My dear friend Angela called today to tell me a joke. I hadn’t heard it before — which, honestly, is rare for me and jokes these days — and I loved it.
However, I am modifying it ever so slightly for re-telling here, because more of my readers will connect with it this way.
So this writer dies and goes to the Pearly Gates, and St. Peter checks his list and says, “Oh, I’m so sorry — there’s been a mistake. You’re not supposed to die yet. It’ll take us a little bit to sort out getting you back into your body. In the meantime, would you like a tour?”
The writer says, “Yes, of course!”
St. Peter says, “Well, there’s writer heaven and there’s writer hell, and I’ll show you both of them. Which would you like to see first?”
The writer says, “Show me writer hell first.”
So St. Peter takes him to writer hell, and it’s awful. The writers have nothing but little golf pencils that push right through flimsy paper, and they’re being whipped and lashed by horrid demons, they’re surrounded by flames — just the worst thing the writer has ever seen.
“Please,” he says, “I’ve seen enough. Show me writer heaven.”
So St. Peter takes him to writer heaven, and it’s even worse! Not only are the writers surrounded by even hotter flames, the demons are whipping them even more enthusiastically, but they don’t even have writing utensils, and they’re forced to cut themselves to write with their own blood.
“This is terrible!” says the writer. “How can this be writer heaven?”
“Oh,” St. Peter says casually, “at least here they get published.”