I’m a Louisianan, once removed, from Shreveport—where sweating in the sun in the brambles behind my step-grandma’s backyard, gathering the wild strawberries that grew there, and stealing a few from my sweaty hands, from the batches meant for jam, was the most delicious thing ever. Read more
The Dead Mule School
Online since 1996. "No good Southern fiction, poetry, essays, cornbread, coon mule jumping competition, swamp dance or pig pickin' is complete without a dead mule..."