MARDI GRAS – WIMPS NEED NOT APPLY by Michael Rigg

Krewe of ALLA Parade 2023. 

I write short stories and novels set in two disparate locations: Virginia (mostly Hampton Roads) and New Orleans. I live in Virginia Beach, so local research in/around Hampton Roads is relatively easy. But New Orleans? While the Internet’s great, there’s nothing like visiting the proverbial “scene of the crime.” Computer-based research gives you a one-dimensional view; you can read about events, look at maps, and view photos and videos. New Orleans is not a one-dimensional place. The Big Easy involves all five senses: sight, sound, smell, taste, and touch. And there’s only one way to experience the mix—be there.

LOCARD’S EXCHANGE PRINCIPLE by Michael Rigg

Edmond Locard (1877-1966)

No doubt, you’ve seen or heard the saying, “Take only memories, leave only footprints.” It’s a shorthand way of telling humans to minimize their impact on nature. If you see something, leave it for someone else to see and enjoy. If you eat a Milky Way, don’t throw away the wrapper. Take it with you.

What a wonderful sentiment. What an exceptional goal. But to those of us who write mysteries, especially those involving crimes, it’s sheer, absolute, and utter nonsense. Pure baloney. Leave only footprints? Give me a break.

Those of us “in the know,” accept the “Gospel According to Dr. Locard.” Developed by Dr. Edmond Locard (1877 – 1966), Locard’s Exchange Principle, which forms the foundation of forensic science, holds that the perpetrator of a crime will bring something to the crime scene and will leave with something from it. At its core, the concept is that every contact leaves a trace and that with contact between two items, there will always be an exchange. To quote Dr. Locard, “It is impossible for a criminal to act, especially considering the intensity of a crime without leaving traces of this presence.”    

Think about it. It makes sense.

Wherever a criminal (or even a totally innocent, law-abiding citizen) goes, he will leave something behind. At the same time, he will also take something back with him. Our criminal (or law-abiding citizen) can leave all sorts of evidence, like fingerprints, footprints, hair, skin, blood, bodily fluids, pieces of clothing—and more. By coming into contact with others, or things, at the location in question, our criminal (or law-abiding citizen) takes part of that location with him when he leaves, whether it’s dirt, hair, or other types of trace evidence.

During an investigation in 1912, a Frenchwoman named Marie Latelle was found dead in her parents’ home. Her boyfriend, Emile Gourbin, claimed he had been playing cards with friends on the night of the murder. Absent evidence to the contrary, police concluded Gourbin was telling the truth.

Not deterred, Dr. Locard looked at Marie’s corpse and questioned Gourbin’s alibi. Locard found clear evidence that Marie had been strangled. He then scraped underneath Gourbin’s fingernails and examined the results under a microscope. Locard noticed a pink dust among the samples, which he calculated must be ladies’ makeup. In that era, makeup was not mass produced. Locard located a chemist who developed a custom powder for Marie. It matched the fingernail scrapings. Ultimately, Gourbin confessed to the murder. He had tricked his friends into believing his alibi by setting the clock in the game room ahead. But he couldn’t trick Locard. When he strangled his girlfriend, he took some of her—skin cells with traces of makeup—with him.

Pretty convincing, right? Most likely, we can all think of “modern day” cases that were solved as a result of Locard’s Exchange Principle. What’s your favorite example?

So, trust me. No matter how hard you try or how well-intentioned you may be, wherever you go you’ll never just leave footprints and you’ll always take away more than just memories. Mystery writers depend on it. 

MEMORIES OF REMEMBRANCE DAY by Michael Rigg

A few years ago, I made several business trips to London and other parts of the United Kingdom. One trip to London occurred in November, right after a very historic U.S. Presidential election (if I remember correctly) and as the U.K. began to commemorate what the nation refers to as Remembrance Day. My visit that November was brief, but I’ve though often about what I saw and the emotions I experienced.

