My books make no predictions whatsoever regarding the rest of this century. I’m fast-forwarding all the way to 3748, when technology is high and travel is complex. So I have no idea whether Donald Trump got into a pissing match with Kim Jong Un and triggered a nuclear war back in 2017 in my artificial timeline. Or whether it'll happen in this one.
One thing both Kim Jong Un and Donald Trump seem to agree on is that San Francisco shouldn’t exist, so maybe killing us will bring them together and help them bond despite their differences.
Other targets that have been mentioned include Hawai'i and Guam. You already know how I feel about Hawai'i, and I would also be mighty irate if Guam got hit, even though I’ve never been there. We’ve already done enough to that long-suffering island.
I’m not a particularly suicidal person. I have my moments of gloominess, but I very much enjoy being alive and partaking of life’s pleasures. I’ve probably been an asshole to friends struggling with depression because I have absolutely no tolerance for that negative mindset where someone wants to argumentatively declare how much everything sucks. And yet I feel like I’ve accomplished most of what I want to accomplish in life, and more, and everything from here out is bonus material.
It would suck if I didn’t finish my trilogy, of course, but there’s enough foreshadowing for people to figure out how it ends, assuming it ever acquires any fans. Plus there’s that whole post-midlife-crisis career writing exciting science fiction which would no longer exist in this timeline, but that would be your loss, not mine. You’ll just have to figure out how to get yourself over to the alternate universe where Bernie Sanders won if you want to read them.
Other than volume three of the trilogy, I don’t have a lot of loose ends. I have one very distant and very young relative whom I hope survives, prospers and has plentiful offspring, but we’re not in contact and I don’t really know him. I do have a cat, who will hopefully be sleeping in my arms when the bomb vaporizes us. If he should somehow outlive me, hopefully concerned bystanders will make sure he finds his way to the rescue where I got him before he devours my corpse. He’s a very picky eater, so it might not occur to him that I’m edible until I’m full of botulism. Everyone else in my family is old and has already lived their lives, although I’d be bummed if the missiles took out their portions of California instead of mine.
I don’t believe in life after death. I’ve known several people that died, and not a single one came back to show me their ghostliness after it happened. I’ve had coincidences regarding remembering them, but I do believe in coincidences, in fact, I think they happen all the time.
I think it’s pathetic that we’re having nuclear war scares again. That was happening around the time I was born, and I grew up under its shadow, living in a place surrounded by military bases and the Arizona Memorial, which inspired horrible nightmares when I was little. For a moment there it almost looked like we were moving toward a world ruled by intelligence and fairness and respect for human rights and rule of law, but I guess not.
Regardless, I’m going to keep pretending that’s the case, and writing novels that take place in a world where it does indeed happen. Because stubbornness is one of my most enduring qualities.