All posts by Sarah Bird
A funny thing happened on the way to the Texas Book Festival.
How I ended up spending my panel appearance at the Texas Book Festival lying on a bench and drooling on the floor.
Where did I get my twisted sense of humor? Competitive wisecracking was my family’s favorite game—and survival mechanism.
Developing my twisted sense of humor was a family affair.
I could hardly believe my luck when I was invited to come face-to-face with Meat Loaf this spring. Not just because the rock icon and actor had electrified me with The Rocky Horror Picture Show and seduced me with Bat Out of Hell—he had also helped finance one of my novels.
When Dallas’s very own Marvin Lee Aday—that’s Meat Loaf to you—optioned one of my screenplays, he didn’t just offer me a glimpse of paradise by the dashboard lights. He also helped me write a novel.
Single mom and suburban misfit Cam Lightsey is facing her biggest challenge yet: sending her only daughter off to college. Eighteen-year-old Aubrey will likely do just fine—but will Cam? An exclusive excerpt from Sarah Bird’s new novel, The Gap Year.
In an excerpt from Sarah Bird’s new novel The Gap Year, a single mom prepares to send her only daughter off to college. Guess which one is a wreck.
I was always an early adopter, or as my voice recognition software would say, a “girlie corrupter.” Close enough.
Help! My voice recognition software is making me save airy funnel things witch nobody wonder Stans.
The case for putting me on a jury. Any jury. Puh-leeze!
Am I the only person who has always wanted to get picked for jury duty?
I dreamed of being in a drug study—until I actually got some skin in the game.
Turns out being a test subject for a dermatology research lab is not the best thing that could ever happen to a girl.
These are the breast years of our lives.
It was the breast of times, it was the worst of times.
Over time, our house went from bleak to chic, from slipshod to mid-mod—and became everything we ever wanted.
Or, how I stopped worrying and learned to love my formerly ugly, recently hip, linoleum-clad, mid-mod house.
The limitations of Facebook “frindship.”
All my friends are going to be status updates.