As Pops walks off to help other customers, Matthew asks Mary, “Are you crazy?”
“I wouldn’t put it quite like that,” John adds more tactfully, “but four books by four different people about the same thing … is that really a great idea like you and Pops seem to think?”
Mark waves a cocktail napkin in the air until the two disciples shut up and pay attention. Matthew says, “You look like a dork waving that. What do you want?”
Ignoring the insult, Mark says, “Listen, Mary makes a great point. I wasn’t even there, and I know enough stories about Jesus to fill several books. Besides, if we each write a book, we can focus on what’s most important for our readers, right?”
The other three agree, or at least don’t disagree, so Mark continues.
“Plus, we can compare notes along the way. We shouldn’t just write the first ten stories about Jesus that come to mind. Nobody needs to hear about when Jesus filled out some paperwork for a Centurion, or that one morning he woke up early and solved Wordle on the first guess.”
“True,” says Matthew, “and if we do four different books, we could at least begin our books at the same place in the story before we go in different directions.”
There are nods around the table. Maybe Mary’s project isn’t as crazy as it sounds.
“Okay, great,” Mark continues, grinning, “so we’ll all start our stories with—”
Then all four speak at the same time.
“—a long genealogy!”
“—John the Baptist!”
“—the birth of Jesus!”
“—the literal beginning of the entire cosmos!”
Since John’s comment takes the longest to say, the other three swivel to stare at him.
“Wait, wait, lemme get this straight,” sputters Matthew, “you’re going to start your book about Jesus with the beginning of the cosmos? We already have the book of Genesis!”
“True,” replies John, unperturbed. He leans back and spreads his hands wide. “But why not begin at the real beginning?”
No one says anything, so John continues. “It all makes perfect sense if you think about it. First, the beginning of the cosmos—because that was Jesus! Then, out of nowhere, I’ll throw in a bit about John the Baptist … ”
“Thank you,” says Mark.
“And then,” continues John, “I’ll tell the birth story … ”
“Thank you,” says Luke.
“But,” continues John, “I think I’ll tell the birth story in a single, cryptic verse before talking about John the Baptist some more. It’s all coming together in my head. It makes perfect sense, man!”
His pitch is met with uncomprehending stares, so he tries another tack. “Okay, look, why are you picking on me? Everyone else’s ideas are weird, too. Except for Luke’s. Luke’s actually makes a ton of sense, now that I think about it.”
“Thank you,” repeats Luke. “What makes more sense than starting a story with the birth of the main character? You research their life, then tell their story from birth to death.”
“In my defense,” Matthew adds, “my genealogy idea is basically just a birth announcement. I’d be starting with the birth of Jesus, too. It’s how Jewish readers will want to hear it.”
“Most boring birth announcement ever,” John mutters under his breath.
“Which leaves me as the odd author out,” Mark acknowledges. “But listen, everyone already knows Jesus was born. Duh! I want to skip to when he actually started his ministry.”
At this, the conversation devolves into petty arguments and insults, and Pops, who has overheard quite a bit in the last few minutes, uses his “bouncer voice” to grab the men’s attention.
“Guys! Guys. Listen. You don’t have to start at the same point in the story. In fact, it’ll be more fun for readers if you don’t. Jesus was … well, he was a lot of things! But if nothing else, he was complicated. I bet starting your books in different places might even help readers make sense of it all.”
Pops glances at Mary, who gives him a wink.
His double-barrel shot of common sense has shut everyone up, as usual. He’s got them on the hook, so he sits down with them and says, “But even if you don’t start in the same places, you’ll still include some of the same stories. How could you not?”
Until tomorrow, when the boys argue some more.