Posted on December 14, 1998.
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by Pamela Rice Hahn
I believe a humor writer is someone who looks at the world a bit differently than most of those around him. It’s not that he wears rose-colored glasses; however, he does have a mental astigmatism that makes him look at the familiar in a different manner. He notices things, and often comments on them in such a way that whichever acquaintance happens to be walking beside him at that moment, oftentimes pretends he’s “never met that guy before in my life.” His friends sometimes fail to hear the subtle distinctions, but he knows there’s a talent to innuendo and out the other. Eventually, as with all socially-unacceptable diseases, the infection spreads. Drop an “aside” and maybe one person will hear it, but write it down and maybe the whole world will read it! The class clown grows up and buys a computer and the printed word is never the same again.
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Posted on December 2, 1998.
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In the fall, I spend Saturday afternoons sitting on an aluminum seat, watching my beloved Louisville Cardinals play something that passes for football. The general process of watching these games goes something like this:
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Posted on November 30, 1998.
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by Mike Johnson
1. Beg for work.
2. Get work.
3. Ask self, “How the hell will I ever finish this on time?”
4. Bitch about work.
5. Finish work.
6. Wait to get paid for work. Forever.
7. Rinse.
8. Repeat. 
Copyright © 1997-2008 Mike Johnson
All rights reserved.
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Posted on November 29, 1998.
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by Diana Fox (Diana Stout)
In the beginning my first drafts were filled with holes, barely resembling the story I wanted to tell. The characters were cardboard, rambling mindlessly on far too many unknown paths, and usually ending up in a lagoon or bug-infested swamp with no where to continue forward.
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Posted on November 27, 1998.
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This page is no longer a good news-announcements page. For current author information, visit
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Posted on November 26, 1998.
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Posted on November 25, 1998.
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by Judith A. Chance
At first glance, Ronny looked like every other kid in the first-grade classroom where I volunteered as the Reading Mom. Wind-blown hair, scuffed shoes, a little bit of dirt behind his ears, some kind of sandwich smear around his mouth.
On closer inspection, though, the layer of dirt on Ronny’s face, the crusty nose, and the packed grime under his fingernails told me he didn’t get dirty at school. He arrived that way.
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Pammy, the main character in the 
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