Texas songsmith Rodney Crowell is almost always in the mood for a good story. The veteran country artist and Grammy winner has a way with words that reflects his love for family, his dry wit and, above all, his Lone Star State sense of humor.

"I never agonize over writing songs and making music," he says. "Writing songs just can't be agonizing, even when it's hard. Hell, I've fed my family and housed us without having a real job, other than writing songs. Man, what a blessing that is. It's a good thing."

Born near Houston but currently based in Nashville, Crowell has released 20 albums over four decades (one, 1988's Diamonds and Dirt, produced five consecutive number-one singles). With his twangy singing style and earnest lyrics, Crowell gained widespread recognition as a leader of the "new traditionalist" movement of the 1980s. His honors have included a Grammy award, an ASCAP lifetime achievement award and induction into the Songwriters Hall of Fame.

In his recent memoir, Chinaberry Sidewalks, and on his latest studio album, Kin: Songs by Mary Karr and Rodney Crowell, Crowell shares the pain and joy of growing up a poor kid in rural Texas. The only child of a boozing daddy and a Bible-thumping mother, Crowell says he was no stranger to commotion and confrontation at an early age. Through his gentle use of humor, his childhood tales find comedy and sweetness in absurdity, whether recalling knock-down-drag-outs at dive bars or fire-and-brimstone sermons at tent revivals.

"Every family is happy in some way and screwed up in some way," Crowell says. "I was pleased and proud of myself for having the stamina to do Chinaberry Sidewalks. I had no knowledge of how to do that when I started. Writing a book… can be emotionally challenging for any artist. There were a couple of times during the writing… where I kind of boiled over, and my editors kindly ignored it."

The book is colorful, dramatic, heartbreaking and hilarious, with an underlying tone of forgiveness throughout. Crowell lists more than a few family brawls and neighborhood fist-fights, and names his first concert experiences as Hank Williams Sr., Jerry Lee Lewis, Carl Perkins, Eddie Cochran and Johnny Cash—all of whom continue to inspire his music.

During the time he was working on his book, Crowell was, of course, also writing songs. "I noticed the verbiage became more dense in the songs; I think because… I was in this world of words at the time," he says. "Like a workshop of words. After I finished the book, I found myself trying to get more done in songs with fewer words."

Kin took shape in an unusual way. Shortly after releasing Chinaberry Sidewalks, he hooked up with New York-based poet and essayist (and fellow Texas native) Mary Karr, whose bestselling 1996 memoir The Liar's Club had delved into themes of family strife, spiritual struggles, challenged relationships and loss—many of which overlapped with Crowell's own life experiences.

The pair enlisted an impressive lineup of musicians and singers for the Kin sessions, including Norah Jones, Vince Gill, Lucinda Williams, Lee Ann Womack, Rosanne Cash, Chely Wright, Kris Kristofferson and Emmylou Harris. Crowell's longtime colleague Joe Henry handled the production.

"I struck on the notion that we should write some songs, and we did," Crowell says. "I had no idea if any would end up on a record. I just wanted to try it. Lo and behold, we wrote about 15 in a short time, and I thought, 'This is a record asking to be made.' Mary couldn't sing, so we needed female voices to carry the female narrative. It became obvious that I couldn't carry all of the male narratives, so we invited Vince and Kris in. The next thing you know, there's a record. It wasn't what we intended… It just formed itself."

A healthy dose of melancholy balances the sweet sentiments on Kin; even the most upbeat tracks have a slight dark side. Crowell's vivid accounts of childhood adventures, awkward adolescence and grown-up missteps mesh beautifully with Karr's visceral verbiage.

"Mary is very nimble and muscular in language," Crowell says. "She's an astute poet—a language scholar and a fully realized artist. She got past her trepidation about it very quickly. Good for me for recognizing the possibilities, and good for her for being willing to paint on another canvas. It was a just a natural occurrence that clicked on every level."