At last! Here is the first-ever excerpt from my new hilarious Jane Austen parody, Pagan Persuasion: All Olympus Descends on Regency (Supernatural Jane Austen Series), coming very soon!
And now, enjoy a complete first chapter!
ing, O bright goddess, a paean to the resentment of Poseidon, god of the salty seas, and the annoyance of Athena, clear-eyed goddess of war and wisdom. The resentment and annoyance were the result of an altogether uncivil unwillingness, on both godly sides, to hold amiable discourse over something as negligible as the patronage of one puny mortal city on the rocky shores of the Aegean. . . .
When asked to choose their divine protector, the citizens preferred Athena’s gift of an olive tree to Poseidon’s gift of a saltwater spring (seriously, what was Poseidon thinking? even seaweed salad would have made a better impression), and cast their votes accordingly.
Naturally, the charming and delightful goddess Athena won. Everyone got olives and the city was named Athens. Meanwhile, Poseidon departed in a fit of pique, muttering to himself, and striking random rock formations along the shore of the Aegean—bringing forth yet more salty fountains and puddles and random items of dubious value, and at some point causing a pair of magnificent horses to spring forth and gallop away into the hills. But since no one from the city remained to witness this far more useful miracle, the creation of horses went uncredited and unappreciated. As a result, Poseidon was decidedly not amused. And he remained thus, not amused, for decades, for generations, for thousands of years, taking out his displeasure on occasional schools of fish and frequent schools of mortals of Hellenistic background swimming around in triremes, including the clever hero Odysseus and the entire Achaean invading fleet at Troy.
Athena in turn was very displeased with Poseidon’s reaction (tedious water shortages in her city, frogs and tadpoles everywhere, moss on marble, moaning sounds coming from deep wells to scare away the good matrons, soup taking forever to boil), and hence all things pertaining to salty liquids and large bodies of water. And thus the goddess made a point of doling out persuasive barbs of wisdom, sarcasm, and subtle advice against Poseidon and everything of a nautical nature, to everyone she took under her aegis—literally and figuratively.
This discord went on and on (and on, and on, and on), god and goddess disparaging each other, fish scales and owl feathers flying. One would think that after about three thousand years the two deities would be divinely sick of holding a grudge, but no. . . . It only grew, taking on the force of legend, and turning into a poetic nonsense of epic proportions, which consequently bound many gods and mortals together unto the ages, via dactylic hexameter.
But, gentle reader, we are getting somewhat ahead of ourselves.