Genesis

Confession time: a big old written rule book gave me the germ of an idea for my story, Little Judas.

Carnal union between an unmarried man and an unmarried woman. Fornication. An offence against chastity. You guessed it, the Catechism of the Catholic Church.

Sweet fornication, judged a grave sin by that stout religious spinster, lips pursed under a hair-sprouting melanomal mole, arms crossed on a bosom of shelf-like proportions.

From that starting point came a story of falling dominoes, a linked chain of events mostly transgressing one or more of the Catechism’s principles. I use mostly because the wearing of a wig, which features large in my tale, is neither a principle nor a transgression as far as I can tell. But abusive relationships, adultery and divorce are.

At the heart of this misery could only be a child narrator. Tiny tubster Veronica Maloney. The Catechism describes children as a ‘gift’. While her mother and father may have forgotten to say thank you, I was grateful to write her. And all is not lost for Ronnie by the end of the story. There’s hope in that Snoopy pyjama case.

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