Who’s the patron saint of butt in seat, hands on keyboard?

Well, do you know who it is? Cuz I could really use some divine intervention right now.

I need to concentrate on revising book three in the Guardians of Salt Creek series. Like seriously. The gracious and generous ladies on my  book review team are all like “OhmiGod, I have to know how it ends, hurry up!”

But I’m all like, “hey what’s going on over on facebook,” and “wait a second let me check my Amazon dashboard one.more.time. to see how many books I’ve sold” because hey, this is release week for book 2 and sometimes you really really want to know that people are reading your stuff.

Okay. So now you know the truth. And now I must ask you to take a solemn oath of secrecy. Or I’ll have to pummel you with a mace. Not really. I honestly don’t have the upper body strength.  But pretty pretty please pinky swear you won’t tell on me?

And, don’t tell them I ran across some very odd patron saints while I was procrastinating today, all under the guise of doing ‘research’ for my next series, which right now is super top secret and shall not be revealed. Ahem. Anyway…

tvclareSt. Clare of Assisi is the patron saint of television and television writers, despite her dying nearly 800 years before either of those things existed. Apparently Pope Pious XII swore up and down that Clare was able to see and hear the Catholic mass on the walls of her room when she was too sick to attend. Um. Yeah. Apparently, the writers of Joanie loves Chachi should have prayed a little harder.


St. Drogo. Aw. Turns out ugly people and coffee addicts have their very own patron saint! Poor Drogo –not to be confused with the hunky Khal Drogo from Game of Thrones– was stricken with some sort of skin disease that disfigured him (grits with a side of leprosy anyone?) so badly, he stayed in a tiny isolated room in a monastery because the sight of him in the village scared women and children. Poor butter-faced Drogo. What a life. Ironically, he is now the patron saint not just of the uglies among us, but also of coffee shops, and ergo, the lumpy out-of-shape keyboard jockeys who sit in them while claiming to finish the great American novel. Guilty here!


Saint-Arnold-PictureThirsty? Pray no farther than St. Arnold, patron saint of beer. Yep. Folks in the Middle Ages used to pray to him, and on rare occasion’s he’d answer their prayers with a cold mug of beer. Raise your hand if you think church would be more fun if God and the saints answered our prayers with randomly appearing cold brews for the lucky winners. Maybe that’s why Houston has a Saint Arnold’s craft brewery. People in the U.S. deep south love Jesus and they love beer. Of course, if you partake in too much alcoholic delicious suds, you can pray to Saint Bibiana— she’ll cure your headache.



And finally, there’s St. Elegius, the humble patron saint of gas station employees. Okay, admittedly, that’s a new addition to the long list of many people he will intercede on behalf of to the divine. See, he used to be the patron saint of horses and metal, and once horse carriages became metal things with engines, well, you get the idea. If you think it’s a stretch, don’t count good ole Elegius out: Some folks on Internet Catholic forums pray to him for lower gas prices, so if plain old supply and demand economics doesn’t work, he’s your go-to guy if you’re a budget-savvy driver!

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