My latest article is up at Novel Journey. This time I addressed changes in “Christian literature” and its readers, 
and how that process occurs, both at the micro and macro level. I entitled the piece Bambi vs. Godzilla, which may tip my hand about how I feel concerning the matter. It’s a bit risqué , what with NJ being hugely popular with CBA authors. Nevertheless, my tone is conciliatory, much less adversarial than it would have been a year ago. I’m pretty interested to see what kind of discussion it raises, if any. (Remember, I’m a pessimist.)
Part of my mellowing may have to do with age, but I’m thinking it has to do with my nickname. Sure, Shakespeare flung his share of barbs, but he did it eloquently. Not that I’m Shakespeare. . . at least, off the court.
So I’ve been playing basketball on the weekends with these guys — Chris, Jon, and a bunch of their high school teammates. It’s a rec league, fairly competitive, and I’m the token “old man.” Well, they thought it would be cute to give everyone a nickname on the back of their jerseys. Chris is “Professor” and Jon is “J Dizzle.” We’ve also got “The Hammer,” “Big Easy” and “Superdome” (he’s got the biggest melon you’ve ever seen). Me? You got it. I’m “Shakespeare.” Hey, I didn’t pick the name and think it’s kind of stupid. Especially when the refs don’t call me Mike anymore. It’s “Hey, Shakespeare.”
Anyway, the other day, trailing by 12 points with 5 minutes to play, things got dicey. So I got in some guys’ face and I received a technical foul. That’s right: Shakespeare got T’ed up. No, I didn’t use 
profanity. But I also didn’t call him a “goatish flybitten codpiece” or a “fobbing milk-livered canker-blossom.” (Thanks, Mir, for directing me to the Shakespeare Insult Kit.) Either way, he deserved to get socked so refraining was, uh, lordly. Besides, we went on to win the game. Fo’shizzle!
After the altercation, some of my teammates had a difficult time seeing me in a suit and tie, feigning professionalism. Though I’ve ceased pastoring, I still perform weddings and funerals, on occasion. This weekend, I officiated Superdome’s brother’s wedding. Mario is a police officer and his bride, Brianne, is super sweet. Other than the circulation to my head stopping due to that blasted tie, and me fumbling the ring exchange, everything went good. That is, until the reception, when some wannabe game show host / DJ took charge. Shakespeare does not do wedding party dance trains.
Anyway, check out my article at Novel Journey and tell them the Bard sent ya.
Didn’t use profanity, huh?
You look nice all dressed up, Brother Duran. Are those lovely flowers by any chance canker blossoms?
That’s funny, Jeanne. I get dressed up like two or three times a year, usually at events I’d rather not be at. I’ve been called “Reverend” and “Pastor,” but never “Brother.” And the only canker blossoms I’ve got are the ones on the back of my heels after wearing wing tips once every six months. Ouch!