So today it rained and not just a little bit either, it’s what I imagine the rest of the world thinks England is like, just a blanket of grey dismalness. I have written a quite a bit of my novel Manchester At Midnight to take me somewhere more interesting, or at least less miserable.
Writing a particular scene involving a god got me thinking about the sort of relationships mortals would have with gods, which to me seems to boil down to the same thought process as being extra nice to someone because it’s their birthday. It doesn’t matter if most of the year you couldn’t care less, when a god turns up in your life you better be extra friendly.
I had this idea of spoilt gods surrounded by exhausted, hyper volatile worshipers, who haven’t had any peace and quiet since their god turned up. Fertility goddesses coming up to you with various things and telling you to pay attention to them because it’s really really important, and they don’t seem to fall for that “In a minute” trick, while God tells you how he made the world in seven days, and you try and sound convincing as you smile and tell him you’ll pin it to the fridge.
I think gods are fundamentally at a loss because they do not operate in society that the rest of us do, and as their power is based on belief they find themselves intrinsically linked with us mere mortals. A life time of excess and being told that they are the most supreme of beings does not result in a well rounded individual who thinks of the greater good, so we only have our selves to blame really.