Story Institute

Twitter Weekly Updates for 2010-08-30

John E Murray III — Mon, 30 Aug 2010 07:33:00 +0000

It is always amazing when children learn new things…it helps you appreciate the things you learn more… #
Amazon and Audible…why do you make it so difficult to correct a mistake your system has made…silly, silly, silly… #
We rearranged my home office…now, the train set it usable again! #
Where is Perry the Platypus when you need him… #

Twitter Weekly Updates for 2010-08-23

John E Murray III — Mon, 23 Aug 2010 07:33:00 +0000

Today was a good day to win the lottery…anyone take care of that one for us… #
Have faith in your dreams and someday…someday… #

Story Institute Announces – The Manuscript by Rebecca Laskowitz

Story Institute — Tue, 17 Aug 2010 00:57:46 +0000

NASHVILLE, TN – August 12, 2010 – Story Institute, your online and in-print source for imagining, enhancing, and growing stories, is proud to announce the publication of The Manuscript, a novel, by Rebecca Laskowitz.

The Manuscript features, Vincent Kraver, author of fifteen bestselling novels who found his niche in writing early in life. His talent helped build a life he never would have imagined. With a misguided mother and a transient childhood, Vincent’s eventual success would have been denied by everyone except himself.

In between family disputes and a demanding book signing schedule, Vincent finds himself engaged in the plot of someone else’s mystery. As he struggles to find information about the dark yet insightful other writer, Vincent learns more about his wife and two children than he ever intended.

Who is Kevin Larre? Why has he chosen Vincent as the subject of his writing? How does he know so much about Vincent’s life? What will Vincent do to find out the truth behind his own little mystery? Find out more in…The Manuscript…

About the Author:
Rebecca Laskowitz is an award-winning author who taps into familiar details that engage her readers. Her debut novel , The Manuscript, was written and accepted for publication when she was a senior at Ramapo College. Rebecca is currently crafting stories in New Jersey where she reside with her boyfriend Jacob. Her stories, short and long, are worth following for many years to come.

About Story Institute:
Since its basic beginnings in 2002 with Timeless Tales, Story Institute has grown to inspire, enhance, and grow your stories personally and professionally while helping share your success in print, online, and in person. Through short story and poetry topics, storylines, novel ideas, and contests, Story Institute encourages and assists the writer in most of us and the imagination in all of us.

Through Integrity, Ingenuity, Inspiration, Influence, Impact, and Excellence, Story Institute strives to:

Evoke emotion within our customers that make connections to our communities

Engage our customers, their families, and clients in active tales that connect their emotions to past knowledge and experiences.

Empower our partners to use their new knowledge while growing their families, organizations, and stories into a world of their own.

Contact:
John E. Murray, III, Chief Story Symphonizer, Story Institute
615-431-WRIT (9748)
customerservice@storyinstitute.com

Purchase it from our Store: The Manuscript
OR, through Amazon:The Manuscript

Twitter Weekly Updates for 2010-08-16

John E Murray III — Mon, 16 Aug 2010 07:33:00 +0000

Radio Shack has a great trade-in program for older iPhones…take advantage it if your 3G is just not able to keep up…& they have new ones #

Twitter Weekly Updates for 2010-08-09

John E Murray III — Mon, 09 Aug 2010 07:33:00 +0000

It is amazing how I keep forgetting about things and, yet there are reminders around me everyday… #
After 90 min, I think I found a way to make my iPhone 3G usable with iOS4…we'll see if it stays tomorrow… #

Twitter Weekly Updates for 2010-08-02

John E Murray III — Mon, 02 Aug 2010 07:33:00 +0000

I enjoy writing too much not to read more…how to balance both, that is the question… #
I earned the Silver level of The Stack badge using Audible for iPhone. Want yours? http://bit.ly/adblapp #audible #
Today is a good day to…sit and watch the rain…enjoy the drops…move away from the light… #

