That's what civilization sometimes did to threats, real or perceived. They walled them off. Us against them. Survival of the fittest. You die so I can live.

I'm tired of people screaming about price and forgetting about the content.

I can write with a crying child on my lap. I have. Often.

But if I worried too much about publishers' expectations, I'd probably paralyze myself and not be able to write anything.

Because life doesn't work that way. You can do everything perfectly. Do everything you think you're supposed to be doing. Fulfill every expectation that other people may have. And you still won't get the results you think you deserve. Life is crazy and maddening and often makes no sense.

It's not the beginning or the destination that counts. It's the ride in between.

I'd read a lot of thrillers about politicians and presidents, but never one where you flip the stereotypes and make good people bad and bad people good.