POST
Well, great. I hope this works. Maybe then it might have all been worth it. But, actually, never mind, it already has all been worth it. I wrote a novel. I actually finished it. I guess that alone is worth it. Not everyone writes a novel, right? I guess I just hope other people get to read it. That would be nice.
I know this all sounds dramatic, but my novel got me into this mess, and I never saw it coming. I thought it was just a story about a guy who goes back in time through the 20th Century. I guess I was wrong.
Now first of all, may I just say something right up front here? The story is fiction. It is just an adventure story. I was not trying to make any political or religious points at all. Sheesh, why did they have to get so riled up and uptight about it? It was not meant to insult or offend anyone; or to be anti-Semitic or anti-Islamic or anything. It’s just a story. It’s just a ‘what if’ story. What if someone was forced to go back in time (fiction, right?) and meet historical figures and go places and experience things? So what? It is just a story.
Ok, I’m sorry, please forgive the rant. But, I think you will agree with me about why I am so tweaked about this whole stupid thing.
Anyway, this is what happened. I actually wrote the basic plot for the story about ten years ago. And let me just say right here that I am not a writer. I have never written a novel before. I am a graphic designer. I was just messing around with the idea of a guy going back in time and meeting Adolf Hitler before he became the madman of World War II. Then it just went on from there. My imagination took over and this story just started pouring out of me. It was basically just a plot line, no dialogue, no detailed descriptions of anything, just a blow-by-blow account of the guy’s crazy adventure traveling through time throughout the 20th Century. It was fun just getting the idea out on paper, but that was it. I had no idea what to do with it, even if I wanted to.
Then a few years ago, my cousin started to share with me about how he was writing and self-publishing the stories he used to tell his kids when they were growing up. They are all grown now, but they asked him to write them down, so he did.
Anyway, that got me thinking about my Door Posts story, so I thought, ‘Why not? Maybe I’ll just take a crack at it.’ But, I also know part of it was probably more symptoms of mid-life crisis. I’m 59 and I haven’t done diddly as far as making any kind of mark on the world, not even a radar blip. But, well... I guess I may have now, but this is not at all what I would have ever had in mind. It scared the hell out of me. Not fun at all.
But anyway, I just decided to try to write the story. I was feeling a little bored creatively and thought this might give my imagination a good jump-start. Well... I did start writing and, man, it was fun! Really! I couldn’t believe how fun it was! I was really getting into it. It was so great just going off into my imagination and letting the story pour out of me. I mean, I guess that is what I meant about this being enough. It was a blast! The whole process was just a great big blast.
Ok so, I was talking back and forth with my cousin about this whole thing, and getting all jazzed up about it. He is Kendall Daddo, by the way. You can find his stories online. He also told me about Wattpad.com, so I checked that out and it looked like a safe place for me to share my story and maybe get some constructive criticism.
So, I created a Wattpad account and started to post the story on it, part by part. I used parts instead of chapters. They didn’t seem like chapters to me, so I called them parts. Anyway, it was kind of tough because I was not sure of myself at all. But I felt like, even if I got ripped to shreds, it would still be good for the story and I would at least learn a lot. Turns out I had nothing to fear. All of the comments were kind, even the critical ones. Everyone in the Wattpad community is really really cool and passionate about writing. It was amazing. Thank you so so much, to everyone who read the parts that I was able to put up, and then gave me your great and amazingly helpful comments.
Anyway, things were rolling along great. I was writing and revising and I felt like I was making a great connection with the readers. But then I posted Part Four. And that is when it all hit the fan. Part Four was getting great comments, and people were becoming all enthusiastic about the characters in the story and wondering what was going to happen next, but then everything came to a screeching halt.
One day after dinner, I opened Wattpad to see if there were any new comments, but my story was not there. It was gone. I searched and searched, and refreshed and reloaded, but it was all gone. Even my user account was gone. I had zero presence on Wattpad. But I just figured I would check in with them on the next day to see what was going on with my account.
Then the doorbell rang. So, I opened the door and it was the F.B.I. Seriously, the F freaking Bureau of Investigation! And that was not fun, let me tell you. In real life, they are not at all like White Collar.