Two New Story Institute Publications Coming Soon

Story Institute — Tue, 27 Jul 2010 02:36:45 +0000

Well, many things have been going on behind the scenes at Story Institute. We have been working with authors on their individual writing and concentrating on editing, designing, and publishing two new books. One will be from an author featured on Story Institute. The other book will be an anthology of the contest entries we have received over the last couple of years. We will be contacting each writer who is set to appear in the anthology. If you have entered our contests and have changed your email since entering our contests, please send us an update. If you do not hear from us by August 15th, 2010, your work may not have been selected for this book. We have tried to assemble the best work as well as keep some consistent themes and writing structures. As a reminder, per our guidelines:

Story Institute is under no obligation to publish every contest entry and can disqualify an entry at any time for any reason. The writer is under no obligation whatsoever to purchase a copy of the publication in which the short story or poem may appear. Purchasing the publication will not determine inclusion within the compilation. Publication will be determined on merit alone. Final compilations will be available for purchase on Amazon.com and other online retailers.

For Poems: All poems must be no more than 30 lines and no less than 5 lines.

For Short Stories: All short stories must be between 500 and 5000 words.

We hope you enjoy the new books and help support Story Institute and a fellow author by purchasing the works. More on each work will be featured soon. In the meantime, remember to Imagine, Enhance, and Grow your stories.

Twitter Weekly Updates for 2010-07-26

John E Murray III — Mon, 26 Jul 2010 07:33:00 +0000

I have ventured far this last week, yet don't seem to have gone anywhere… #

Twitter Weekly Updates for 2010-07-19

John E Murray III — Mon, 19 Jul 2010 07:33:00 +0000

Tone is important in writing and can be heavily dependent on the reader…how do you watch your tone effectively… #
I'm using twitter from fring – my FREE mobile app for tweets, calls, chats & video calls! Join me on fring http://www.fring.com/twitter #
Streamlining social networking options can be interesting…trying one then another…good times… #
We all have foreshadowing in our lives, by the time we understand it, however, it is the present… #

Twitter Weekly Updates for 2010-07-05

John E Murray III — Mon, 05 Jul 2010 07:33:00 +0000

Check this TUAW article out: iPhone 4 defenders…: http://bit.ly/clcobC #

Twitter Weekly Updates for 2010-06-28

John E Murray III — Mon, 28 Jun 2010 07:33:00 +0000

While converting to smaller bitrate save space, it takes way too long the first sync…darn that iOS4… #
How busy can you be before you are too busy…No busy enough, I guess… #
Today is a good day for…rain…have you seen any…? #

Story Institute RamblingVerser – Episode 38 – Dream and Write

Story Institute — Sun, 27 Jun 2010 23:36:31 +0000

Are you writing about what you dream or do you dream of writing…decide and tell your story…

Featured Quote:
“All of us failed to match our dreams of perfection. So I rate us on the basis of our splendid failure to do the impossible.”
William Faulkner

Featured Poems:
There is No Frigate Like a Book
By: Emily Dickinson

There is no frigate like a book
To take us lands away,
Nor any coursers like a page
Of prancing poetry.
This traverse may the poorest take
Without oppress of toll;
How frugal is the chariot
That bears a human soul!

A Dream Deferred
By: Langston Hughes

What happens to a dream deferred?
Does it dry up
like a raisin in the sun?
Or fester like a sore–
And then run?
Does it stink like rotten meat?
Or crust and sugar over–
like a syrupy sweet?
Maybe it just sags
like a heavy load.
Or does it explode?


Poetry Writing Prompt:
What if our dream did explode and made it’s way into someone else’s life. How would that poet write about the tiny part of the dream they received? Will they ever connect?

Short Story Writing Prompt:
Write about those tiny pieces of a dream a character may received and what he/she does with it. How closely connected do each character feel to each other? Do they know that they are tied together by the same dream? If you need help in deciding on a plot or setting, check out The Kingdom Keepers by Ridley Pearson. As you write share your work with others so that each character can grow and realize more of the dream than an individual author can deliver.

Departing poetic thoughts…
Little
© 2009 Skyler Wolf Jones

A little piece of dirt,
I see you, dried up in the scorching sun,
Waiting for a drop of rain,
To soak away the cracks and pain.

