John Shore

People who are unhappy are always unhappy for the same reason: They're stuck in the lie that they had wonderful parents who loved them.

I spent more time with my father yesterday than I've ever spent with him at one time in my life. It's amazing, how twelve hours can feel like as...

Yesterday I spoke to classes of fourth and fifth graders about writing. My message? Writing well is the best way to get the kind of power and...

"Blog," backwards, is "golb." Which sounds like saying "gold" underwater. Which you should never do, since it's rude to talk with your mouth full....

My book "I'm OK--You're Not" (about the inherently tricky relationship between The Great Commandment and The Great Commission) is nominated for a...

Most of the people at the show didn't know The Blind Boys are a gospel group. They thought they were a rural blues group. Then they heard the word...

Here's a dialogue I imagine happening between Adam and Eve the day after they're banished from paradise.

Because Adam didn't obey God, I have to obey my alarm clock. It's just so wrong.

Trying to write or do any creative work at all without first accessing the Holy Spirit is like trying drive a car with an empty gas tank. It's...

A reader wrote to ask how he could go about becoming an "idea factory." Easy: fear boredom, and strive to avoid work. Those have always been the...

On Saturday I spoke before the San Diego Christian Writer's Guild. What a nice group of people! Once I stopped flapping my arms and piroquetting...

Isn't childhood supposed to be fun?

As far as I can tell, it's erroneous to put homosexual love in the same category we do all the other kinds of sins against which we all daily...

I could hardly wait to tell one of my best friends that I'd become a Christian. I had no idea the news would hurt her so.

Imagine my surprise when, at 2 a.m. this morning, I got the call.

I used to have a hamster who had excellent reflexes, and could fly. He was also in top-notch physical shape. Now I know why.

If I ever do make it through the Pearly Gates, one of these guys will probably be waiting for me.

A story in the New York Times reveals how some people are dying from blogging too much. Surprised? I'm not.