Journalists are being murdered at work. I am trying to shut off the signal coming in because it’s full of horror. I’m just trying to do some things on my to-do list that I can do. Announcing the large print edition of Vice Report seemed easy enough. But, here we are. It’s only the first paragraph, and I’m already talking about the horror.
Let me try again:
If you have trouble reading the small print in a beach-sized novel, I am pleased to report you can now buy a Vice Report in a large print edition. It looks awesome bigger, I think, because Leslie Peterson Sapp’s gorgeous cover art fills up the room more. This one looks great on my bookshelf.
I can’t help mentioning, though, that while journalists in the real world are being called ‘enemies of the state’ by our president and getting shot by madmen, the journalists inside Vice Report are finding a way to survive.
As Mona Breen, my protagonist, puts it:
“I refused to give up. It felt like walking toward death. If carrion feeders are the only thing left of the fourth estate, and Vice Report is Queen of the Carrion Feeders, we had to become the fourth estate, didn’t we? Who else was going to do it? A country was fucked without a working fourth estate. Sure, we were burnt out and fucked over, but couldn’t we pull some sort of superhero, rise-from-the-ashes type maneuver here? Maybe the carrion feeders—that’s right, motherfucker, us—are about to come out of the crapper and kick some ass?”
Or, paraphrasing Dorothy Parker, “Writing is the best revenge.”