When real or imagined grievances combine with rage, religious fundamentalism, political extremism, mental illness, or emotional instability, we lose the common good to dangerous violence, fear, and deep distrust in the social environment.
My mother's brother and his wife arrive from Vancouver to see me perform. I'm a bit troubled to have family members in the audience, because I have a few slightly risqué jokes in my narrative performance. I hope they don't tell my mother.
Odds are, the word that pops into your mind when I mention Phil Collins is probably something like "Sussudio." It's highly unlikely that the first word you'd think of would be "Alamo," but that's about to change.
On the face of the matter, my decision to barnstorm the independent bookstores of America from border to border and coast to coast when I was supposed to be resting up from debilitating radiation treatments doesn't make a particle of sense.
Three books, three years in a row. What does that mean? That means that a weary author must once again heft his two miserable shoulder bags stuffed with underwear and submit himself to the ministrations of the TSA and the howling inadequacy of air travel.
When my novel, The Embers, first launched, there was only one thing I was afraid of. Unfortunately in the next few months I was going to be doing a lot of it: Reading my book. Out loud. To complete strangers.