I let them in, of course, and they were all serious and looking around the room and asking me questions about if I lived alone or if anyone else was in the house, and where I worked and just basic things like that. Then one of them said something like, “We’re here to talk to you about your story. Are you the author of Door Posts?”
That was weird. I couldn’t for the life of me figure out why in the world the F.B.I. would be concerned about my story. Then they started to ask me about who I was working with on it and where I was getting my information, and on and on. I mean, it was intense, and I was kind of embarrassed to tell them I was just scouring Wikipedia and using Google Maps, and just all kinds of other simple Internet resources to get my information for the story.
Well, after a while, it was apparently pretty clear to them that I was not some terrorist or communist or any kind of a threat to anyone. So, they finally told me they had concerns about the content of the story, and they had to take it down off Wattpad until they could check out a few things about me to determine if I was any kind of a threat or whatever. At this point, I’m sorry, but I was starting to get a little impatient with them.
But, they were actually kind enough about the whole thing, and sincerely apologetic about having to come out and question me. They said they were just following protocol and all of that kind of rhetoric.
When they started to leave, they said everything could go back up on Wattpad. But, then they paused and got real serious looks on their faces, and made a strong recommendation against putting the story back out on the internet.
I am sure they saw the confused look on my face, so they went on to say they were not really the ones to be concerned about. They assured me they would respect my rights as a U.S. citizen and treat me accordingly, but there were other people in the world who would definitely not do so. They said there were more aggressive groups of people that would probably be greatly offended by the story, and would definitely be inclined to take forceful action against it.
That was actually the first time I had ever thought about that possibility. I hate to admit it, but I know I am pretty naive, generally speaking. I don’t tend to keep up with world events and things like that. I just keep pretty much to myself.
But anyway, you should know I am Jewish, so I knew I was treading on Holocaust holy ground when I was writing about those things in the story. It’s just that I was really kind of offended when the F.B.I. guy insinuated the story was anti-Semitic. And as for the story being anti-Islamic, man, I don’t know enough about Islam to be anti-Islamic.
And, I was no way out to offend anyone. Believe me, I know what interfaith is all about. My mother was Jewish and my father was a Christian, so I have lived interfaith everyday of my life. I grew up in Shabbat meetings on Saturdays and in Church meetings on Sundays. I am not anti anything. If anything, I am anti-religion -- religion that just boxes people in and makes them adhere to some kind of dogma or meaningless rules.
But that is why I got so jazzed about the story ten years ago. It was just fun exploring the possibilities of things going differently than they really did in the 20th Century. It was also kind of profound to think about
the tables being turned, and how the world might be a different place if things had happened differently. I actually felt like the story was kind of unifying. Like maybe people would read it and think about it, and realize the real answer is to stop beating each other up, and just love each other and work together to make this world the way it should be for everyone.
Anyway, after the F.B.I. guys left, I basically didn’t sleep that whole night. I guess I was finally beginning to see how the story could be taken wrong and how it really probably could offend a fair amount of people; all kinds of people, particularly Jews and Muslims. I’m pretty sure it was radical Muslims that the F.B.I. was trying to warn me about. And, I’m also pretty sure they were right.
So, I was lying there awake and I realized my story probably showed up on some National Security buzzword detection list. I mean, I’ve seen the Jason Bourne movies. They probably do have systems out there that scan all of the information going on out in the world, and then red flag things that might be cause for alarm. I thought about it and realized that by Part Four I had used words like ADOLF HITLER, ZIONISM, SYRIA, JIHAD, ISLAM and MUHAMMAD. Dang! That is why they came knocking at my door!
Anyway, for the next few days I was just trying to process the whole thing and figure out what I should do next. Unfortunately, the choice was made for me. I got nabbed.
They were good. I mean, I never knew what hit me. I did experience a little bit of struggle against them when they got me, but then I was out. The next thing I knew, I woke up in this God-forsaken place.
Anyway, I was scared to death. I had a bag over my head and my hands were tied behind my back. I was loosely strung up by my neck, and they were punching me in the stomach and hitting me in the face. And man, let me tell you, that really really hurts! I have never been hit before in my life. I was never in a fight when I was a kid, or did boxing or karate or anything. Man, it really hurts! Sheesh. I have a whole different view of action movies now. I doubt I could even watch another one, now that I know what it actually feels like. It is terrible!