Beginning with the guns of August in 1914 and finally ending at the eleventh hour of the eleventh day of the eleventh month in 1918, the First World War—the Great War—exacted a horrific toll on human life—more than any previous conflict. The carnage was so vast, involving soldiers and civilians from so many different nations, that historians cannot agree on exactly how many people lost their lives.

 A study conducted on behalf of the Carnegie Endowment estimated that more than 9.7 million military personnel from more than two dozen nations lost their lives. Adding to the tragedy, more than 6.8 million civilians died from war-related maladies such as starvation and disease. In all, about 16.5 million people perished during the “War to End All Wars.”

Great Britain and Ireland, with a combined population of 46.1 million, mobilized 6.1 million army and navy personnel. More than 750,000 military and 600,000 civilians—a total of 1.35 million—died.

After the conflict ended, the United States designated November 11^th, the day hostilities ceased in World War I, as Armistice Day. Later that special observance morphed into a more general celebration of those who have served in uniform—Veterans Day.

In Great Britain, November 11^th is referred to as Remembrance Day. And the Sunday nearest November 11^th is referred to as Remembrance Sunday. Originally a response to World War I, Remembrance Day and Remembrance Sunday now honor those who have fallen in battle in the defense of their nation—similar to Memorial Day in the U.S. Red paper poppies serve as a visual—and visceral—symbol of “remembrance” to the British.

Along with the cost in human life, the First World War decimated the landscape of Western Europe, which had seen bloody back-and-forth offensives and the murderous stalemate of trench warfare. Yet a singular sight gave one man hope. John McCrae, a military doctor from Canada, viewed the battlegrounds and penned a poem, In Flanders Fields:

In Flanders fields the poppies blow

Between the crosses, row on row,

That mark our place; and in the sky

The larks, still bravely singing, fly

Scarce heard amid the guns below.

 

We are the Dead. Short days ago

We lived, felt dawn, saw sunset glow,

Loved and were loved, and now we lie,

In Flanders fields.

 

Take up our quarrel with the foe:

To you from failing hands we throw

The torch; be yours to hold it high.

If ye break faith with us who die

We shall not sleep, though poppies grow

In Flanders fields.

Based largely on the imagery of McCrae’s poem, efforts by various individuals resulted in the red poppy becoming an iconic emblem of Remembrance Day.

Remembrance Day and Remembrance Sunday bring with them parades, speeches, and sermons. But what was most remarkable to me were the rows and rows of red poppies attached to crosses, Stars of David, and other artifacts that were then placed in church yards and parks throughout the city. I remember the fields of honor at Westminster Abby the most. Many of the poppy-adorned artifacts contained pictures or other tributes to the fallen and were viewed in thoughtful, silent reverence by thousands. 

The photograph above gives a hint of the emotional impact of visiting this solemn place, where, to paraphrase, the poppies still blow “. . . Between the crosses, row on row.”

 

 

YO ADRIAN! ANY IGGLES FAN OUT THERE? By Michael Rigg

An earlier Blog entry discussed baseball-themed movies. With the onset of September and echoes of autumn in the air, the topic switches to football—not the round-ball kind, either. Today’s blog wants to know, what’s your favorite football (the American version) novel or movie?

As the Philly-centric title suggests, the starting point for our discussion is the 2006 film, Invincible, featuring Mark Wahlberg and Greg Kinnear. The movie is based on the true story of Vince Papale, who played with the Philadelphia Eagles from 1976 to 1978. Wahlberg plays Vince. Greg Kinnear is Coach Dick Vermeil.

Desperate to turn the Eagles into winners, new head coach Dick Vermeil (Kinnear) will try just about anything. He announces that the Eagles will host open tryouts for anyone, and everyone, who thinks they have the stuff to be a professional football player. Urged by his family and friends, thirty-year-old unemployed teacher Vince Papale, who plays a mean game of sandlot football and whose girlfriend just left him because he was a "loser," gives it a go. Vermeil, impressed by Papale's performance, invites him to training camp. As training camp ends, the final roster spot is down to Papale and a veteran. Against his assistants' advice, Vermeil hands the final spot to Papale.

