“Jean Brashear’s wholly original, funny and poignant novel has a heart as big as Texas. Told in a warm and intimate voice, it’s like a road trip with your best friend. Don’t miss it!”~#1 New York Times bestselling author Susan Wiggs


Sometimes life gives us gifts of pure grace; one such for me has been meeting Pea O'Brien, the protagonist of THE GODDESS OF FRIED OKRA. She began as an exercise in sheer fun—sitting on my deck in a wicker rocker, taking a few weeks off from my contracted writing to see if, after several years as a working writer, I still remembered how to play, how to write for the simple pleasure of it, a joy too easily lost under the pressure of deadlines and expectations.

I knew nothing about Pea, even her name at first—only that a psychic had sent this woman on the road to search for the reincarnated soul of the sister she desperately missed. It all seemed like a lark those first few days, drinking this killer Mexican iced coffee recipe I got from Barbara Samuel (so much of said coffee wound up practically eating a hole in my stomach, but it's not Barbara's fault I brewed it so dang strong.) I'd sit and sip and type on my Alphasmart while listening to birdsong under my live oaks...and see where Pea would take me next.

When it was time to get back to my deadlines, Pea was never far from me, and over the next few years I returned to her often, letting the flight of fancy take me away whenever I could scrape up a day here or there.

Sometimes flights of fancy lead to real life experiences...and vice versa. My husband and I love taking back roads whenever possible (he has a whole collection of  photos of oddball sights) and on one of our rambles, I spotted a sign for the Conan the Barbarian Festival in Cross Plains, Texas. Who knew?!? We were too late for that year's festival, but we detoured to Cross Plains, anyway, and indulged in such landmarks as the mural on the side of the library (wanna see the picture of me and Conan?) and Robert E. Howard's homeplace.

The year following, I'd forgotten all about the festival until I ran across a notice that it would be occurring in three days' time. Ring, ring: "Lover man, I know you're trying to make a living, but this is important—how would you like to go to Cross Plains this weekend?" Long silence. Then laughter. "I'm sure that's exactly what I was thinking, I just didn't know it." Never let it be said that this man doesn't love me. (Also, don't ask him where else on God's green earth I've dragged him in the name of research, OK?)

Three days later, we were in Cross Plains, watching the parade. (I cannot tell you how disappointed I was not to find cowboys in furry leggings with breastplates and helmets, brandishing broadswords—and okay, it's my dirty little secret that there is no sword-fighting competition at the festival as there is in my book.)

But there should be.

Speaking of Conan's daddy REH...I cannot positively recall how Howar