[All simple facts of life, where Michael's from. He'd roll his eyes in turn at anyone calling it aliens and mathematics instead, but it'd be synonymous.

Stories, chapters, writing. Michael thinks of the plan his Father left him, the crucial role he'd been destined to play—how none of it was ever important. Just one of many drafts.

He grimaces. Hit a nerve, there.]

More that I was promised a certain story and now find myself in a very different one.

Is this the part where I say something uplifting about writing your own story, or are you going somewhere with this?

[Be warned that God singular features prominently in all of his inspirational speeches, and even he doesn't find them terribly encouraging anymore.]