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god, money & wisdom

by Lone Justice Valentine

110 pages; quality trade paperback (softcover); catalogue #02-1245; ISBN 1-55395-530-7; US$15.00, C$16.70, EUR12.00, £8.50

At the end of the day how we go through life depends on how we see it; so if you want to change your life, change your perception of it. god, money & wisdom explores whether we should be satisfied with life and the world a they've been explained to us. Do we simply choose to consume information, buying versions of reality as people and groups with highly suspect credentials of authenticity put them to us? Most importantly do we allow anyone or anything to censor the way we think? The reader is invited to enter into an area of thought where the only rules are those determined by the individual and where the repercussions for having your own ideas are limited to healthy, peaceful debate. Maybe the idea will catch on.

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about the book      about the author      excerpts      catalogue info

About the Book Ultimately the only eyes we see the world from are our own; granting license to anyone ot anything else to distort your vision is a terrible disservice to ones self. Too often though, that's exactly what we do. How many of your own views are really your own? Can you explain why you have the prejudices you do, or why some things inexplicably invoke anger, or fear, or shame in you? god, money & wisdom is my own way of saying I don't think we should be satisfied with life and the world as they've been explained to us. We mustn't let ourselves be pigeon holed into buying versions of reality as people and groups with highly suspect credentials of authenticity put them to us. All the stories are fictional. There is no more truth in these pages than you'll find anyplace other than in your own heart. If you've been looking for the answers to your life's question someplace else, then just give up because you are destined to fail. The only thing anyone else can offer you is some ideas that may amuse, anger or provoke you to re-visit some of you own perceptions. my confession is just as it sounds. An attempt to look back with an objective eye on the path my life has taken so far, and fairly review the good and bad of who and what I am. Forgive the first person narrative as an amateurish first effort at putting pen to paper. Some time you can by me a drink and I'll happily listen to your life story as retribution for making you read mine. the 2nd greatest story ever told is a work of fiction detailing another perspective on the story of Jesus. A polytheist myself (read as: I believe there are an infinite number of equally valid paths all leading to one god), I elected to use the Christian faith as the backdrop of 2nd greatest. I did this not to attack popular Christian dogma, but because the content is widely recognizable in North America; I could just have easily picked the tales of Mohammed, Moses or Buddha. I suspect the story for one reason or another will offend some readers. I would just ask you to remember it is a work of fiction and not a thesis. Many people throughout my life have told me I should run for political office one day (fat chance, I have no stomach for bureaucracy). lights, camera, reaction is my own fantastical accounting of hust how I might approach garnering a life in politics should the world ever reach a point where a mans words and intent are enough to judge him by. A fantasy of what my beloved Canada could one day be, lights was envisioned in my own mind as a short screenplay; think MTV meets West Wing. The capitalization of 'We' through out is intended. Interpret as you like. gods at play, I will tell you plainly, has to do the massive conflict that the eastern and western worlds are currently locked in; you may recognize a couple of the children in the story. As a pacifist and genuine fan of every person I have ever met, it rips my heart in two whenever I think about the senseless hatred and violence that our planet finds its self embroiled in. This story, (think Henry Fonda starring in an after school special), is meant as a quiet, simple plea at a time when the rhetoric of war and hatred is being used as a tool of political and religious conquest. I mentioned I was a pacifist but that is not strictly true; I aggressively oppose all forms of bullying. Though bullies are all cowards at heart some are more difficult to handle than others because the oppression they bring to bear isn't physical, it's social. Bullying also finds it self routinely practiced in the development and application of political, and economic policy. Society justifies that sort of decision-making by saying it's for 'the greater good'. I guess how you feel about the greater good depends on if you're included in it. Take a good look at your own kids and know that, right now, a bully in a suit is deciding what the value of their life is in order to justify some policy decision. Maybe one day your kid is going to be one of those sacrificed for 'the greater good'. What does that do to your perception? I hope it makes you angry and scared enough to stand up and start shouting until the day you can look out your window and see the world you truly want for your children. I promise to stand right there beside you. I thank you for picking up my little book and wish you happiness. May your god bless you. Peace, L.J.

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About the Author L.J. Valentine is the pen name of a 35-year-old male author, based from Toronto, Canada. god, money & wisdom is his first publication. Originally from Windsor, Ontario, Canada, L.J. is a former management consultant to the communications industry who chucked it all to pursue the dream of being a writer. His next project, a novel, is now under development. You can reach him with comments at LJ_Valentine@hotmail.com. Commit a random act of snseless kindness today.

