I Would Like to Thank the Academy

The new chairs in the movie theater were relaxing enough for Calhoun Mane to enjoy the flick. He wrote every emotional plunge into the depths of an empathic human's sob story. The natural tears shed proved something personal as onlookers sat in awe; his life portrayed on the silver screen had impressed some bigwigs with money to throw around. The work he accomplished had found connections with industry powerhouses, a diverse group just dying to depict the work of a visionary writer. The rendition of his words had healed a nation, and Calhoun had no escape from civil obligation. Anyone could walk up to the author and shake his hand. The prestige compelled him to allow wiser professionals to invest in the healing process outlined in his book. God-fearers, and then some, a theater of dozens of opinions to come would surely be his star reached.

The applause sounded as the credits rolled. The theater erupted into a standing ovation for the production's overall value and talent. Calhoun got a nod for a nomination at the highest level and showed up at the Oscars with a swagger in his step. He knew the book would sell a fortune, but he never imagined being responsible for healing a generation of thinkers. Raising Mother Nature theatrically made box-office records, and Calhoun yearned to return home, where the world could settle into a small-town feel again. He would bring humankind into his life as an advocate for something more wholesome. His traditional values aligned with those of the billionaires, who produced a near picture-perfect payday for everyone involved.  

He sold 100 million copies of his title worldwide, so he donated every cent to foundations that supported children from every corner of the planet. Calhoun had worked so hard to provide for his family and everyone else. He funded a global conference to discuss the end of homelessness and disease. Book after book, Calhoun found success. He had given away more money than any other literary entrepreneur in the business. He finally woke up to what is possible.

            The laundry remained piled on the couch. Calhoun recognized that, with his new identity, fans began calling him an instant sensation who would go on to create a dozen more successes. At the end of his life, he had no money, but he had gifted so many deserving souls, and the world became a better place to live. They honored Calhoun, the world had. He rented his latest major production in theaters around the globe, and ten minutes in, he slept in the most comfortable resting position he had ever had. He eventually stopped taking himself so seriously, encouraging others to realize that Calhoun had entered his golden years and was a simple guy. His visions spread far and wide to heal those in need. He was, above all else, inspired by Jesus Christ.

            Calhoun Mane had a superlative life, creating timeless classics for so many generations. He died with his hands folded across his heart. His exact positioning made him into a cross, and some people described him as insane for disassociating himself from his extreme wealth. He was neither crazy nor foolish; taking riches with him appeared nonsensical, and his stubbornness had surpassed greed as a sin. Now, he would convince the Lord that being God was not such a shabby ordeal. He thanked Jesus for the blessings.

This whole premise is a mad dash, but I think such a life sounds fun. I'll see you on the big screen, or my characters might delight audiences someday. I'll keep doing my part as the creator of my universal appeal as a writer.

Please read Raising Mother Nature now. It's everything I write about and more.