Tell me again what we're doing here," I said, running a continuous scan of our surroundings. Fang popped some Cracker Jack into his mouth. "We're here to watch manly men do manly things." I followed Fang's line of sight: He was watching the Dallas Cowboys Cheerleaders, who were not doing manly things, by any stretch of the imagination.

And Max, I've put some scraps in a bowl for your dog," Mom said. "It's on the floor, by the back door." The flock and I went still. Uh-oh, I thought. Total stomped up to me, his glare accusing. "A bowl on the floor!" he seethed. "Why don't you just chain me to a stake in the yard and throw me a bone!

I write larger than life. It's what I do.

I'll just ask now: What is it about my persona that draws every insane, power-hungry nutcase to me like a magnet?

I guess I write four or five hours a day, but I do it seven days a week. It's very disciplined, yes, but it's joy for me.

You know things have gone bad when military marches pass for pop music.

Knowledge is a terrible burden. It may help you, but it might also destroy you.