Dear Diary

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I Wrote a Book With My Heavenly Father

Three years ago, I decided I wanted to write a book. I had grown up surrounded by the printed word, so it made perfect sense that one day I would transition from a reader, to an author.

I took some writing courses, nothing fancy, just the basics. It was important to me, that I learn about the process of writing, and of course the climate of the writing world. After a year of classes, I had turned out the first draft of a young adult (YA in the business) novel, and eagerly began mailing off queries to potential publishers.

My manuscript was a labor of love. I was in constant contact with God the whole way. He helped me finesse the writing and enrich the overall story. It was stunning how easily the pieces of my story fit together, how quickly my prayers were answered when I asked for help. I could feel God's hand in every edit. It became obvious that I hadn't written a novel, WE had... me, and my Father.

I had laid a deep Christian foundation into the story. And my first instinct was to submit to Christian book sellers. But, my heart wanted more. My heart wanted a secular publishing house to publish it. What a victory for the Lord, to spread the Good News to such a large audience.

When the first rejection letters came in, I wasn't surprised. My friends and mentors had warned me that submitting to publishers was tedious and slow. That I should expect many rejections. So, I took them in stride, knowing in my soul, that God would get this book published.

A year went by. I got a handful of hopefuls, but they all turned out to be self publishing services. That simply would not do. I had written a book with the Lord! It deserved to be published in the traditional manner. I doubled my efforts, and pressed on.

Another year went by. Still nothing. Of the near two hundred queries I had sent out, eighty six of them had turned me down, and all but three of the rest hadn't even bothered to respond. The joy I had felt during the writing of the book was beginning to fade. And I questioned whether I had made a terrible mistake in writing the book at all.

Finally, on July 13, 2015, I had had enough. All day, I felt my heart sinking deeper into a depression. I pushed it down, finished my work day and went home. When I got the mail that afternoon, rejection letter number eighty seven was waiting for me. When I logged into my online writer's group, the poetry prompt for the day was "write a poem about fears and disappointments." The day had officially hit the bottom. Trying to publish a book wasn't fun anymore. So, I fell into the trap I always fall into: I decided to give up.

That night, I prayed. Well not really, more like, I gave my notice. I told God I was done trying to be a writer. I was tired of being rejected, of being let down every time I went to the mailbox. I told Him I felt like the money and time I had spent were wasted resources. Then I apologized for being a quitter, and went to sleep.

The next two days passed by quietly. Then On the third day, there was a letter in the mailbox. I rolled my eyes, knowing what would be inside. The usual, "Thanks, but no thanks". I opened it up. Inside was the acceptance letter I had been waiting nearly three years for! The letter expressed how they were delighted with the book, and that it filled a need for the age group it represented.

Then I noticed God's signature, up at the top of the letter. In simple type, was the date:

July 13, 2015. The day I decided to give up, was the very day God had chosen to send my book out into the world. I was convicted. My Lord had never left me. He had never forgotten me. He had heard the prayers my heart was praying, in spite of what my mouth was saying.

I learned the lesson of patience. The lesson of God's timing, and how He is NEVER late. My novel will be released by Black Opal Books in early 2016. My picture and bio are already up on their website. I owe it all to the Lord. He once again, Blessed me, and filled me with His Grace. And because of that Grace, I will be able to share the Gospel with others.

May the Lord Bless you all

Molly Neely

 

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Titans, children of... The Heavenly Host?


It's said, in the apocryphal Book of Enoch, that 200 Watchers, or Angels, were dispatched to Earth to watch over mankind. But, soon, the angels gave in to lust, and before long, had taken human wives. Not only did they get hitched (that in itself a huge no-no), but they also instructed man on technologies they were not ready to know, ie. weapon forging, cosmetics, glass making, mathematics, etc... Humans weren't ready for all this knowledge. Nor were they ready for the nephilim, half-breed, giant children born of the angel/human marriages.

It could be speculated, that these "giants" of the Bible, are also the titans of greek myth. Certainly their stories are simular, giants, full of rage, causing waves of destruction.

And what would that make Zeus? His mother Rhea, is traditionally considered a titan,  but never called a god like the others. Why? Was she actually a human, and ultimately not worthy of worship? She's never referred to as a god, and though she's traditionally called the sister of Cronos, Rhea is usually depicted as a lovely human woman.

These are legends and stories that date back to 700 bc. and earlier. Perhaps we'll never know. It would certainly explain Goliath. But, if the titans were in fact nephilim, then the legends of the Greeks become more than Crete tradition... they become mankind's legacy.

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Some Books...


Why does it seem like some books almost dare you to read them? It's like they know you're apprehensive about their content, worried about the nightmares contained within their pages. So, they taunt you.

I first felt the shame of biblio-hazing with the so called classic The Catcher in the Rye. I was enticed by the reputation of the book, the allure of all those serial killers that held Holden Caulfield in such high regard. 

When I finally answered the call and read it, I was, well..... angry. Holden was whiny, weak, and quite frankly, in desperate need of a butt kicking. I was not moved by him, and thankfully, not moved to go out and serial kill.

Years later, I was called by another book. But this time, I was prepared (or so I thought). Bribed by its sinister origins, I purchased and dove into 120 Days of Sodom, by The Marquis De Sade. I made it exactly 4 pages. Nothing could have prepared me for the atrocities in this book. No wonder it was banned in France for so long.

It's been a year since I bought it. I'm only about 40 pages in. But like Catcher, I will press on till the end, inspite of wanting to use it for firewood.

Why? Why keep reading it? Why put myself through the disgust? Because every book was written by a person. And all people are capable of being De Sade, or Holden Caulfield.  Reading books that make us uncomfortable, can be the very therapy we need to be a better race. If we must learn, let's learn from the mistakes of the past, the mistakes of fiction, instead of learning from the mistakes we make ourselves.

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Created by Molly Neely