No. Not really.

I received an email via my website a few days ago:

Dear Ms. Marquardt,

Our church (Grace Baptist) recently produced its own Easter cantata, with several of our members contributing original music and monologues. We also adapted your monologue "My Forever Stained Hands"  as part of the program. A few paragraphs were shortened, and a few sentences added. The program, which we entitled "Silent No More" was recorded, and we would like to make copies of the DVD available for our church family. We will be making approximately 100 copies, maybe less. We will only charge them for the actual cost of duplicating the DVD. Our church family is about 500-600 people; I currently have a sheet for people to sign up so we only make as many copies as we need. I need to request your permission to make copies (since the monologue belongs to you) and ask if we need to pay you any royalty fees. Please call or email me if you have any questions.

Sincerely,
Ellen Ayers
Music Secretary
Grace Baptist Church

Surprised only begins to describe my reaction. How did she find me, for one? Plus, I never thought it worthy of a church’s Easter program. I wrote it about three years ago as part of my church’s own Easter program entitled "Out of the Shadows." It entailed unknown characters telling their stories about Jesus. "My Forever Stained Hands" was not part of the program. I wrote it later as part of an idea to write stories from Genesis to Revelation from the perspective of little-to-unknown characters of the Bible. You can read all the ones I wrote in Bible Monologues. I’ve only written five so far. When (or if) I’ll write more is still a big question.

Anyway, Ellen told me that her drama director found it in my writing.com portfolio linked above, and Ellen then found my website and contacted me.

All I asked for in return was a copy of the DVD, and that my credit includes my website. Who knows if a few of the buyers will visit me, and (staring off into space with a wistful smile) perhaps buy a book or two?

Hey, it never hurts to dream. It’s what we do, after all.