So.

It was a stark, dark night in Soho. I sat in the mugg of the French House nursing a small beer.  Maddy flicked her long blonde hair and fixed me with her baby-blues.
“It’s theatre, you shmuck.” She almost snarled.  “I know publishing. And I know you’ve godda do a regular newsletter. Every month, whatever happens.  It’s the only way. You godda build your brand and you godda do it NOW.  Kapish?”
“What do you know, huh?” I muttered, taking a slug of now warm beer. “Brands? Y...