We W&T permabloggers tend to be critical of the Q15 these days. I think it is safe to say we will continue to be so. But today, a pause to recognize the passing of President M. Russell Ballard. Our thoughts are with his loved ones. On a personal note, I met President Ballard once in the Bountiful Temple many years ago, in what feels like a different life as far away as the Premortal World. My cousin was getting sealed and her fiancé was related to the apostle.

My sense of then Elder Ballard was that he was a kindhearted man, and that he did a nice job providing a spiritual capstone to my cousin’s wedding day. I think his counsel to them was something along the lines of, “Always be grateful for just one more day.” In other words, when the sun goes down, and your day is about to end, be grateful that you got to have just one more day. It’s been awhile. I’m struggling to remember, but he said something nice and appropriate like that.

A NaNoWriMo Excerpt from “Welcome to the Hotel Gordon Conwell”

As Monty Python would say: “And now for something completely different…”

Regular Tuesday blogger Dave B. is off today, so I’m going to subject you poor souls to a bit of creative writing. Here is an excerpt from my current writing project: National Novel Writing Month, aka NaNoWriMo. I am nearing the halfway mark of trying to write a 50,000 word novel draft in one month. This excerpt is rough and mostly unedited, but there are some interesting notions in it our readers might like to mull over. Enjoy, or don’t. Regardless, feel free to share your thoughts below, either on the late President Ballard or on my writing. Whatever gets you through Tuesday, good readers! God speed:

To be the Captain was to be a dust mite crawling through the threads of a veil. She existed between the worlds of Next and Before. When she spoke, both heard… if they were listening.

“As you should,” she said to the world Before, as they reached the edge and wished to go over it. “As you should,” the world Next heard after it was over. She only said this once, but both worlds heard it in their time and place, and felt it meaning something for only them.

Children see themselves as main characters. She hoped to help them understand they were actually supporting characters. This universe was made for no single being, so monotheism—however righteous and exceptional it felt to the evangelist of a given religion—seemed perversion to her. She liked to see the students gather and pleasure together. She ached when they chose to do it alone. It always read as defeat in the Book of Life.

There was nothing dignified about the way they lusted and contemplated loving, but they were children. And supporting characters—be they sidekicks or henchmen—are colorful and charismatic of a necessity. They could never exist as the Captain did, weaving footprints across the holy threads of creation, perched between worlds, being mistaken for an Only Begotten by supporting characters seeking the holiest grail they could imagine. So she affirmed, however undignified, the most undignified thing they always ended up doing, because next to breathing and dying, it was the most inevitable thing they would ever do in their finite existences.

“As you should,” she said again, to those about to, and those who had. She said it with compassion. She said it with love.