As Papale's career with the Eagles begins, the team loses all six preseason games and their regular season opener against the Dallas Cowboys. Papale plays poorly against the Cowboys, and Vermeil faces pressure from the fans and media. In the midst of Papale’s attempt to make the team, he meets, and falls in love with, Janet.

During the home opener against the New York Giants, Papale opens the game by solo-tackling the kickoff returner inside the fifteen-yard line. After an up-and-down game, Papale gets downfield during an Eagles' fourth quarter punt to tackle the returner, forcing a fumble that he recovers and takes into the end zone for a touchdown, giving the Eagles their first win in Papale's career. Eagles’ fans go wild with joy. It’s a victory for an everyday guy—the typical “Iggles” fan. Papale plays for the team for three seasons and eventually marries Janet, while Vermeil subsequently succeeds in turning the Eagles into a winning team, culminating in an appearance in Super Bowl XV.

So, do you have a favorite football-themed novel or movie? What is it? In addition to Invincible, here are some candidates, in alphabetical order:

·       Any Given Sunday

·       Brian’s Song

·       Draft Day
·       Everybody’s All-American
·       Heaven Can Wait
·       Leatherheads
·       Remember the Titans
·       Rudy
·       The Blind Side
·       The Longest Yard
·       The Replacements
·       The Waterboy
·       We Are Marshall

And, no doubt, there are many more. Tell us your favorite—and why it is your favorite. Inquiring minds want to know.

 

WHAT WE'RE READING THIS SUMMER! by the Sand In Our Shorts Gang

It’s July, it’s hot, (in the northern hemisphere at least) and it’s time to grab a good book to read at the beach, the lake, the pool, or in the front porch swing! The Sand-in-our-Shorts writers are here sharing their summer reads with you. Their picks might be your next vacation read— check it out!

Michael Rigg:

I’m not much of a beach reader. Sun and sand and sweat don’t create an inviting atmosphere for reading. (And sunscreen makes the pages stick together.)  But sitting at a beach house in Sandbridge pouring over a novel, with the roar of the ocean as background? Well, that’s a horse of a different color. Especially if there’s air conditioning involved. Next on my summer

RESEARCH: A CRITICAL PART OF WRITING. BUT NO ONE SAYS IT HAS TO BE BORING! By Michael Rigg

Harriet Robin 
New Orleans School of Cooking 

Any fiction writer worth their salt will acknowledge that research is a key component of our craft. We write stories that, in the long run, are not entirely true. That’s why it’s called fiction. We ask our readers to suspend belief, at least while they read what we write, and pray they will accept our premise: “what if…” But to engage the reader, to keep them turning pages, our fiction must be plausible.

In sum, fiction—the ultimate untruth—must, of necessity, be based in truth, and supported by facts. Our written untruth must be believable. Thorough research is how we attain this believable untruth. Research is the lifeblood of good fiction. If it doesn’t ring true, the reader will soon be bored and more likely to put our novel down and, worse, add us to their “do not read” list.

WHAT'S IN OUR BEACH BAGS? by The Sand in our Shorts Gang

Who would have thought? It's been almost a year since we started the SAND IN OUR SHORTS blog! What fun! 

When we started out, the original group of contributing authors worked together on an article, "What's in Our Beach Bags?"  We never published it.  We'll, here we are a year into this adventure, and on the cusp of another summer. So we thought, "Why not publish it now?" And here we go! A special mid-week post! 

As we all get ready to head to the beach for a little R&R (that's Reading and Relaxation, which is what writers do), we asked each what they have in their beach bag. Here are their answers:

Michael Rigg:

My beach bag has lots of sunscreen (I like the spray-on kind)—with as many SPFs as you can get—a big-brimmed straw hat, sunglasses, binoculars, and a small cooler with cold soda and water. Maybe I’ll throw in a bag of munchies, if there’s enough room. I’ll also need to bring an umbrella because I’m not supposed to get too much sun. I don’t do well reading in the sun, but I’ll bring a copy of Virginia is for Mysteries III to impress everyone around me! The final thing in my bag is a beach towel. Oh, and my iPhone. Along with my umbrella (which probably won’t fit in my bag), I’ll have a nice folding chair. Maybe instead of a beach bag, I need one of those beach carts with the humongous wheels.

