Dear Query Snark,

From the creation of heaven and earth to the cataclysmic ending, THE BIBLE, complete at 783,137 words, takes up the theme of a father’s love for the son that Hhe must sacrifice.

God wakes up one morning with some time on Hhis hands. He decides, on a whim, to get out his paintbrush and jam. In a jiffy, He’s come up with something Hhe thinks is good.

I see that you’re going to keep up with the pronouns in caps all the way, aren’t you. Sigh.

There’s a problem, though. Some of His characters don’t play by the rules. One in particular, Adam, insists on eating the forbidden fruit. This leads down the road to a dicey situation in which, after numerous twists and turns of plot, including any number of attempts to flood out, burn out, death march out the miscreants, there’s only one solution. God sends His son in on a suicide mission. This so amazes the ant-like sons and daughters of Adam, that they exalt the sacrificed son as an object of worship. If that were the end of the story, God would have been most pleased.


I’m confused. Fruit forbidden by whom? God? For what reason? Whose rules?


This is not plotting, it is virtually all back story. Why do we care about any of these people? How does it support the theme? Why would anybody sacrifice a son for such people? I frankly don’t care much for this God character. He (lower case) seems like such a blowhard. When you get to “if that were the end of the story,” The Snark can only agree. Had you ended there, she might have been most pleased, but she stopped reading after the cutesy “paintbrush” bit.


Unfortunately, His unruly characters cannot stay on the straight and narrow, even with such a spectacular redemption twist. Before another millennium has come and gone, they’re back up to their old tricks, warring, whoring and in general sinning to beat the band. Though God promises to send another son in at some point, He’s murky on the timing. Still, the story ends on a note of promise. The last trumpet shall sound and the good shall fly up to Daddy, while the damned shall burn in hell forever.

I’m enclosing the first five pages. I’d be most pleased to send a complete ms.

Best,
God.

My, my, God.


The Snark does not even know where to begin with this.
On the one hand, she’s impressed by the attempted scope. On the other, she can tell by the word count alone that no editor will touch this without extensive cutting. It needs to be no more than 120,000 words. 


It seems like a memoir, and not so much a novel. No one’s life is this worthwhile.


Automatic Rejection.