On Being A Prophet

Thing is, propheting doesn't pay much so it behooved me to take a second job. Problem with that is, propheting is pretty demanding, requires flexible hours and the ability to pick up and go at a moment's notice. Can't be a thinking man's job either, your mind has to be pretty much open for word from the boss. That's why I work fast food on Trader's Hand, the busiest planet in the universe, in most universes for that matter. It's hard but it's, for the most part, mindless.

Pretty much when I'm not working I write, its how my god, Zach, requires me to speak his word. He's given me a muse to bring me his word, a moody angel who appears in many forms and speaks in many voices. She keeps me busy all the time, mostly looking for her. Her inspiration isn't easily won, serendipity happens but most of the time I have to search diligently for the thoughts that will eventually become words.

I woo her, I rail at her, she's the source of most of my misery and joy. I hate her, I love her, she's my muse, the voice of my god.