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Sample Excerpts or Table of Contents

the second greatest story ever told In the beginning things were pretty scary. Matter swirled around. Light flashed brilliantly amidst total blackness as explosions rocked the universe; objects formed and unformed, warping thru various perspectives and distortions. Eventually clear delineations became apparent and what could be seen was seen, and what could be heard was heard. Then came the very first sensation: Pain. His hands and feet were throbbing, his rib cage screamed in agony and he couldn't breathe properly. It was very difficult to make any sort of headway in loosening his bonds, but slowly and surely he began to wriggle his way out of the shroud in which he had been wrapped. A butterfly emerging its cocoon to face a world from which he had been spawned but had no more common link to. He was different now, something else; something beyond the mere afflictions of mortal man. A being unique in himself. He was famous. He lay there for a moment after tearing away the thin strips of weaved cotton from his head and torso and stared around the crypt in which he had been sealed. The slab on which he lay was polished smoothly and wide enough for him to rest somewhat comfortably. The room measured perhaps the length of four men laid head to toe, and was half again as wide. The ceiling and all the walls were formed by a natural cave of rough stone, pearl gray in color with flecks of brilliant white ash. The odor was a mixture of musk and scented oils, which had been used to treat his wounds. A small line of light penetrated the crypt from a crack near the bottom of the large boulder placed there to block entrance and, he knew, his exit. Enough fresh air could enter the room by way of that same crack to keep him alive, but no other amenities such as food or water were, or could be present. For three days at least it was going to be just him and the crypt. But no matter, Joseph had done a good job of securing the place and a little time to think was just what he needed in order to figure out what to do next, assuming the ruse had worked. The entire plot had been developed in a matter of days, a way to get out of the horrible sham he had been tricked into participating in. At some point they'd realized that the only way out was death, so that's just what he had done: died. Or at least that's what they thought. Now as long as one of the other cast members didn't blow it he was finally going to be able to get out, free again to live his life in quiet oblivion. He sighed and flexed his muscles gingerly, working the blood back thru his body. The physical preperations alone had been massive. For weeks had been consuming a combination of natural extracts of fig tree sap and a handful of particular roots which he knew when taken in combination would produce not only the common symptoms of rigor mortis, but which also acted as natural treatments for the wounds he would receive. He could have done without the spear in his side, but the crew member disguised as a soldier had managed to twice get him the required concoction mixed in with vinegar to fool the assembled on-lookers. So the pain had not been so bad. When they were convinced he was dead, and he nearly was, they'd pulled him down from the crucifix and Joseph had quickly gone to Pilate for permission to entomb the body, which he had received. That was really the wild card in the entire production. If Joseph hadn't pulled that off he could have ended up in a ditch somewhere, left alone to rot. Or worse yet, had his body turned over to the detractors who surely would have ripped his 'corpse' to pieces,thus ruining a perfectly good scene. But things had gone well apparently and so here he was. He shifted around a little on the table, letting the feeling return to his extremities slowly, contracting different muscles to stimulate blood flow and concentrating on taking deep, smooth breaths to guard against any hypertension in his system which could be lethal at this stage of his recovery. Eventually some sensation of normalcy began to return, though he was very weak, and he sat up on the slab, now completely free of his bonds and supported himself with his arms behind him. His hands were actually in pretty good shape. They had been careful not to drive the spikes thru any bones so the wounds while nasty looking and swollen, were not overly damaging and the crew had done a nice job of treating and binding them to prevent infection. His feet however were another story. The left was in fair shape, though badly discolored and swollen, but the right was mightly injured. The spike must have gone clean thru the main bone in his foot and shattered it. In addition to the standard entrance and exit wounds the entire base of the foot had collapsed. In it's place the crew had tied a curved piece of wood, shaped like a small arch in order that the foot may have some type of support for walking, which was going to be a requirement in order to play out the final act. He eased his legs off the table and slid carefully to the dirt floor, taking most of the weight on the left leg before slowly transferring a little to the right to test it's perfomance. The pain was intense but he could stand awkwardly and managed to take a few hesitant steps while leaning on his slab. Clearly he was going to need to do some work over the next few days to get the foot to the level it needed to be at, but resolve was not something he was in short order of at this moment. No matter how much it hurt he would play the scene. After all, an actor's life was suffering.

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Catalogue Information

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