I’m hosting a guest post for “The Goddess and The Great Beast” book tour today. Enjoy!
Hi, lovely to be here, thanks for asking me, what award did I win? Is there a cash prize? And where’s the bar? It is a free bar, isn’t it?
Hang on…sorry, wrong intro. I’m getting way ahead of myself.
Anyway, it is nice to be here sharing nuggets of esoteric knowledge about literary greatness, vast wealth and the constant stream of buxom groupies we poor writers have to contend with on a daily basis. The problem is, however, I’ve noticed that a lot of writers blog about the creative process and what you should, or shouldn’t, do to come up with that multi-million selling blockbuster, so as I really don’t want to tread on anyone’s toes, I thought I’d throw together a few words concerning what I know you’re all dying to hear about. Yes, that’s right…quantum mechanics.
There, I knew that would fill the room up. If I was in a room Which I am. And so, I expect, are you. But it’s not the same room. And, of course, I might be writing this on a vibrating sun lounger on the top deck of the cruise ship Oriana and you might be reading it on a solar powered gadget sitting outside a yurt on the Mongolian steppes. Or I might be in my poky little study/bedroom/sensory deprivation chamber in a nameless grey English town and you might be in the room adjoining, separated only by a few centimetres of slowly crumbling plasterboard. And that’s just the point.
Aha, I hear you say, what the bejesus are you talking about? And what’s it got to do with quantum theory?
Well, what I mean to say is that life, as most of us experience it, is a bewildering string of apparently random occurrences which it takes a whole lifetime to get the slightest grip on and then, just when you think you might just have kind of worked out what might just possibly be going on…you die. And all that accumulated wisdom is lost. Maybe it goes with you to Heaven, or Valhalla, Nirvana or Metallica, but even if it does, that’s no use to the rest of us, still living our lives and still not knowing what the hell we’re doing.
Quantum theory is very similar. It describes the fundamental forces and interactions which control existence at the basic level, the particles of which we are all composed, but it make little or no sense. Particles that can be in two places at once. Phenomena which are discrete little well-disciplined blocks and wavy, wibbly lines of hippy ‘energy’ at the same time. Seven or more dimensions which we cannot see or understand and which may, or may not, have any influence on our lives. I could go on, but I wouldn’t want to get too technical. What I will do, though, is finish with a nice little summary paragraph.
Science (and many scientists, I’m afraid) is sensible, clear, logical and explains the world we see around us. It’s a bit boring, though. Life is mad. None of it makes much sense and whatever I do I can’t seem to make my life do what I want it to. It turns out, however, that science isn’t just boring. Only the boring bits of science are boring. The elemental bit, that is at the very heart of all of us, is completely barking. It gives me a great deal of succour (and amusement) to know that having killed God and all his little angels and demons, science has gone on to create, or rather, discover, a whole new, and much more inexplicable, God within us all.
About The Book
Author: Adrian Gross
Genre: Supernatural Thriller
1942: a bored British soldier in Baghdad; a beautiful Babylonian Goddess; a sacred marriage unconsummated.
Five years later, in a dreary post-war London, the Goddess must be satisfied.
Can anyone save her demobbed consort from eternal torment?
Or eternal bliss?
Can he save himself?
Does he even want to be saved?
And what’s it got to do with the ‘wickedest man in the world’?
Adrian Gross is a British writer. Some bits of him used to be Irish and some others were once Hungarian. He lives close to Glastonbury and likes to bang his little heavy metal head whilst drinking chewy real ale!
He has endured many terrible jobs, including adrenaline-junkie motorcycle courier, record shop dude-with-bad-attitude, and air traffic control disaster limitation assistant.
When his aching bones and throbbing hangover allow, he plays football (soccer) and rides bicycles up and down the Mendip Hills.