 

Jayne Ormerod:

I've got a lot of sand in the bottom of my beach bag. Lots and lots of sand. Could almost start my own private beach in my backyard. That's testament to frequent trips to the beach to watch the sailboat races, enjoyment of which is augmented while sipping a glass of wine at sunset. This requires that I also keep wine glass stakes in my beach bag. They are posts that are shoved into the sand close to my chair. They have a little knob at the top in which to slip the stem of my wine glass, holding it upright throughout the evening and thus preventing spillage. Wine spillage is a class-one felony at my beach. Cheers!

WRITERS UNITE: REJECT REJECTION! By Michael Rigg

Rejection Has Many Facets

 A well-known and respected periodical, which shall remain nameless,   provides a simple online mechanism for writers to submit their short   works of fiction for consideration. No need to suffer through thirty-   nine steps of instructions. And it provides an equally simple   mechanism  for tracking those submissions. Beyond a shadow of     doubt, the submission and tracking process are straightforward, not an     elastic affair with ever-changing rules. 

That simplicity belies something notorious, something to leave a hopeful author spellbound by the negativity and unable to cope. That something lies in the terms this well-known and respected periodical uses to describe the status of your submission.

Received. That’s understandable enough. They have received your magnum opus, the lifeboat to which your fragile ego clings, hoping soon to read the joyful status: Accepted. (I assume that’s what it is. None of my submissions have been chosen for publication—yet.)

But then, there’s that word they use to describe stories not selected for publication: REJECTED.

Rejection—it’s something most, perhaps all, writers have experienced. What a horrible word, rejection—in any form. What a mean-spirited, ghastly thing, rejection, a word, many-faceted, each aspect more horrific that the last.  

According to the Cambridge English Dictionary (Cambridge English Dictionary: Definitions & Meanings), rejection refers to:  

-the act of refusing to accept, use, or believe someone or something;

-a letter, etc. that tells you that you have been unsuccessful in getting a job, a place on a course of study, etc.; or

-the act of not giving someone the love and attention they want and expect.

With one hurtful word, the writer’s repulsed, like a lice-ridden enemy hoard scaling the castle walls. Like a seething bacterial infection struck down by the miracle of penicillin. Despondency reigns, emotions ripped apart, like a torn curtain. That damnable magazine and its editor. They aren’t giving us the love and attention we want and expect. Barbarians all, those who inflict rejection on us!   

I confess. I don’t understand why the editor of this esteemed periodical insists on being such a psycho, a saboteur of young and innocent writers who put their faith and trust in this publishing powerhouse that their hard work will be recognized and rewarded.

But the solution is simple, elegant perhaps. Were I a secret agent, able to enter quietly through a rear window into the periodical’s inner sanctum, I’d scurry about in a surreptitious frenzy and plant this idea:

Replace the word rejected with the word DECLINED. 

What a pleasant way to be told ‘No.’ “We received your submission, reviewed it with glee, and decline to publish it at this time. Warmest regards and best wishes for a successful writing career.” Certainly, it’s kinder and gentler that the current “Eff Off, you unworthy, spineless mendicant. Your story stinks and we REJECTED it, just as we reject YOU.” 

So please, kind editor, switch to using Declined. Where you lead, other editors (and agents) will follow! After all, wouldn’t you agree that Rejected is for the birds?

THROW ME SOMETHIN’ MISTER! IT’S MARDI GRAS! By Michael Rigg

2022 Mardi Gras: Krewe of King Arthur
Locked & Loaded & Ready to Roll!

If all goes according to plan, when this post publishes in the wee hours of Saturday, February 11, 2023, I’ll be in New Orleans winding down from participating in two Mardi Gras parades yesterday (Friday) and preparing for a third, tomorrow (Sunday). And getting psyched about watching several more, as they thunder down Canal Street all day Saturday.   

