The other day I was sitting on my balcony watching the world go by when a neighbor I've recently met was walking to the mail area. We'll call him S for blog purposes.

S is an IT guy who consults, apparently, and is often sent out of town for work; sometimes for multiple weeks at a time. I've invited him to come play trivia with us at our local bar in order to beat a team that's annoying the crap out of me and he has agreed.

It is a play by ear arrangement. My Companion and I do not go every Tuesday and S is not in town every week. The invitation to play was given recently and we've yet to play together.

So the stage is set.

S walked by and thought to let me know he'd be out of town for the next two weeks. He had to leave on Sunday.

"Ach, bummer!" I yelled from my 2nd story balcony. Sometimes I use Oy, sometimes Ach. It depends on my mood. "Where are they sending you off to?"

"Oh, just outside of New York," he replied.

"My Companion is in New York right now," I told him, as he was. "Manhattan. Where are they sending you?"

"Oh, it's not actually New York this time. Delaware."

This seemed an odd connection to me. New York isn't really that close to Delaware but it is; I know because I've done the research for At Wit's End.

"Delaware?" I asked. "What's in Delaware?"

He answered, "I know, right? It's nothing but health firms and shell corporations."

I had to respond with, "What part of Delaware? I wrote about a militia hiding in a state park there."

Okay, maybe I should have thought about that before I spoke. If i really wanted to know where in Delaware I wouldn't have mentioned a militia because in the final scheme of things the word 'militia' carries way more weight than the word 'where', right?

He told me, "I'm not sure. It's a small town right outside of a state park."

I was stunned. "If it's Promised Land State Park," I told him, "just imagine a militia down there building bombs whilst hiding from the Feds as you're flying over."

The look on his face was priceless. "I'm going to have to keep an eye on you."

"At least a small one," I acknowledged.

So now S is intrigued. He's pretty much guaranteed to buy my book when it's released by Booktrope (Fall 2015) because I've got him thinking. We say our See Ya Laters and all is well.

I essentially forgot about the conversation until later on when I was chatting with my Companion/IT Consultant. "S is going to Delaware so it'll be a little while before we see him for trivia."

I told My Companion about the conversation and expanded on my thoughts. "So now S is a guaranteed sale. But remember, he's going to where part of my book is set. Say he's working on their systems and mentions to whomever, 'So I heard about this book...' and he tells this guy about a fictional militia set in Delaware and written by his neighbor in Florida."

The thought continues that this guy, this Delaware native, is hearing about a book that involves his state. He's intrigued so he buys it. BLAM! That's two sales.

He tells a friend after he reads it and they're a little bit state patriotic. They take a smidge of offense to the idea of a domestic militia in their home state. They buy it to see what this guy is talking about.

Sales are starting to add up slowly.

Native Delawarian guy mentions it to another friend. This guy is way out there. Without reading said book he takes offense. His state wouldn't nurture some racist bastards like the ones he assumes are in the originally mentioned work of fiction and someone needs to let this author know.

I receive an email and I'm all, "Whatever. It's fiction. Deal."

Guy goes back to his church, Elks or NRA meeting or something and waves a paperback copy of my anti-Delaware propaganda. His compatriots get mad and send me emails. They track and attack me through Twitter and FaceBook.

I refuse to apologize for my imagination. Sales multiply.

Delaware passes a law banning my book and declares white bread fatwah.

Florida - in a rare blast of patriotism - stands behind their author and declares possibility of secession.

No one cares.

The 20 corporations that make up Delaware's population (because corporations are people, my friend) decrees me persona non grata and an enemy of the State.

War is declared. Delaware throws shell corporation tax loophole bombs at Florida. Florida threatens to secede.

No one cares.

Florida throws alligators and rednecks at Delaware.

Delaware threatens to secede and Washington says, "No, wait, what? A.K., step away from the keyboard!"

And just like that, without a shot being fired, Delaware wins the second civil war. All because of some offhand remark I made to my neighbor who was about to leave for a business trip.

But at least I sold books.

Fiction is dangerous, my friends, more so than we can imagine in our enlightened age.

And that is where my imagination takes me in the middle of the night. Fortunately My Companion is always up for an imaginative story. I'm pretty sure he'd like to own the movie rights.

And Delaware? No offense, man, my bad.