Although I still have a lot to do in promoting Waiting for Westmoreland, I am eager to get started on the next book. I want to get it out before the 2008 general election campaigns. So let me give you a little flavor of how this fable might go.

Once upon a time, in a great and powerful nation, a shrub became president. He wasn’t actually a shrub, that’s just what a nice lady named Molly called him. Shrub called the nation Murrica–most people didn’t call it that, but that’s just the way he talked. Oddly enough, brush always played a large part in his life. If he got tired or bored with being in the nation’s capitol, as he often did, he would go back to his ranch and clear brush. That is also where he received his religious inspirations. You see, he considered himself a devout man. So whenever a creosote-rich sagebrush caught fire, as they did now and then, he thought he heard the voice of God telling him what to do. Unfortunately for Murrica, Shrub was no Moses.  

copyright 2007, John Maberry