I write stories set, mostly, in either the Virginia Beach/Tidewater area or New Orleans. So, this is a research trip! (I’m still trying to convince my tax accountant that these junkets should be a business deduction, though. What a stick-in-the-mud, right?)

Using Tidewater seems self-explanatory. That’s where I live. “But why New Orleans?” you ask. “Why not?” I respond. What an interesting place—the Crescent City, the City That Care Forgot, the Big Easy. “NOLA,” has a lot of nicknames. My personal favorite (and one I think I invented) is “The Chameleon City.” New Orleans presents a different identity and soul to each person it touches. It’s like a “shape-shifter,” only not as foreboding, and with much better food. 

And what a more hands-on way for a writer to learn about New Orleans than participate in its world-renowned Mardi Gras festivities?  

“But I thought Mardi Gras, “Fat Tuesday,” was just one day,” you assert. And you’d be technically correct.  Carnival season starts each year on January 6^th, the “Twelfth Night” after Christmas.  But Fat Tuesday—the last day of the Carnival season—varies from year to year, because it depends on the start of Lent—Ash Wednesday—which is calculated based on when Easter occurs. 

Regardless of the exact date of Fat Tuesday, New Orleans and the surrounding area have been celebrating Mardi Gras since January 6^th.  By the time Fat Tuesday rolls around, there’s already been a “whole lot of partying going on.”

Mardi Gras is rich with history and tradition. For example, purple, green, and gold are the colors most associated with Mardi Gras in New Orleans. As the story goes, Rex, the King of Carnival, selected the colors and assigned a meaning to them in 1892.  Purple stands for justice, green for faith, and gold for power. If you want to learn more about Mardi Gras, its history, traditions, and, most importantly, the parade schedules, check out this website: Mardi Gras New Orleans.

Few would argue that parades are the beating heart of Mardi Gras. And people in New Orleans know how to parade! Parades usually center around a “Krewe,” such as the Krewe of ALLA (www.kreweofalla.net) or the Krewe of King Arthur (www.kreweofkingarthur.com). Some people belong to more that one Krewe. There are walking parades (like the Krewe of Cork, www.kreweofcork.com), “float” parades (the vast majority), and even parades where the members ride on streetcars (like the Phunny Phorty Phellows, www.phunnyphortyphellows).  All told, there are over ninety different parades in the New Orleans area from January 6^th until Fat Tuesday.

The majority of the parades occur during the last two weeks before Fat Tuesday. Parades are massive affairs, from Krewes with a few hundred members to “Super Krewes,” usually any Krewe with over one-thousand members. This year, for example, Krewe of ALLA has eighteen floats carrying 500 riders. Krewe of King Arthur has seventy-one floats with 2,400 riders.  (For more on Krewe size, and for comprehensive information about Mardi Gras in general, check out Arthur Hardy's Mardi Gras Guide.)

And that doesn’t count for the number of high school and college bands and marching units or the many “adult” walking/dancing groups, like the Muff-a-lottas (www.muffalottas.com), the 610 Stompers (www.610stompers.com), or the Pussyfooters (where you have to be at least thirty years of age to join, www.pussyfooters.com ), interspersed between the floats.   

Don’t worry that you can’t be here. You can still experience the thrill of Mardi Gras parades from the comfort of your La-Z-Boy.  Beginning Friday, Feb. 10 through Fat Tuesday, on Feb. 21, The Times-Picayune newspaper and its online affiliate, NOLA.com, will livestream every parade that rolls by its St. Charles Avenue newsroom (about thirty-two parades) via   nola.com, Facebook, YouTube and Twitter.  There are even Mardi Gras trackers (using GPS) you can download. Check out Mardi Gras Parade Tracker and Download WDSU Parade Tracker for iPhone, Android.

