Category Archives: Writing

Frost crunched under the two figures’ feet as they walked quietly through the frozen  Mississippi woods.  Record cold blanketed the land as the grandfather felt how cold his grandson’s hands were.  They needed to build a fire to stay warm. … Continue reading →

Today I’ll be eating, watching football, dog shows, parades and then eating some more. I’ll be sharing time with my sister and her family. I’ll watch my kids eat waaaay too much. I’ll enjoy my wife’s amazing cooking. But I … Continue reading →

Upcoming signing schedule for Banjo’s Dream: Friday 11/29 — Barnes & Noble — 2 p.m. Saturday 11/30 — Mississippi Children’s Museum 10 a.m. – 2 p.m. Lemuria Books — 3 p.m. — Monday 12/2 — Main Street Books (Hattiesburg) — … Continue reading →

Amy. My sons. My parents. My sisters. My family as a whole. Like water on stone, they shape me with their love (and sometimes drama) Charlie and Patsy Daniel. They are friends and mentors. Pip the dog. a quiet faith. … Continue reading →

T’was the night before Thanksgiving and all through the ‘Sip, Not a creature was stirring, not even the Pip. The Ramsey house was cleaned with extra special care With the knowledge my sister’s family soon would be here. The children … Continue reading →

It’s dark. It’s cold. It’s raw — and it’s before 6 a.m.  The rain has come down in buckets for hours.  The world seems to be choking you with its frigid, unforgiving arms. I can promise you this: The gloomy … Continue reading →

I met Bullet on Saturday. No, I wasn’t shot.  Bullet is dog and a very important part of the Banjo story. My friends Robert and April own Bullet. Or probably closer to the truth, Bullet owns Robert and April. He’s … Continue reading →

“You can’t fire me! I started this company…” But they could. And the Board of Directors of Nashville’s Twang Publishing did.  They voted unanimously to fire their founder and CEO, Theodore Lawrence III. Defeated, Theodore carried his office possessions to … Continue reading →

June 1918, Belleau Wood, near the Marne River in France. German shells ripped across no-man’s land, matching the screams of dying men. Star shells lit the trenches with a eerie glow, showing the muck and the dead. The private hunkered … Continue reading →

Cataracts cloud my eyes and scars cover my body. My joints hurt and I move slowly now. The years have stripped me of both youth and energy. As I lie here on the couch, I realize my life is now … Continue reading →