A little piece of land,
With dirt and bugs a little bland,
No vegetation growing in this earth,
I wonder what it’s worth.

A little piece of me,
Deserted from the life I know,
Is this the way I want to live,
No experiences to help me grow.

Moisture for the dirt,
Water for the land,
Emotion for my life,
And the will to take a stand.

All the little pieces,
Are essential for the whole,
All the little life experiences,
Are essential for your soul.

Give yourself a little dream,
Take a little glance,
At the life you’ve left out to dry,
Give it another chance.


If you are an author in search of readers or have comments about our show, contact us:
ramblingverser@storyinstitute.com
615-431-WRIT (9748)

This week’s episode was brought to you by Enchanted Travel Tales (www.enchantedtraveltales.com), bringing travel, magic, and fun to your holidays.

Remember to Imagine, Enhance, & Grow Your Stories @ www.storyinstitute.com

Join the forum discussion on this post

Twitter Weekly Updates for 2010-06-21

John E Murray III — Mon, 21 Jun 2010 07:33:00 +0000

Today is a good day to…go on a long drive…make sure the road is long too…enjoy… #
Today is a good day to…enjoy the sunshine and your family… #

Twitter Weekly Updates for 2010-06-14

John E Murray III — Mon, 14 Jun 2010 07:33:00 +0000

Release the Crackin'…http://www.flickr.com/photos/murraystorypics/4693370994/ #

Story Institute RamblingVerser – Episode 37 – Poems and Prompts

Story Institute — Sat, 12 Jun 2010 02:20:36 +0000

Poems from our forums and relationships found…

Featured Quotes:
“A single rose can be my garden… a single friend, my world.”
Leo Buscaglia

“Let us be grateful to people who make us happy, they are the charming gardeners who make our souls blossom.”
Marcel Proust

Featured Poem: One Word Is Too Often Profaned
By: Percy Bysshe Shelley

One word is too often profaned
For me to profane it;
One feeling too falsely disdained
For thee to disdain it;
One hope is too like despair
For prudence to smother;
And pity from thee more dear
Than that from another.

I can give not what men call love;
But wilt thou accept not
The worship the heart lifts above
And the heavens reject not,
The desire of the moth for the star,
Of the night for the morrow,
The devotion to something afar
From the sphere of our sorrow?

Poems from our Forums:
Something Mystical
By: Lamar Cole

Something mystical happened today.
I felt your touch.
Even though you’re far away.
I felt your hands upon my face.
It seemed as though your sweet lips.
I could taste.

It seemed as if I could feel your embrace.
It took me to a wonderful place
Because even when you’re far away.
I feel your love in every way.

Thirsty Soul
By:Lamar Cole
Love, darling, is you.
Your love cascaded down the waterfalls of your heart.
To my thirsty soul.
Your love filled the crevices of my life.
Your love is my lighthouse.
My beacon in the night.
I found home in your heart.


Short Story Topics – Roll of the Dice

What if our life did depend on the roll of a dice? A gambling woman would carry around her own dice. Every move, every call, she makes is determined by her roll. Each option is assigned a number that corresponds to the dots on the dice. One means she takes the bus to work; Five indicates she takes her bike. This is not always the best method, but she rolls them every day…she needs to roll them everyday.

What event in her life triggered this behavior? Why is she bound to keep on rolling? Has she ever stopped trying? If she did, what happened? Did she lose her job? Did she lose a loved one? Did she go back a few spaces and start this round of her life over again…same house, same car, same trials and tribulations.

What would the roll of the dice bring if it was on the edge? Does the woman wish to even think about it? Where did these dice come from? Who had them before her? Can she get rid of them? Or, do they end when her streak ends? Decide on the story, and write. Post it here, or share elsewhere, but write and enjoy…

If you are an author in search of readers or have comments about our show, contact us:
ramblingverser@storyinstitute.com
615-431-WRIT (9748)

This week’s episode was brought to you by Enchanted Travel Tales (www.enchantedtraveltales.com), bringing travel, magic, and fun to your holidays.

