A few years back, my friend Mike McMullen and I were driving to Oklahoma for a seriously incorrect weekend of eating, drinking, and shooting, when Mike posed a question.  He asked if I had time to take a look at a novel he was working on. An engineer by profession and an outdoorsman by inclination, Mike did not strike me as a would-be novelist. "What's it about?" I asked.  "We've got another hour so.  We can just talk it through." "Well," said Mike shyly, "it's about this concealed-carry expert.  One night he's out walking his dog, and he runs into a...uh...uh...he runs into a...Martian." "A Martian!"  I laughed.  "Stop right there.  Don't send me your book.  In fact, don't tell me another word.  Start the novel over." "What should my guy run into then?" Mike asked...(Read Full Article)