Lawrence Wright is an author, screenwriter, playwright, and a staff writer for the New Yorker. He has also written for Rolling Stone and Southern Voices, a publication of the Southern Regional Council in Atlanta. His history of Al Qaeda, The Looming Tower: Al-Qaeda and the Road to 9/11 (Knopf, 2006), spent eight weeks on the New York Times best-seller list and was translated into 25 languages. The book was nominated for the National Book Award and won numerous awards, including the Pulitzer Prize for General Nonfiction. Wright’s one-man play, My Trip to al-Qaeda, was made into a documentary film and aired on HBO. Wright’s seventh book, Going Clear: Scientology, Hollywood and the Prison of Belief (Knopf 2013), is based on a profile he wrote of the writer-director Paul Haggis in the New Yorker that won the National Magazine Award in 2012.
Critics call it brutal and barbaric, but it may be the most effective treatment for sex offenders.
To hear some women tell it, nature created two genders, one nearly perfect and the other badly flawed. I wonder whether they’re right.
With the cold war fading into history, Fort Worth’s General Dynamics now has to regard peace as not merely an ideal but an economic reality.
Cycling a hundred miles is a hard enough way to spend a Saturday. It’s even harder in Wichita Falls in August.
The ghosts of bowl games past recall an era when cotton and the Cotton Bowl were king in Texas.
He had a wife and a girlfriend. His ambition was unchecked. He tried to commit suicide. But when I came face to face with the minister of my boyhood church, the sin we talked about was murder.
An agnostic parent is forced to face one of life’s biggest questions.
The Hollywood epics have left Texas, to be replaced by miniatures like Nadine.
Once San Antonio’s elite took pride in their support of the city’s fine symphony. When the cream of that elite, the Symphony Society board, abruptly canceled the upcoming season, it was time for some soul-searching.
Cradle Cap was nothing, diaper rash was a breeze. But when my son brought home head lice—well, it made the plague look good.