Remember to Imagine, Enhance, & Grow Your Stories @ www.storyinstitute.com

Twitter Weekly Updates for 2010-06-07

John E Murray III — Mon, 07 Jun 2010 07:33:00 +0000

Today is a good day to…go to the beach…can I borrow a cup of sand, anyone? #

Themed Writing Contest, Anyone?

Story Institute — Thu, 03 Jun 2010 14:50:35 +0000

As we think of new ways to add to Story Institute, we were heard from a few people about hosting a themed writing contest. Are you interested…?

Note: There is a poll embedded within this post, please visit the site to participate in this post's poll.

Story Institute RamblingVerser – Episode 36 – Choices

Story Institute — Thu, 03 Jun 2010 03:00:21 +0000

Choices for you and choices for your characters…End where you began but make it a good one…

Feature Quote:
“The thing always happens that you really believe in; and the belief in a thing makes it happen.”
Frank Lloyd Wright

Featured Poem:Traveling Through the Dark
By: William Stafford

Traveling through the dark I found a deer
dead on the edge of the Wilson River road.
It is usually best to roll them into the canyon:
that road is narrow; to swerve might make more dead.

By glow of the tail-light I stumbled back of the car
and stood by the heap, a doe, a recent killing;
she had stiffened already, almost cold.
I dragged her off; she was large in the belly.

My fingers touching her side brought me the reason–
her side was warm; her fawn lay there waiting,
alive, still, never to be born.
Beside that mountain road I hesitated.

The car aimed ahead its lowered parking lights;
under the hood purred the steady engine.
I stood in the glare of the warm exhaust turning red;
around our group I could hear the wilderness listen.

I thought hard for us all–my only swerving–,
then pushed her over the edge into the river.

Featured Poetry Writing Prompt:
Rewrite this poem, or choose another topic where a choice is indicated at the beginning and followed through on at the end. Whether it is for the greater good or for the needs of the few, follow the intentions that begin at the start of the poem.

Featured Short Story: Love is a Fallacy
By: Max Shulman

Cool was I and logical. Keen, calculating, perspicacious, acute and astute—I was all of these. My brain was as powerful as a dynamo, precise as a chemist’s scales, as penetrating as a scalpel. And—think of it!—I only eighteen.

It is not often that one so young has such a giant intellect. Take, for example, Petey Bellows, my roommate at the university. Same age, same background, but dumb as an ox. A nice enough fellow, you understand, but nothing upstairs. Emotional type. Unstable. Impressionable. Worst of all, a faddist. Fads, I submit, are the very negation of reason. To be swept up in every new craze that comes along, to surrender oneself to idiocy just because everybody else is doing it—this, to me, is the acme of mindlessness. Not, however, to Petey.

One afternoon I found Petey lying on his bed with an expression of such distress on his face that I immediately diagnosed appendicitis. “Don’t move,” I said, “Don’t take a laxative. I’ll get a doctor.”

“Raccoon,” he mumbled thickly.

“Raccoon?” I said, pausing in my flight.

“I want a raccoon coat,” he wailed.

I perceived that his trouble was not physical, but mental. “Why do you want a raccoon coat?”

“I should have known it,” he cried, pounding his temples. “I should have known they’d come back when the Charleston came back. Like a fool I spent all my money for textbooks, and now I can’t get a raccoon coat.”

“Can you mean,” I said incredulously, “that people are actually wearing raccoon coats again?”

“All the Big Men on Campus are wearing them. Where’ve you been?”

“In the library,” I said, naming a place not frequented by Big Men on Campus.

He leaped from the bed and paced the room. “I’ve got to have a raccoon coat,” he said passionately. “I’ve got to!”

“Petey, why? Look at it rationally. Raccoon coats are unsanitary. They shed. They smell bad. They weigh too much. They’re unsightly. They—”

“You don’t understand,” he interrupted impatiently. “It’s the thing to do. Don’t you want to be in the swim?”

“No,” I said truthfully.

“Well, I do,” he declared. “I’d give anything for a raccoon coat. Anything!”

My brain, that precision instrument, slipped into high gear. “Anything?” I asked, looking at him narrowly.

“Anything,” he affirmed in ringing tones.

