Free Deliriously Happy by Larry Doyle Page A

sweet celestial love to you but it is forbidden . Yes!
    Exodus 3:2: “And the angel of the Lord appeared unto him in a flame of fire out of the midst of a bush.” That is sexy. Been used?
    â€œHeavensent.” “Angelophilia.”
    2 Kings 19:35: “And it came to pass that night, that the angel of the Lord went out, and smote in the camp of the Assyrians an hundred fourscore and five thousand: and when they arose early in the morning, behold, they were all dead corpses.” Digging a dry hole here. Need better source material.
    â€œA Coming of Angels.” But will people get it? Might keep me out of libraries, and Texas. “A Kissing of Angels.”
    Went to B&N and asked if they had any books on angels. A whole floor! I’m on to something here.
    Seraphim? Cherubim? Ophanim? Malakhim? How am I supposed to keep all those straight?
    Clerk says if I tear pages out of a book, I have to buy it. She suggested I try Google.
    Jesus Christ!
    Ninety-two million hits! If only half buy my book @ $25, I’m a billionaire!
    Shouldn’t get bogged down in research. That’s not what puts it on the iPad. Use my imagination! If God can create the heavens and the earth in six days—fun fact—I can create a hot and sexy teen angel romance before the electricity goes out.
    Opening image: A glorious well-oiled angel riding on a winged unicorn . Sure, it’s sexy. But too sexy?
    Divine inspiration: Mangel .
    â€œRaging Mangel.” “My Mangel.” “Heaven Sent Me a Mangel.” “The Mangel Chronicles.” I smell franchise!
    Damn. “Mangel” already trademarked for another purpose.
    The work’s the thing. Build it and the title will come.
    Need a villain. Satan too obvious. Werewolves would be interesting, but maybe not formidable enough. The Catholic Church? Could work.
    Big Business! Evil developer wants to build over an ancient Christian burial site. Forest Lawn! Sexy angels sitting on the Hollywood Sign! All coming together.
    Hmm. Sounds vaguely familiar.
    Of course . Change Forest Lawn to the Greenwich Village crypt of Dracula’s sexy undead son, Liam, and the Hollywood Sign to the Washington Square Arch, and it’s my woefully misunderstood young adult bodice-and-neck ripper, Hot Wings .
    Hallelujah!

The Hot Book

    â€œThis is the funeral pyre for thought in America today,” Mr. Wayne told spectators as he lighted the first batch from the warehouse where he has gathered thousands of books in the 10 years he has run the store, Prospero’s Books. When Mr. Wayne sought to thin out the collection, he said, he found that he could not even give the books away to libraries and bookshops, which said they were full. So, he said, he began burning the books to protest society’s diminishing support for the printed word.
    â€” New York Times
    Where am I? The Vegas Book Show? San Diego Litcon? Have I made it to the end, to Powell’s, at long last?
    â€œYou’re in Cleveland,” Alison says. “Barnes & Noble Arena.”
    Cleveland? How can I be in Cleveland? Wasn’t I just in St. Louis?
    â€œWe had to move a couple things around to get out of Collin’s way.” The Mockingjay tour, in its sixieth week. Two dozen singing, dancing, battling teens. Why can’t she just read the damn book, like the rest of us?
    â€œDrink me,” I say, only half alluding. Alison pours us two Absolut Writinis (8 oz. Absolut in a coffee mug with an Altoid chaser), courtesy of our tour sponsor. I fish my right hand out of the bucket and reach for my medicine. “ Back in the bucket ,” Alison says, all marm, pressing the mug into my left. I return my right to the ice water, where it now lives. It’s not even my hand anymore; it’s ballooned into a monstrous cartoon of a hand, Homer Simpson’s mitt. It lies quietly on the bottom like a strange aquatic animal. (Not bad. I’ll have to use that.)
    The chanting.