American Justice Notebook

"Our liberty depends on the freedom of the press, and that cannot be limited without being lost." — Thomas Jefferson

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“Throw me to the wolves, and I will return leading the pack” — Seneca

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I love words. 

I love people who love words — Wordsmiths. 

Words that serve as blind guides.  Hold our hands and sometimes, thrust the soul into another world.  Strange worlds but mostly, beautiful places. Where villains and white-hatted cowboys dwell and chase each other.  Where monsters run loose. And it is easy to catch butterflies that live inside sandcastles on opulent, distant beaches.  Words that build places from ancient boulders once moved by long-forgotten slaves. 

I also love words that speak, purr, whimper and bark. Those that compete with the sound of mischievous birds playing tag on oak trees under early-morning skies.

I love wordsmiths.

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“We were overworked, and nobody was getting rich. But it didn’t matter. We stayed because we loved this profession. Loved chasing the stories. Nailing some City Hall asshole for corruption.  Now, it’s all about fluff.  Entertainment and fluff. Trends and titillation. The passion is gone. It’s left the building. Checked out with Elvis when the corporate assholes checked in,” — The Serape Notebook


Two brothers, Diego Carreon Vega and his older brother, Carlos, growing up in West Texas during the time of the Vietnam War is the setting for the novel, The Serape Notebook.
      Diego is a journalist who describes how the war changed his family after his brother Carlos joins the U.S. Army and is sent to Vietnam.
Click Here to Purchase Book:

“The Voice”


       “The Vietnam War didn’t strut down the barrio with the boldness of some high-stepping drum major in front of a high school marching band going down Main Street.
It did none of that.
It came tapping, gently tapping, on the front door like a magazine salesman with a silly grin and a cheap polyester suit.  Uncle Sam was selling a bloody war that would change everything in the barrio and in America.
Before the Vietnam War escalated, life in the barrio was a bright-yellow, loose-fitting tuxedo, calmly pacing itself inside a pair of soft huaraches.

People got married, divorced, worked hard, had kids, planned weddings, and hosted quinceañeras — those rite-of-passage celebrations into womanhood for 15-year-old Mexican girls. Kids cruised late at night.

Pinatas were busted in backyards. Baptismos and old high school rivalries thrived. Treks to go to downtown Juarez after the El Paso bars closed were strong.

Vietnam changed everything.”

 — The Serape Notebook


Others Novels by Raul Hernandez:



The Dead Sea Bar and Grill novel:  Click Here




Stepping on the Devil’s Tail novel:  Click Here










“Bogota Bogeymen. Fuck. Bad News.”

“Right. But Fernando and Topo were unusual, freaks of nature in the cartel world, you might say.”

“How so,” I asked.

“On the surface, they looked like a couple of tourists who had just stepped off a Carnival cruise ship.”

“Wolves in sheep’s clothing.”

“Most definitely. Cunning too. Let me put it this way, if there’s a Narco Hall of Fame, they’d be in it and have their faces on trading cards. They’ll kill for fun and profits. They’d kill in front of the Virgin Mary.” 

 — Stepping on the Devil’s Tail.


Life is like a gleam of light between two eternities.

Who we spend our time with is what matters. Whose hand we hold and heart we touch. Who makes us laugh and makes us cry. Gives us joy and lets us be us, and still like us despite our shortcomings and downfalls.

They become our teachers, lovers, and those who listen, really listen, and can feel the thread of cold air that sometimes runs through our hearts when we hurt. In the end, that’ll be all that matters. Who we shared these moments, the special ones, and those hours, the long and precious ones? 

Who we spend this time with, share our thoughts, our lives, and what we left behind inside their hearts. What will be our last dream? Who will be holding our hand as we take our last breath?

That’ll be all we take as we slip into the silence of forever.