Monday Meanderings

This week we will finish the first short story in War Night. We've no idea where the story is going, but we like where it's gone so far. 'Hey, sweetheart, if you're just going to sit there crying, would you get me a cup of coffee?' It's not that Newsroom Jerry is a sexist jerk, it's just that he thinks broads have no place in the newsroom.

A member of this blog's West Coast readership (!@#$ Californians)* suggested a story taking place in another country. Which is not a bad idea. Let's say, a leader being rousted from bed. But who? We've done, or touched on, Israelis, Argentinians, Brits obviously, Aussies, Indians. We should definitely do a modern country with a first world economy. Which would exclude Ireland. Back to South America?  'Uh...Senior Presidente it seems...'

This week we're doing something with World War 1990: The Final Storm. We'll do a read through, we suppose. Might as well. This would appear to be the final digital read through before the print read through. Time to stop worrying and learn to love World War 1990: The Final Storm. 

We've decided that we need to expand our readership into new markets and demos. For too long our novels have appealed to middle aged white guys and young men who like war novels with lots of cabinet meetings and battles and venues on the march of alternate history. So we've made a deal with Dylan Mulvany...

Yeah, no. Don't piss off your audience. Also, keep giving them what they want. And don't get into politics. Alert reader(s) will notice we've never taken a swipe at Dan Quayle**, for example. Now that Bud Light has kinda, sorta groveled to its customers, the Rainbow people are boycotting the swill too. You know, Gillette's never really recovered. 

Monday Metal: Our 11-year-old came downstairs wearing an AC/DC T-shirt. Tell us that/they would still be a thing 30 years ago. Heh, back in the wonderful spring of 1993 we were listening to Back in Black a lot. 

Up next in our study of The War Between the States:

*Reference. We're required to say that on the East Coast. 

**For four years a constant late night television punch line.