2035

And in the end, America (that once immaculate country which sloppy tongues call “Murka”) was not destroyed by Adolph Hitler or communism or by guided missiles or bombs.  Its demolition was fomented during the Clinton administration, when a small group of radio talk-show hatemongers realized that they could enjoy a very lucrative career by replacing vision with vitriol, by sacrificing sensitivity and common sense for dollars and cents.

Their success led to the emergence of hate-filled television personalities, and then entire networks, and eventually to top-tier politicians who used the same technique.  Each of these entities plumbed the depths of our nation’s stupidity, but no one ever managed to hit bottom.  These bottom feeders would go on to dine at lower and lower depths, they got fatter and fatter. The water grew darker, cloudier, dirtier, thicker, murkier, slimier, but no firm footing was ever reached.  Just more bile-soaked muck and urine-saturated manure.  Shit stains became badges of honor, to be celebrated and then cashed in.  For profit and power.

Secretly, these cabalists met in their mansions and on their yachts and they whispered to one another, “The people can’t be this stupid, can they?”  But the people were.  “They won’t possibly fall for this latest crap we’re dishing out, will they?”

But we did.

&&&

“They say that patriotism is the last refuge

To which a scoundrel clings.

Steal a little and they throw you in jail.

Steal and lot and they make you king.” –Bob Dylan

The Oncoming Flood

Mainstream publishing houses still control the power, prestige, and publicity of the industry, but that “main stream” they are standing in is called technology, with its rushing current quickening and gaining strength every day.

Destruction looms.

Now, those indies you see fishing and swimming along the shoreline won’t get washed away by the water. Empowered, they will still be there tomorrow and tomorrow, unlike the bloated Don “Status Que” Fanucci in Godfather II, who chants “domani, domani, domani,”before being annihilated by the new wave.

 For nearly ten years now, BROWN FEDORA BOOKS has been gently side-riding that new wave, giving those beachfront authors the opportunity to publish their books—books printed with pixels, printed on paper, printed with care and love.  None of us have gotten rich (as of yet), but there are a million other authors out there in the blogosphere doing the same thing we are, and the money exchanging hands far exceeds that touched by the big publishing houses.

Of course, the money doesn’t matter, it’s the books.  Admittedly, most of the tidal wave of books coming out of indie publishing rank as drivel or worse, but hidden within those stacks of paper and packs of pixel are the best books being written.  The absolute best.

We happy.