There's Probably No God...

...so stop worrying and get on with your life.

That's the message posted by a Humanist society on buses up and down the UK . I find it terribly interesting not because it's in any way shocking but because it's an almost entirely meaningless message and yet someone feels strongly enough about it to spend however much posting it all over my local no 77.

For starters there's the idea that the only reason anyone would worry is that they're examining what they do with the idea of an omniscient and vengeful God surveying their every move. What an odd suggestion, particularly in these predominantly secular days!

I don't know about anyone else but I'm more concerned with whether we're going to be able to retain our jobs and pay all the bills for this year than whether God approves of my actions. I'm more concerned that my other half's business makes enough money to cover his staff salaries than that I've done enough to make it into the hereafter. I worry that the kids might not enjoy my lessons. I worry that my son might not get into a school which will suit him. I worry that my daughter might be being bullied. I worry about all manner of things, and him upstairs rarely, if ever, features. The existence of God is just not something I, or the vast majority of people, worry about at all.

I'm not saying that I don't yearn for something spiritual in my life; I do, and culturally I am Christian, so sometimes I do consider the existence of God, but I never, ever worry about it. The idea that this is something 'worrying' is strange and almost contradictory. It smacks of a group of people trying at enormous expense to covince themselves of something.

Then there's that 'probably', which adds to the effect that this is a sort of navel-gazing self-reassurance. What's that about? There's probably no God? That's the kind of hedging one's bets that precedes a deathbed confession, just in case. The people who bang on about the unlikelihood of the existence of God are the ones who spend a lot of time thinking about it. The rest of us just get on with it.

Stil, at least it gets people talking, I suppose. Probably more of a spur to theological debate than anything else which has happened in a while.

Confidence

Isn't it odd how inconsistent personality is?

Given that I am so assertive and opinionated I'm constantly amazed that I persist in listening to the last person who volunteered an opinion about me and/or my work as if their word is gospel.

Last week I called about twenty agents to see if they were looking at new material. I called all the likely candidates in the Writers' Handbook from A to G before losing the will to live. Surprisingly, given the economic climate, most of them were still looking for work. A few engaged me in a conversation about my book, asking such difficult questions as "what is it?" and "is it literary or commercial?". (This last seems to be the one that's going to be the dealbreaker, and I'm not sure what the answer is - my last book was eventually turned down by one agent as too commercial and by another for being too literary.). Anyway, most of them were very positive about the premise for my book and asked me to send in submissions. A few people accept synopses by email so I sent those off. In all I approached 12 people with synopses and sample material.

So at this stage I was feeling very up about my work. It was even better when the two agents to whom I had sent synopses asked for 50 pages.

And then the first of those sent me the inevitable email thanking me for my submission and turning it down. Instant desolation. I tell myself that there are 11 others out there. I tell myself that it only takes one person to love what I have done. I tell myself that it's subjective stuff. I tell myself that this is a man reading a book which I have already identified as mainly targetting a female demographic... Makes no difference. Until I get a positive response I am officially shit at this.

There are two women whom I would particularly like to represent me. One asked for the whole book and the other 50 pages 'to start with'. God, I hope they like it.

In the meantime I shall start planning the next book. I voiced the unspeakable yesterday and wondered aloud to my partner whether maybe I was a mug for continuing to slog away at this. Sometimes I wish I could just sit back and enjoy the life I have, which is a good life, rather than hammering away at something else. But then I suspect I might start to try and live vicariously through my children and I do not want to do that. That wouldn't be fair. They're doing fine as themselves; Mum would just get in the way.

So while I wait for the judgements to roll in, it's ever onward for me.