Some people suffer writer’s block. I suffer writer’s terror. That’s when I’m so terrified of being judged or so terrified of repeating past mistakes, so terrified that I can’t live up to that talent that I know I have but fear I’ve lost, that I ...

I don’t need no stinkin’ pity. I guess that’s a rather harsh reaction, but the other day ...

I just watched my postman unload the neighborhood’s mail from the back of a silver, C-class Mercedes Benz. ... That postman used to deliver the mail in a beat-up, dark green station wagon.

To say it’s blustery here in the ATX on this Christmas Eve is an understatement. The wind wails outside my office. The outhouse down the street is blown over on its side.

I first met Brooke Warner years ago at the Writers' League of Texas annual agents and editors conference. Brooke's a senior editor at Seal Press. Seal is known for its cutting edge women's books (read that as meaning lots of sex) ...

I’m so honored that ABC’s Nightline allowed me the privilege of being part of their team covering the November 5, 2009, tragedy at Fort Hood.  I’m equally honored and grateful that the Texas Observer allowed me to write about my experience covering the event.  As soon as possible, I will be posting here more of my Fort Hood experiences and thoughts.  But please, in the meantime, click on this link a

My point, as I write this on Halloween Eve, is the ghost of Regina Hartwell. Because of Regina, I couldn’t let this book go. Regina wanted to be famous. And I felt like that as long as I pushed and promoted this book I was helping her reach her goal, even if it was after death.

I’m walking up and down the sidelines of a flag football game, awaiting the big play. The morning had started out cool and pleasant, but now the sun is beaming and I’m getting hot. I look at my 10-year-old cousin. He’s on the sidelines, down on one knee, and sucking on one small slice of orange handed to him by his coach. I want my cousin to be holding a hamburger. He’s too skinny. He’s like a piece of salt wa