I get a lot of credit for my work. Greed, lust, hate, envy... I created Starbucks, out of order cash machines, traffic jams and the movie of Pride and Prejudice. (You hated it didn’t you? Of course you did but therein lies the compromise. God gets the BBC, I get Kiera Knightly.)

But what really, really irritates me is that you will never see me on the best sellers list. You will never walk into Waterstones and see my opus on the shelves closest to the door. You will never read a review of it in The Guardian or The Times and you’ll certainly never see my name on it.

There have been many books written for me and about me but this was the only one I had a direct contribution towards and I day-dream about it sometimes. I really do. I think of picking up a literary review, turning to the appropriate page and finding it there.

The Bible by Lucifer. Or Satan. Or the Morning Star but I doubt they would be so crass as to simply refer to me as the Devil. That would be like saying a book was written by The Author.

Why do you look so shocked? Did you honestly think that it was all His work? Or did you think it was the Kiddie? Well let me tell you something right now, dearie, it wasn’t those bearded, bigoted old men who penned down almost absolutely everything Junior said. No, definitely not. Don’t get me wrong, Junior had the right idea but he was a fool to entrust it to humans. It’s a bit of a blind spot with Him, you see, humans. He’s still convinced they’ll do the right thing in the end. He was so disappointed when he saw the direction they took the message in.

“This wasn’t what was meant at all!” I swear that you humans are deaf because I’m about as far from God as you can get and I can still hear him when he has something to say. “Me-damn-it! Free will, my arse! I should’ve just made a universe full of sheep!”

I didn’t bother to make the rudimentary comment about a world populated by ever-grateful Welshmen. He didn’t sound like he would’ve taken it well. So we thought of something else instead. Oh yes, we work together sometimes he and I. After all, that is what the universe is about – black and white, dark and light, good and evil. Whilst all the wars and killing and outright madness were just delicious, the fact that everyone was doing it in an attempt to please God really left a sour taste in my mouth. I mean, if you’re going to be bad at least know that you’re doing it for badness’ sake!

So we worked on it, sending ideas and inspiration backwards and forwards across the celestial plains. The Metatron spent so long in my office that my assistant began to call him Dennis and bring him coffee in the mornings.

“It was hell getting through Pandemonium!” he’d say.

“Tell me about it,” I’d reply.

Of course we couldn’t write the book ourselves. That would impact on the Free Will, which was something that even I’d had to agree to when I started up in business.
“We need a level playing ground, Lucifer,” He had said and I wasn’t about to suggest to him that I needed a leg-up of any kind.

So we dispatched demons and angels and all other manners of little messengers to plant ideas into the heads of the writers. The Old Testament was mostly my work, Revelations especially. I’m sure the Big Man’s favourite is Genesis because he gets to gloat over his creation, although he’ll never admit it. I did ask him if, possibly, using the metaphor instead of explaining evolution would get confusing and he assured me it was fine. We live and learn.

So anyway, the book was written and who would’ve thought it but it was a hit! The go-to book of centuries to come! But somehow in all the mess of things, God got all the credit without his authorship ever being mentioned! (If Hell has all the best tunes then Heaven has the best publicity.) I tell you it’s enough to make one spit nails! In fact, I think I did for about a week. My assistant, Thaddeus, still walks with a limp.

Still I suppose it’s slowly coming back round to me. Humans being the way they are, it was only a matter of time before they picked up my sections and started turning them over in their little heads. As far as I know God isn’t considering further collaboration but there’s always a chance. Nothing boosts my labour better than making it look like it’s divinely endorsed. Still that doesn’t stop me donning my disguise (sometimes I’m a lawyer, sometimes I’m a priest and sometimes, just for fun, I’m that weird-smelling old guy who hangs around corners in the city centre in the stained trench coat) and wandering up and into a book shop to look for my creation, my baby.

I suppose it all worked out for the best in the end, the people that would buy something with my name on it are already converts and I’m usually on the look out for fresh meat. Still you can’t blame me for having a bit of pride in my work. It’s only human, after all.

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