No one is ever going to publish this book. I know that now. I’m saying it up front so that when the delusion that I should send it out sets in, I can look back and see that I already knew this. It’s weird. It’s preachy. It’s weird. Did I say that?
But my god, at least it will be the story I want to tell.
I think I have a Nathan-Bedford-Forrest-ex-machina. I don’t know what to tell you about that. But at least the rhythm of the end finally feels right. I finished writing the big dramatic confrontation and I felt a rush and a let-down when it was over. So, it finally feels like a climax, I think.
I’m going to have to go back and wrestle some with of the tone, but it’s second-draftable, finally.
Just one little bit more.
My brain is pretty much mush though. Mushy, mush, mush, mush.
Tiny Cat Pants 
a) never say never
b) you could always publish it yourself and likely make more money than if a trad. house published it.