I stroked my chin thoughtfully. It so happened that I knew where to get my hands on a raccoon coat. My father had had one in his undergraduate days; it lay now in a trunk in the attic back home. It also happened that Petey had something I wanted. He didn’t have it exactly, but at least he had first rights on it. I refer to his girl, Polly Espy.

I had long coveted Polly Espy. Let me emphasize that my desire for this young woman was not emotional in nature. She was, to be sure, a girl who excited the emotions, but I was not one to let my heart rule my head. I wanted Polly for a shrewdly calculated, entirely cerebral reason.

I was a freshman in law school. In a few years I would be out in practice. I was well aware of the importance of the right kind of wife in furthering a lawyer’s career. The successful lawyers I had observed were, almost without exception, married to beautiful, gracious, intelligent women. With one omission, Polly fitted these specifications perfectly.

Beautiful she was. She was not yet of pin-up proportions, but I felt that time would supply the lack. She already had the makings.

Gracious she was. By gracious I mean full of graces. She had an erectness of carriage, an ease of bearing, a poise that clearly indicated the best of breeding. At table her manners were exquisite. I had seen her at the Kozy Kampus Korner eating the specialty of the house—a sandwich that contained scraps of pot roast, gravy, chopped nuts, and a dipper of sauerkraut—without even getting her fingers moist.

Intelligent she was not. In fact, she veered in the opposite direction. But I believed that under my guidance she would smarten up. At any rate, it was worth a try. It is, after all, easier to make a beautiful dumb girl smart than to make an ugly smart girl beautiful.

“Petey,” I said, “are you in love with Polly Espy?”

“I think she’s a keen kid,” he replied, “but I don’t know if you’d call it love. Why?”

“Do you,” I asked, “have any kind of formal arrangement with her? I mean are you going steady or anything like that?”

“No. We see each other quite a bit, but we both have other dates. Why?”

“Is there,” I asked, “any other man for whom she has a particular fondness?”

“Not that I know of. Why?”

I nodded with satisfaction. “In other words, if you were out of the picture, the field would be open. Is that right?”

“I guess so. What are you getting at?”

“Nothing , nothing,” I said innocently, and took my suitcase out the closet.

“Where are you going?” asked Petey.

“Home for weekend.” I threw a few things into the bag.

“Listen,” he said, clutching my arm eagerly, “while you’re home, you couldn’t get some money from your old man, could you, and lend it to me so I can buy a raccoon coat?”

“I may do better than that,” I said with a mysterious wink and closed my bag and left.

“Look,” I said to Petey when I got back Monday morning. I threw open the suitcase and revealed the huge, hairy, gamy object that my father had worn in his Stutz Bearcat in 1925.

“Holy Toledo!” said Petey reverently. He plunged his hands into the raccoon coat and then his face. “Holy Toledo!” he repeated fifteen or twenty times.

“Would you like it?” I asked.

“Oh yes!” he cried, clutching the greasy pelt to him. Then a canny look came into his eyes. “What do you want for it?”

“Your girl.” I said, mincing no words.

“Polly?” he said in a horrified whisper. “You want Polly?”

“That’s right.”

He flung the coat from him. “Never,” he said stoutly.

I shrugged. “Okay. If you don’t want to be in the swim, I guess it’s your business.”

I sat down in a chair and pretended to read a book, but out of the corner of my eye I kept watching Petey. He was a torn man. First he looked at the coat with the expression of a waif at a bakery window. Then he turned away and set his jaw resolutely. Then he looked back at the coat, with even more longing in his face. Then he turned away, but with not so much resolution this time. Back and forth his head swiveled, desire waxing, resolution waning. Finally he didn’t turn away at all; he just stood and stared with mad lust at the coat.

“It isn’t as though I was in love with Polly,” he said thickly. “Or going steady or anything like that.”

“That’s right,” I murmured.

“What’s Polly to me, or me to Polly?”

“Not a thing,” said I.

“It’s just been a casual kick—just a few laughs, that’s all.”

“Try on the coat,” said I.