And, they didn’t really interrogate me, or anything like that. I never heard a word of English. All I ever heard was some kind of foreign gibberish. It was more like they were just angry with me. I think maybe they just wanted to punish me for writing something offensive about their prophet or their religion or whatever because they finally just stopped messing with me.
Honestly... I have a feeling... at least this is my fantasy, but I have a feeling they finally read Part Six. They had grabbed the hard copy of the story that I had at home. I am actually writing this letter to you on the backsides of those pages.
So anyway, if they read Part Six, they would have realized I actually made Arabs look pretty good in the story. There are a couple of people in that part who are pretty much the heroes.
Well, after a while... all in all it has been a few days, I was lying in the small room next to this one. They had untied me, but the door was locked. I was starving, and I was freezing at night and boiling during the day. Then this morning, everything was silent. I heard nothing. No jabbering. No crackling voices on the radio, or whatever it was. Nothing.
At first, I thought they had just gone for a while. I didn’t dare try to get out of the room because I definitely did not want to get hit again. But finally, after probably about half the day went by, I ever so quietly and carefully tried to open the door, and was shocked to discover it was unlocked. So, I slowly opened it up and then discovered I actually was the only one out here. They had ditched me. I felt like it was the end of the movie Midnight Express, where the guy was in prison in Istanbul, and then one day he just simply walked out the door to his freedom.
They had left some food, so I scarfed that up, and then I started to look around to find out where I was.
And now, here I am writing to you. Thank God there were a couple of pens lying around on this desk.
Anyway, this place is pretty remote. It is a rocky desert area. The structure I am in is nestled in a canyon-like ravine that reminds me of the hideout for the Hole in the Wall Gang. There are no trees around, just a bunch of scraggly bushes. No wonder it was so cold at night and so hot during the day. And I’m just here in my pajamas.
Everything here is sparse. They must have just trucked in whatever they needed and then trucked it back out when they left. This building looks like some kind of pre-fab military structure that can easily be set up and torn down. There is no plumbing and no electricity. There is nothing here. Just me.
And, I might as well tell you now, I know I am not getting out of here. I have a fever and my lower abdomen is swollen and hot and red. I think maybe they burst my appendix or spleen or whatever. It is not good and it hurts like hell. My body is trying desperately to fix the damage, but I don’t think it will be successful. I can hardly walk. There is no way I am getting out of here, unless someone happens to wander around out here and discovers this crazy shack out in the middle of some random ravine. They probably realized that as well, and figured they would just let me attempt to walk out of here and be discovered by the vultures instead.
So, I am pretty sure this is it for me. I may have a couple of days left. I don’t know. But before I sign off, I just wanted to leave all of this here for you. When I am done writing this, I am going to wrap up the whole thing and leave it for whoever might hopefully happen to find me out here.
I’m sure I have been missed at work by now, and they probably had the police or whoever come out to my house and check up on me. There are not a lot of people who would miss me. I don’t have any siblings and I never married. I wanted to get married, but it just never happened. I never found my ‘Sarah’. Maybe that is why Daniel dreams about her so often in the story.
Anyway, I need to stop. I am literally going to wrap this thing up now in a cloth that was lying here, and then tie it up with some cords that were lying over there in the corner. I hope you find it. And I hope you enjoy reading the story as much as I have. That sounds odd, but what I mean is I don’t feel like I was writing it. I feel like I was just the first person who got to read it.
And lastly, I guess I feel like I should have something profound to say before I sign off, so I would like to leave just one last bit of wisdom for all of you. Here it is: All roads lead to God, so get ready. Seriously, everyone is going to stand before God and have their day of reckoning with Him. So, let’s just stop trying to shove each other down this road or that road. The roads are not important. They all lead to Him. The important thing is meeting Him there at the end of the road. We all will meet him there. And He will reckon our lives, primarily about decisions we have made with regard to yielding ourselves to a saving relationship with Messiah Jesus. So, I suggest everyone gets ready for that meeting. I think I am.
-- William Cayhews
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