and the earth.
2. In the beginning was the Word, and the Word was with God, and the Word was God.
Some say John was correct. Others would argue that John was a contradictory bastard, which he was (a fact that goes a long way to prove Jesus had not only great patience but a sense of humor) and that he wanted to have the last say about the first act of God. The naysayers would then shoot back, what is this ‘Word’ then, eh?
Here are some of the documented responses:
1. We are not worthy to know this ‘Word’.
2. God is ineffable. A response favored by a certain librarian in Canterbury who had great affinity for correcting books under his personage, much to the vexation of the archbishop.
3. W-Y-R-D-E as offered by one Alfred Doodleday of Bubbling Brooks, Shropshire. This explanation was summarily dismissed by the locals and the Anglican Church as Alfred was a member of a family with dubious reputations regarding their love of sheep: a trait not so abhorred in the seventeenth century as it was considered a ‘lively quirk’.
Religious scholars would be chagrined to note that the drunken lout with rather strange leanings towards barnyard companions was closest, though W-Y-R-D-E is technically incorrect. However, in spite of being a complete tosser, Doodleday had a bright line towards the Great Ineffability. That there is actually a ‘Word’ floating out there that helped Creation come about.
After creating then wielding this ‘Word’, God created the ‘UnWord’. A litany of sounds that when spoken aloud would undo all of creation, leaving not an empty space since emptiness indicated a presence whose absence will be noticed. Instead, there is only a void which shows there never was anything to begin with.
This ‘UnWord’ was only heard by human ears once, and since Mrs. Winifred Elliot was half deaf, it took some doing for her to write it down. According to one lore, she jotted down the entire thing on seventeen separate pieces of fabric. You see, she was a seamstress of some note during the sixteenth century, and though London wasn’t rich in paper, it had more than its fair share of fabric for its many seamstresses. After all, the wealthy merchant husbands (and great number of the clergy) had many to clothe: their wives, children, and mistresses.
By doing this she had accidentally prevented undoing all of Creation, as she had misplaced all seventeen swatches and would find them through the years while fulfilling various orders of her numerous clients. She would later discover a more profitable way to earn a living, as she used her knowledge of who bought what for who to slyly blackmail the husbands and the clergy. Having thus earned a comfortable living in her later years, Mrs. Elliot decided to sew a book together, as London was still suffering from a paper shortage.
Mrs. Elliot finished this masterpiece of stitch-work at 9:12 on a sunny Tuesday morning, which allowed her her first drink at the local establishment. Perhaps she should have done better to have finished it after supper. Completely inebriated with honeyed mead by noon, she set out for home only to be run over by a cart pulled by an oxen team.
It was duly noted that her death was both slow and painful.
Having no heirs, her belongings were stolen, shared, or just mysteriously vanished. Her book was a victim of the last fate. That was until it was sold off by a small auction house in Bath. It was bought by one Mr. William Johnston from Templeton, Texas: a postal worker whose only vacation until Bath was to his mother’s house in Kirkland, Washington.
A normal, socialized human being would look at the pages and wonder what kind of drug Mrs. Elliot had taken while putting together the book, but Mr. Johnston was not such a man. He had a great affinity for puzzles, and Mrs. Elliot’s book offered a novel challenge. And a nice break from Sudoku Extreme.
Creation had seven years twelve days and thirty-four minutes, more or less, to stop Mr. Johnston from speaking the ‘UnWord’ loudly and by doing so negating all of Creation from Day One.
And this is the only public post about the story until it's unveiled in its totality. I adore Good Omens so this story is going to be awesome to write!
Seven Years Ago
Scholars of past and present have fiercely debated about two passages in the Bible:
1. In the beginning God created the heaven and the earth.
2. In the beginning was the Word, and the Word was with God, and the Word was God.
Some say John was correct. Others would argue that John was a contradictory bastard, which he was (a fact that goes a long way to prove Jesus had not only great patience but a sense of humor) and that he wanted to have the last say about the first act of God. The naysayers would then shoot back, what is this ‘Word’ then, eh?
Here are some of the documented responses:
1. We are not worthy to know this ‘Word’.
2. God is ineffable. A response favored by a certain librarian in Canterbury who had great affinity for correcting books under his personage, much to the vexation of the archbishop.
3. W-Y-R-D-E as offered by one Alfred Doodleday of Bubbling Brooks, Shropshire. This explanation was summarily dismissed by the locals and the Anglican Church as Alfred was a member of a family with dubious reputations regarding their love of sheep: a trait not so abhorred in the seventeenth century as it was considered a ‘lively quirk’.
Religious scholars would be chagrined to note that the drunken lout with rather strange leanings towards barnyard companions was closest, though W-Y-R-D-E is technically incorrect. However, in spite of being a complete tosser, Doodleday had a bright line towards the Great Ineffability. That there is actually a ‘Word’ floating out there that helped Creation come about.
After creating then wielding this ‘Word’, God created the ‘UnWord’. A litany of sounds that when spoken aloud would undo all of creation, leaving not an empty space since emptiness indicated a presence whose absence will be noticed. Instead, there is only a void which shows there never was anything to begin with.
This ‘UnWord’ was only heard by human ears once, and since Mrs. Winifred Elliot was half deaf, it took some doing for her to write it down. According to one lore, she jotted down the entire thing on seventeen separate pieces of fabric. You see, she was a seamstress of some note during the sixteenth century, and though London wasn’t rich in paper, it had more than its fair share of fabric for its many seamstresses. After all, the wealthy merchant husbands (and great number of the clergy) had many to clothe: their wives, children, and mistresses.
By doing this she had accidentally prevented undoing all of Creation, as she had misplaced all seventeen swatches and would find them through the years while fulfilling various orders of her numerous clients. She would later discover a more profitable way to earn a living, as she used her knowledge of who bought what for who to slyly blackmail the husbands and the clergy. Having thus earned a comfortable living in her later years, Mrs. Elliot decided to sew a book together, as London was still suffering from a paper shortage.
Mrs. Elliot finished this masterpiece of stitch-work at 9:12 on a sunny Tuesday morning, which allowed her her first drink at the local establishment. Perhaps she should have done better to have finished it after supper. Completely inebriated with honeyed mead by noon, she set out for home only to be run over by a cart pulled by an oxen team.
It was duly noted that her death was both slow and painful.
Having no heirs, her belongings were stolen, shared, or just mysteriously vanished. Her book was a victim of the last fate. That was until it was sold off by a small auction house in Bath. It was bought by one Mr. William Johnston from Templeton, Texas: a postal worker whose only vacation until Bath was to his mother’s house in Kirkland, Washington.
A normal, socialized human being would look at the pages and wonder what kind of drug Mrs. Elliot had taken while putting together the book, but Mr. Johnston was not such a man. He had a great affinity for puzzles, and Mrs. Elliot’s book offered a novel challenge. And a nice break from Sudoku Extreme.
Creation had seven years twelve days and thirty-four minutes, more or less, to stop Mr. Johnston from speaking the ‘UnWord’ loudly and by doing so negating all of Creation from Day One.