NACOGDOCHES--Joe R. Lansdale's days of busting his butt at the nearby aluminum-chair factory or toiling in the brain-baking heat of East Texas rose fields are far in the distance now, faded memories he resurrects only to assign to an occasional character in one of his novels or short stories. Gone is the high-minded fantasy of his idealist younger days, that of tilling the rich, black soil of his heartland behind an old mule too stubborn to even plow a straight row. Truck farming, he learned quickly, just wasn't his thing. The last time he drew a paycheck as a garbage man or worked full time as a janitor was... More >>>