Wish me luck! Two down, one to go. And “Send me a comment, Mister!” Let me know what kind of Mardi Gras experiences you’ve had.

WRITING CONFERENCES—NOT JUST FOR WRITERS ANY MORE! By MBTS Blog Admin (M. Rigg, Co-Admin)

 

Anonymous author learns about 

firearm safety during a recent

Writers' Police Academy.

Greetings! We’re working through some technical issues. So, we thought we might interrupt our regular blogger rotation this week to discuss a topic near and dear to many of us: writing conferences, seminars, and workshops. And, to let our readers know that many “writers” events welcome (and encourage) non-writers, i.e., readers a/k/a “kind, intelligent people who buy our books.” 

Writing, at its essence, is not a group activity, right? No doubt we’ve all seen the acronym: BICFOK—Butt in chair, fingers on keyboard. We’re pounded with the adjuration “That novel’s not going to write itself, is it?”   

Yet, just as no person “… is an island entire of itself,” a writer depends on many others—editors, beta readers, proofreaders, publishers, and, ultimately, readers. So maybe writing is, indeed, a group activity. After all, it takes a village, doesn’t it?

Writers, even the most introverted of us, must seek support from others. The group. The community. The village. And there are few better places to seek support than at a writer-oriented conference, seminar, or workshop. It must be the case. Just search the Internet for “Upcoming Writers Conferences.” You’ll get list after list after list of writers conferences, seminars, and workshops at all sorts of  locations around the country and world, of every shape, description, genre, and duration. 

Ask a dozen writers about their favorite conference, seminar, or workshop and you will likely receive two dozen answers. “I liked Conference A. But Workshop B was great, too. They’re both my favorites.” 

I’ve been to a number of writers conferences in my relative short time as an author. I’ve learned something at each. One of my favorites is the Writers’ Police Academy (WPA), the brainchild of Lee and Denene Lofland (Lee Lofland - The Graveyard Shift - Lee Lofland). Here's a brief description from the WPA website (Writers' Police Academy (writerspoliceacademy.com)):

Writers' Police Academy’s unique hands-on training takes place in Green Bay, WI., at the Public Safety Training Academy of Northeast Wisconsin Technical College (NWTC). Beyond basic certifications, the Academy offers specialized courses including SWAT, Boat Patrol, and Homicide Investigations, to name only a few. The Public Safety Academy/Writers’ Police Academy facilities include a 26-acre closed road course, defensive and arrest tactics rooms, tactical house, jail cells, indoor firing range, forced-entry structure, and a 4-story burn tower. 

What a blast! Driving fast, chasing “criminals” and making their vehicles spin out, battering down doors as part of a police “stack,” and shooting (targets, not people). And did I mention learning about crime scene investigations, fingerprinting, and blood spatter? Or the lecture from a retired FBI agent who was part of the team searching the Unabomber’s cabin? Need I go on? How about the authors invited as each academy’s “Guest of Honor.”? People like Craig Johnson, Heather Graham, Robert Dugoni, and Hank Philippi Ryan. Wow! Double Wow!!

Enough from me. What about other writers? What is your favorite conference, seminar, or workshop? Why is it your favorite? Leave a comment and tell us all about it (or them).   

Readers, don’t feel left out. Many “writing” conferences embrace your involvement, like Bouchercon (https://www.bouchercon.com/) or Malice Domestic (https://www.malicedomestic.org/). They even include a “Fan Guest of Honor.” Oh, for our local readers, don't forget the Suffolk, Virginia, Mystery Author's Festival on March 11, 2023 (suffolkmysteryauthorsfestival.com).  It's for writers AND readers. The "Sisters" will be there in force. We hope to see you! Stop by and say hello.

So, tell us. What is your favorite “reader” conference, seminar, or workshop? Inquiring minds want to know.

