The author

I heard the author last night, while I was asleep.

Actually heard the voice.

It was male though, which was a bit disappointing.

There I was in my dream, living a life that I didn’t recognise, a series of seemingly unconnected incidents piling up around me, nothing out of the ordinary…and then a blank.

And then, aware again, but watching instead of being. She is kissing him passionately, knowingly. Something has happened while I wasn’t there.

O yes, says the author to me, casually, I made them lovers.

Bang. I am awake gazing at the ceiling in the dark. Who is this author, this voice?

I tell my sweet H about it, careful to leave out the lovers bit…

“Well it’s God isn’t it,” he says with authority, “You’ve had a religious experience.” He can pontificate about such things (I don’t know what the Anglican equivalent of pontificate is), because his family background is Anglican evangelist fundamentalist creationist, or some such Christian offshoot. He has emerged unscathed and healthily sceptical from this, but he can recognise the signs.
I refute this.
Of course not.

It was an author, not God, and he was just adjusting a plot line.