Humor

art lesson

Art Lesson

Artists spend a lifetime perfecting their craft, but much of what they learn can be summarized in just a few seconds for those of you who love art yet want to spend your life doing something productive. For instance, it
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daniel wallace

A Photo or a Picture?

It took me longer than it should have to realize a photographer is no different than any other kind of artist; they just wield a different tool.
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Backseat Blues

Backseat Blues

All in all, my memories consist of a series of painful, embarrassing moments I almost wish I could forget.
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Comfort Food - Wallace

Comfort Food

I used to think homesick and cabin fever meant the same thing. The distinction, I thought, was less about how you felt but where you felt it: in a house or in a cabin. Imagine my dismay when I learned
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Keep Off the Grass!

Keep Off the Grass!

As my father became more successful, we moved to bigger and bigger houses and with the houses, came bigger and bigger lawns. In Edgewood, our lawn was about 10 feet by 12 feet, the size of a living room carpet
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those were the days

Those were the Days

I used to have an old jukebox in my basement. It was the size of a small car, very flashy, and when you plugged it in, the houselights dimmed. This was not, as someone would describe it for sale on
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fudging-on-the-facts

Fudging on the Facts

In the end, fiction is simply the art of making things up, which is the opposite — not of truth — but of fact.
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a writers life

A Writer’s Life

I attended a book festival in West Jefferson this past fall. Book festivals are held, ostensibly, for readers, folks interested in books and the people who write them. But the greater benefit, I think, is to the writer himself: It
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Chicken in a Box

AKA: North Carolina Sunrise

Just below the placid surface of even the happiest marriage sometimes lurks a dangerous controversy, unseen by the outside world, like a crocodile patiently waiting for prey to wander by.
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Christmas with Cille and Pops

Christmas with Cille and Pops

On Christmas Eve, every Christmas Eve, my grandparents drove down to Birmingham, Alabama, from the town of Cullman, where they lived almost all their lives and where my father was born so long ago. Lucille and Ewing Wallace — or
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