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I've met many, many writers who say they would never write about their family, never write about people they did not totally make up. But that is not the composition of my character.
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To Southerners like my mother, 'Gone With the Wind' was not just a book; it was an answer, a clenched fist raised to the North, an anthem of defiance.
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My father's violence is the central fact of my art and my life.
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'There was only one cadet I ever really hated. Just one name I can think of,' The Boo said. 'That'll make an interesting story for the book, Colonel. Who is the jerk?' I asked. 'It was you, Conroy. Just you. There was something about you that I hated when you first walked into fourth battalion, you worthless bum.'
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General Clark walked the campus like a retired deity and ignored the general run of cadets.
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I wear the ring.