I've been working on a novel for a few years. Its working title is Apocrypha. It reads more or less like this…

"But no. The choice seems so painfully sharp, divided by a line inside him that feels like the most intentional thing Nolan has ever known. This is my life. He repeats this thought until it forms on his lips and he whispers it over and over, and with each shameful impulse to stop he increases volume. This is my life. He squeezes shut his eyes. This is my life. He clasps his hand into a steeple and presses them against his forehead. He feels ridiculous. This is my life. To whom is the point proven? This is my life. And just this once I will listen. Just this one time I will not be led like a slave on a chain. He opens his eyes and holds a closed fist before him. He forms the thought “open your hand” and the digits flower against the dying sun. He does this, over and over, for an amount of time he will not remember and when he is finished he is tired and placid and warm. The sky is sailor’s red. The parental statues are gone with their children; and he is ready to leave."

"The sky is page-white. It is not that it all means nothing — that is unthinkable — it is that she cannot stop,  she cannot sleep while she is awake, she is but helpless to create these meanings that beg for such unanswerable questions. The ringing in her ears like faraway clangs of church towers reminding all of time. "

"…here friends is an genuine Abductee, with his signs and symbols and suspicions, with his portentous tattoos, with stories you fend with a soul-shielding cringe, because he believes everything he says…say it now, Abductee…follow the bouncing ball…Ab-duc-tee, here is a believer in all his ridiculous splendor…Christ, it almost makes you feel as if you’ve missed something…as if, there’s no way you’d meet a mind so veiled and fathomless, so alien, unless there was something amok with you…what’s wrong with you, huh?…like you’re the maladjusted dunce who can’t get his blocks in order…like you’re the marbleless over-interpreter who demands Meaning behind every event, who pathologically distrusts the government, who expunges the world’s complexity with his witless ordering…like it’s you…you, at the bull’s-eye of secular society’s pity and disappointment, you among the great deluded masses…"

Shoot me an email and I'll happily send you a prospectus.