Hearses and Other Distractions
As a child, I was terrified of two things: death and fire. I also grew up in a family that sang “The Hearse Song” at meals. Consequently, while most kids were on the lookout for punch buggies, I was on…
As a child, I was terrified of two things: death and fire. I also grew up in a family that sang “The Hearse Song” at meals. Consequently, while most kids were on the lookout for punch buggies, I was on…
Between the Zika virus and the latest warnings for Olympic athletes not to put their heads under the water in Brazil because it is full of disgusting stuff I’d rather not talk about here, it feels like the summer Olympics…
My farm is a novel that writes itself over and over, year after year, always with a similar story arc: I plant, I tend, things go wrong, bugs invade. I fend off crows and raccoons. I pray for rain. I…
Aw. It’s sad to watch a poor, lonely author in a bookstore or at a book festival who simultaneously desires and dreads conversations with customers. Because people! Conversations! Eeek! And then there are those authors who flag you down like street canvassers…
My wife called me over to the garage and pointed down to a piece of machinery the size of a fist. “I think it fell out of the car,” she said. The metal thingamajig was pointy on one end and…
I’m in my last week of Camp NaNoWriMo, a summer version of November NaNoWriMo in which you get to set your own word count goals and bunk in a virtual cabin with other writers. I wish I could say I…