He complied. The coat bunched high over his ears and dropped all the way down to his shoe tops. He looked like a mound of dead raccoons. “Fits fine,” he said happily.

I rose from my chair. “Is it a deal?” I asked, extending my hand.

He swallowed. “It’s a deal,” he said and shook my hand.

I had my first date with Polly the following evening. This was in the nature of a survey; I wanted to find out just how much work I had to do to get her mind up to the standard I required. I took her first to dinner. “Gee, that was a delish dinner,” she said as we left the restaurant. Then I took her to a movie. “Gee, that was a marvy movie,” she said as we left the theatre. And then I took her home. “Gee, I had a sensaysh time,” she said as she bade me good night.

I went back to my room with a heavy heart. I had gravely underestimated the size of my task. This girl’s lack of information was terrifying. Nor would it be enough merely to supply her with information. First she had to be taught to think. This loomed as a project of no small dimensions, and at first I was tempted to give her back to Petey. But then I got to thinking about her abundant physical charms and about the way she entered a room and the way she handled a knife and fork, and I decided to make an effort.

I went about it, as in all things, systematically. I gave her a course in logic. It happened that I, as a law student, was taking a course in logic myself, so I had all the facts at my fingertips. “Poll’,” I said to her when I picked her up on our next date, “tonight we are going over to the Knoll and talk.”

“Oo, terrif,” she replied. One thing I will say for this girl: you would go far to find another so agreeable.

We went to the Knoll, the campus trysting place, and we sat down under an old oak, and she looked at me expectantly. “What are we going to talk about?” she asked.

“Logic.”

She thought this over for a minute and decided she liked it. “Magnif,” she said.

“Logic,” I said, clearing my throat, “is the science of thinking. Before we can think correctly, we must first learn to recognize the common fallacies of logic. These we will take up tonight.”

“Wow-dow!” she cried, clapping her hands delightedly.

I winced, but went bravely on. “First let us examine the fallacy called Dicto Simpliciter.”

“By all means,” she urged, batting her lashes eagerly.

“Dicto Simpliciter means an argument based on an unqualified generalization. For example: Exercise is good. Therefore everybody should exercise.”

“I agree,” said Polly earnestly. “I mean exercise is wonderful. I mean it builds the body and everything.”

“Polly,” I said gently, “the argument is a fallacy. Exercise is good is an unqualified generalization. For instance, if you have heart disease, exercise is bad, not good. Many people are ordered by their doctors not to exercise. You must qualify the generalization. You must say exercise is usually good, or exercise is good for most people. Otherwise you have committed a Dicto Simpliciter. Do you see?”

“No,” she confessed. “But this is marvy. Do more! Do more!”

“It will be better if you stop tugging at my sleeve,” I told her, and when she desisted, I continued. “Next we take up a fallacy called Hasty Generalization. Listen carefully: You can’t speak French. Petey Bellows can’t speak French. I must therefore conclude that nobody at the University of Minnesota can speak French.”

“Really?” said Polly, amazed. “Nobody?”

I hid my exasperation. “Polly, it’s a fallacy. The generalization is reached too hastily. There are too few instances to support such a conclusion.”

“Know any more fallacies?” she asked breathlessly. “This is more fun than dancing even.”

I fought off a wave of despair. I was getting nowhere with this girl, absolutely nowhere. Still, I am nothing if not persistent. I continued. “Next comes Post Hoc. Listen to this: Let’s not take Bill on our picnic. Every time we take him out with us, it rains.”

“I know somebody just like that,” she exclaimed. “A girl back home—Eula Becker, her name is. It never fails. Every single time we take her on a picnic—”

“Polly,” I said sharply, “it’s a fallacy. Eula Becker doesn’t cause the rain. She has no connection with the rain. You are guilty of Post Hoc if you blame Eula Becker.”

“I’ll never do it again,” she promised contritely. “Are you mad at me?”

I sighed. “No, Polly, I’m not mad.”

“Then tell me some more fallacies.”

“All right. Let’s try Contradictory Premises.”

“Yes, let’s,” she chirped, blinking her eyes happily.

