Daniel Higginbottom Overcomes His Nemesis
How To Win Saints And Influence People.

I will not let anyone walk through my mind with their dirty feet — Mahatma Gandhi.
“Like any fantasy writer/chaos magician” replied Dan “my motivations are practical and not limited by concerns like am I Catholic, or do you think the Saints would mind chatting to a Heathen!” he said rhetorically.
Francis de Sales, Patron Saint of Writers, had been dead for rather a long time and usually would have preferred to remain asleep, so far he’d managed that goal admirably. Yesterday, however, everything changed when that letter entitled: ‘Fran, wherever you are, I need your help,’ arrived.
“So then I read your letter,” said Saint Francis de Sales, “not only are you not Catholic, you’re not even Christian, tell me do you even believe in Jesus Christ?”
“Well, kinda,” Dan chimed “…but I acknowledge probably not quite like you do.”
St Francis de Sales was more awake then he had been yesterday at the time he’d received the letter, you have to remember he’d been sleeping hundreds of years, it’d take him a day or two to come around.
“You acknowledge, very gracious! I’m lost for words, you’re so presumptuous,” said the Saint.
“Presumptuous?” said Dan. “In what way? I’m a twentieth first century chaos magician and while I strive to be courteous…”
“Courteous, well let’s examine this letter of yours…My name is Saint Francis de Sales, and I’m going to use that word again for emphasis, ‘Saint’, Patron Saint of Writers …and the letter you sent me was addressed … ‘Fran wherever you are, I need your help’. You didn’t even put a stamp on the letter and the Imp that delivered it …Ooh I hate those elemental types…charged me 300 Mexican pesos just to receive it. I was going to refuse, but I saw the seal, and I was somehow compelled to pay and accept the letter.”

Dan shrugged superficially, and grimaced slightly.
“Yeah, sorry about that, you know how it is on a Sunday, on the outskirts of Puebla City, you can’t get a stamp anywhere. I was going to send you an email, but I thought, I bet you’re not online, you probably don’t need the internet where you live and you know it’s important. As for sigils, well they’re a major part of my magic, so I created one and used it as a seal for my scroll. Anyway enough of this, what did you think of my request?”
“What request?” asked the Saint.
“In the letter I sent you.”
“Oh that request,” said Francis de Sales, Patron Saint of Writers.
“Fran, Man, it took me a long time to put this all together and..”
“Fran, Man?” “ cried the exasperated Saint “I was canonized you know, surely I’ve earned more respect than ‘Fran, Man’?”
“Well you’re a Saint and already I’ve caught you lying, you haven’t read it have you?”
“No,” said Francis “I was too disturbed by being compelled by, what did you call that seal again?”
“A sigil.”
“Yes, a sigil, being compelled by that sigil,”
“Well it’s a good sign,” said Dan “further evidence that my magic works…would you like me to read the letter to you?”
“Would you?” said the Saint “My eyes aren’t what they used to be.”
“Great,” thought Dan “now the balance changes!”
Daniel Higginbottom adopted a posture not unlike the great Shakespearean actors of old, he cleared his throat dramatically and started to read aloud:
Dear Fran,
I know it’s been many years, but you still owe me that favor you know…
“What favor?” mused the Saint “I’ve never seen you before in my life, or death, come to think of it.”
“Ah that’s right, you don’t believe in reincarnation, you’re very unlikely to remember me.”
“I’m a Catholic” said Francis “we don’t believe in more lives, it’s heretical, with the exception of course of the early church Fathers, but that was well before my time!”
“Let me read the letter as you asked, it’ll be so much clearer then.”
Dear Fran,
“Fran” muttered the saint, still indignant.
Daniel Higginbottom waited a second or so for dramatic effect before he continued.
Dear Fran
I know it’s been many years, but you still owe me a favor. I remember quite how terrible your writings were and how I saved your bacon on oh so many occasions, editing and correcting your work and watching you pass it off as all of your own literature.
Well, you became Bishop of Geneva and after you kicked the bucket, Patron Saint of Writers, oh the irony!”
“My writing wasn’t bad later in my life” said Francis somewhat defensively.
“Yep that’s true, I taught you well,” said Dan “your work became pretty special…now back to the letter.”
…Imagine an opportunity to clear all of your debts in one move and live free of conscience in Heaven forever, no wasted years of eternal sleep, just full on happiness with all the other Saints, that’d be cool, wouldn’t it?
Well, here’s the deal, I’m going to construct a cosmic Council of Writers and Editors to advise and magically empower me on the Astral Plane. Its purpose will be to build an incredibly successful writing career, I want you to play a major role in the realization of my business.
In return, I release you from all unpaid debts and bad behavior towards me, freeing you to experience the real bliss of death, or if you really want to branch out, another life!
Oh and one more thing, you have to be a real friend and mean it, you have to use your Patron Saint of Writers energy to help me manifest literary success.
Love and Blessings
Daniel Higginbottom
Fantasy Writer and Chaos Magician.
“How do I know anything that you’ve told me is true?” asked Francis
“Of course it’s true,” said Dan “it’s my reality, my experience, I’m a chaos magician, nothing’s true, everything’s permitted. What do you expect, Divine certainty?”
“Why me?” said Fran desperately trying to change the subject.
“You’re the Patron Saint of Writers and I’m building a platform on a website (you’re just going to have to trust me on that one) where people will become my patrons, so who else but you?”
“Yes, but even so,” said the Saint
“Look, I’m an Englishman, living in Puebla City, Mexico, a catholic place, which would you prefer, I summoned demons to help me, or called in your debt?”
And so the conversation continued, and little by little these two became closer, and Francis began to forget that he’d felt compelled by the sigil. As he got more used to feeling conscious again, he found that he’d begun to enjoy his role, much like many other Saints who worked with voodoo practitioners, he suspected.
Until one day, quite unexpectedly, Francis could see that the Bishop of Geneva and the magical fantasy writer/chaos magician, were firm friends…
