Triumph of Job by Laura C. Pleming
My rating: 5 of 5 stars

I was so happy to read the story of Job interpreted in a way I could understand. Dr. Laura C. Pleming is a Bible scholar, and her indepth knowledge of this old, old scripture was insightful. Makes me want to take a bible study class. What I learned about the writing of the book of Job is that the author is unknown. It was written as a drama, the author is defined as being a dramatist. It is written poetically, using a rhythmical cadence. This is what Dr. Pleming's book taught me, then.....

As luck would have it, there is an article in The New Yorker magazine, Dec. 16th, 2013, pg 83, in the book review section, entitled "MISERY, Is there justice in the Book of Job?", by Joan Acocella. She is reviewing Mark Larrimore's book "The Book of Job: A Biography". In this article I discovered that, and to state it accurately I am just going to quote from Joan Acocella's article here; "The text here is clearly corrupt in many places. The central section - where Job speaks to his friends, and God speaks to them all - is in verse, and its language is impassioned: pleading, sweeping, vaulting. The outer sections are written in prose, and in a blunt, matter-of-fact manner." The article goes on to say that this is probably a story that was told verbally down through the ages, then a beginning and an ending were added to make it a complete story when it was converted to written form. There are other opinions about how this Book of Job was possibly written, and a slew of other books on the subject were referenced. I am intrigued now.

My reading list just got a lot longer because of my friend handing me her copy of a simple little book, a one hour read, called "Triumph of Job", by Dr. Laura C. Pleming.

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It will take eternity to answer all life's problems.

WRITER'S DIGEST / YOUR STORY competition #56 - My entry

Prompt: Write a short story, of 750 words or fewer, that begins with the following line of dialogue: “If you can guess what I have in my pocket, you can have it.”

(You can be funny, poignant, witty, etc.; it is, after all, your story.) You can submit your words to this prompt here:  Writer's Digest Your Story Competition #56

From Wikipedia, the free encyclopedia
CLOWNS - WE WANT TO HAVE FUN!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

Here is my little ditty:

          “If you can guess what I have in my pocket, you can have it.”  Thirty bobbing waist high party quaffed little heads made me wish I had a dramamine in my pocket. “I can’t hear you if you all yell at once.” I knew from experience that one of these prepubescent groupies yelled dog. They’ve already got with the program that the clown was going to make some kind of simulated animal once the the balloons came out of the bulging pocket of my floppy black, yellow, and white checkered clown costume. Besides, at their age you could make a giraffe, call it a dog, and the little smurf’s would be happy with that!

 Without warning I felt the direct hit from a good sized water gun drench my ear down to my ear drum. I turned just in time to see a freckled faced towhead bending over with laughter, cajoled on by his little friends, who quickly constrained themselves as soon as my clown face eyes found the shooter. “What do you think is in my other pocket you little gangster?! I never let myself be surrounded by the enemy unarmed!,” and I was returning fire before my inappropriate retort had reached their little ears, enjoying how quick my draw had become, I hadn’t become a clown just yesterday ya know, and the fact that my water pistol was bigger than this little waif’s made me cocky. “Run for your lives!” I yelled. The whole assembly of little munchkins scattered.

In the middle of the chaos stood the little birthday girl, her perfect blond ringlets were starting to droop from being in the crossfire of the water gun war, but she had a determined defiance plastered on her face. Not one to run to mommy. I like this girl. “Why don’t I have a gun?! It’s my birthday!!” She shouted out.

Since I was the hired clown I felt obligated to cover the defenseless little princess. I duck and weave, duck and weave, and roll the last three feet to her side. “Here you go Sally! Do you know how to use one of these things?” I was willing to entrust my spare water gun that I keep in my back clown pants pocket.

“Uh-huh.”

Water began pouring off my big red nose. “Don’t shoot me Sally! I’m the one that came to save you! C’mon, let’s go get ‘em.” The now smiling ear to ear birthday girl and I charged the ornery boys like the mighty light brigade. I was glad to be on Sally’s side by now.

Just as I was thinking this was the best birthday party I’d ever been a clown to, I saw the Mother step out the sliding door on the patio with a scowl plastered on her face. I walked to the center of the battle field making the truce sign with my hands. “Alright kids...truce..hold on for a minute.” Wow. These are good kids; they actually stopped. I would have liked to stayed longer, but I knew what was coming.

There I was standing on the wrong side of the door stoop again; way before the party was over again. “Yes ma’am. I understand. But, you really should have gotten your head out of your bourbon and provided some adult supervision for those kids outside of the hired clown.”

BAM!!!! Another door slammed in my face.

 “Yeah! You heard me female from the kennel person!!!” Now I wish I had a tylenol in my pocket. 

From Wikipedia, the free encyclopedia