I looked over at her; if women knew how good they looked in the dash light of oversized pickup trucks, they'd never get out of them.

The place was packed as we flooded in, all the patrons freezing at the sight of an armed sheriff, two deputies, an Indian, and a construction worker; we probably looked like the Village People.

We've never done a coordinated music effort. Everything else we've done has been around a holiday - Halloween, Mardi Gras, half way to Mardi Gras, St. Patrick's Day.

A writer, like a sheriff, is the embodiment of a group of people and without their support both are in a tight spot.

Maybe there really isn't any such thing as mortality; life simply wears us out with love.

If someone is starving, excessively exercising or using purging behaviors, then we know they are in a high-risk place for turning on the psychiatric illnesses.

If there's a character type I despise, it's the all-capable, all-knowing, physically perfect protagonist. My idea of hell would be to be trapped in a four-hundred page, first-person, first-tense, running monologue with a character like that. I think writers who produce characters along those lines should graduate from high school and move on.