HAPPY NEW YEAR! By the Sand in Our Shorts bloggers

All of the writers of the "Sand in our Shorts" blog wish all of our readers a wonderful year to come! We've put together some of our favorite poems to curl up with on a cold winter's day, so grab a blanket and a warm cup of cheer and enjoy!

Maria Hudgins: My favorite poem is "The Cremation of Sam McGee" by Robert Service.

"Now Sam McGee was from Tennessee . . ."

TROPES, CLICHÉS, AND STEREOTYPES, OH MY! A CHRISTMAS STORY UNDER THE LOOKING GLASS. By Guest Blogger Charles “Chuckie” Farkus

Be careful kid, "You'll shoot your eye out!"

What a great opportunity this is for me to set the record straight. When I heard that the Sand in Our Shorts blog had a holiday opening designed to give its regular contributors a chance to enjoy the holiday with family and friends, I jumped at the opportunity. Do you know what it’s like to be the younger sibling of a famous movie villain, like Scut Farkus in A Christmas Story? Well, I do. And I have tales to tell.

Seems that everyone remembers my evil big brother. Yeah. Green eyes, yellow teeth, coonskin cap. That’s who I’m talking about. (He grew up to be a police officer, you know.) But then there’s me, baby brother Charles “Chuckie” Farkus. We also lived on Cleveland Street, two houses down from Ralphie and Randy Parker, next door to the Bumpasses. I was best friends with Randy. I looked like a tick and couldn’t put my arms down on the way to school, either. But do you hear about me and my challenges? No.

And what a rotten movie it is, filled with tropes, clichés, and stereotypes. You know, things like “You’re gonna shoot your eye out,” the Italian word Fra-gee-lay, sticking your tongue to a frozen flagpole, and my favorite, Christmas dinner at a Chinese restaurant. Oh, please! The writers ought to be ashamed.

So tell me, what’s your favorite or, better yet, least favorite, thing about A Christmas Story? And don’t worry if you haven’t seen it. You can check your channel guide for where to find the next marathon, 24-hours-a-day, “wash-Ralphie’s-mouth-out-with-soap” barf-o-rama.   

Oh, by the way, there’s a sequel—A Christmas Story Christmas. I’m not in that one, either. I can hardly wait to watch it—NOT. So, if you’ll excuse me, I’ll just sit her enjoying a piping hot cup of Ovaltine, as I check the blog every few minutes for your comments.   

QUOTH THE RAVEN “NEVERMORE.” OR DID HE? By Michael D. Rigg

"Once upon a midnight, dreary...."

Okay, you got me. Edgar Allan Poe’s fantastical Raven really said “Nevermore,” at least in the famous poem. Of course, the Raven and the nearly-napping-guy were figments of Poe’s fertile mind. He created them. So, if Poe quoted the Raven, the Raven must have said it.

But can we make the same assertion about actual historical figures? Did various people utter the pithy, wisdom-laden sayings attributed to them? Quoth the Raven, “Maybe, or maybe not.”

In grade school, many of us learned of George Washington’s commitment to honesty. When confronted by his father about chopping down a cherry tree, six-year-old George confessed his horrific, axe-wielding deed and declared, “I cannot tell a lie.”

SOME KIND OF WONDERFUL: A STORY ABOUT COPYRIGHT AND CHARCTER by Michael D. Rigg

"Excuse me, sir..."

On Saturday afternoon of this past Labor Day weekend, my wife and I strolled through the Charleston Town Center, a once-thriving indoor shopping mall, located, as the name implies, smack-dab in the middle of downtown in West Virginia’s capital city. Why we were there isn’t the subject of today’s blog. Today, I’ll talk about What, and Who, we found.   

At its height, the two-story mall offered patrons access to 130 stores, including Sears, J.C. Penney, and Macy’s. (A small third-story contains the mall’s food court.) Today, approximately 50 stores and restaurants remain. J.C. Penny stands as the lone anchor-store. Footsteps from a dwindling number of shoppers echo among the increasing square footage of drywall-covered storefronts. A change in ownership, and plans for strengthening the regional economy, bring hope for a brighter future.