I frowned, but plunged ahead. “Here’s an example of Contradictory Premises: If God can do anything, can He make a stone so heavy that He won’t be able to lift it?”

“Of course,” she replied promptly.

“But if He can do anything, He can lift the stone,” I pointed out.

“Yeah,” she said thoughtfully. “Well, then I guess He can’t make the stone.”

“But He can do anything,” I reminded her.

She scratched her pretty, empty head. “I’m all confused,” she admitted.

“Of course you are. Because when the premises of an argument contradict each other, there can be no argument. If there is an irresistible force, there can be no immovable object. If there is an immovable object, there can be no irresistible force. Get it?”

“Tell me more of this keen stuff,” she said eagerly.

I consulted my watch. “I think we’d better call it a night. I’ll take you home now, and you go over all the things you’ve learned. We’ll have another session tomorrow night.”

I deposited her at the girls’ dormitory, where she assured me that she had had a perfectly terrif evening, and I went glumly home to my room. Petey lay snoring in his bed, the raccoon coat huddled like a great hairy beast at his feet. For a moment I considered waking him and telling him that he could have his girl back. It seemed clear that my project was doomed to failure. The girl simply had a logic-proof head.

But then I reconsidered. I had wasted one evening; I might as well waste another. Who knew? Maybe somewhere in the extinct crater of her mind a few members still smoldered. Maybe somehow I could fan them into flame. Admittedly it was not a prospect fraught with hope, but I decided to give it one more try.

Seated under the oak the next evening I said, “Our first fallacy tonight is called Ad Misericordiam.”

She quivered with delight.

“Listen closely,” I said. “A man applies for a job. When the boss asks him what his qualifications are, he replies that he has a wife and six children at home, the wife is a helpless cripple, the children have nothing to eat, no clothes to wear, no shoes on their feet, there are no beds in the house, no coal in the cellar, and winter is coming.”

A tear rolled down each of Polly’s pink cheeks. “Oh, this is awful, awful,” she sobbed.

“Yes, it’s awful,” I agreed, “but it’s no argument. The man never answered the boss’s question about his qualifications. Instead he appealed to the boss’s sympathy. He committed the fallacy of Ad Misericordiam. Do you understand?”

“Have you got a handkerchief?” she blubbered.

I handed her a handkerchief and tried to keep from screaming while she wiped her eyes. “Next,” I said in a carefully controlled tone, “we will discuss False Analogy. Here is an example: Students should be allowed to look at their textbooks during examinations. After all, surgeons have X-rays to guide them during an operation, lawyers have briefs to guide them during a trial, carpenters have blueprints to guide them when they are building a house. Why, then, shouldn’t students be allowed to look at their textbooks during an examination?”

“There now,” she said enthusiastically, “is the most marvy idea I’ve heard in years.”

“Polly,” I said testily, “the argument is all wrong. Doctors, lawyers, and carpenters aren’t taking a test to see how much they have learned, but students are. The situations are altogether different, and you can’t make an analogy between them.”

“I still think it’s a good idea,” said Polly.

“Nuts,” I muttered. Doggedly I pressed on. “Next we’ll try Hypothesis Contrary to Fact.”

“Sounds yummy,” was Polly’s reaction.

“Listen: If Madame Curie had not happened to leave a photographic plate in a drawer with a chunk of pitchblende, the world today would not know about radium.”

“True, true,” said Polly, nodding her head “Did you see the movie? Oh, it just knocked me out. That Walter Pidgeon is so dreamy. I mean he fractures me.”

“If you can forget Mr. Pidgeon for a moment,” I said coldly, “I would like to point out that statement is a fallacy. Maybe Madame Curie would have discovered radium at some later date. Maybe somebody else would have discovered it. Maybe any number of things would have happened. You can’t start with a hypothesis that is not true and then draw any supportable conclusions from it.”

“They ought to put Walter Pidgeon in more pictures,” said Polly, “I hardly ever see him any more.”

One more chance, I decided. But just one more. There is a limit to what flesh and blood can bear. “The next fallacy is called Poisoning the Well.”

“How cute!” she gurgled.

“Two men are having a debate. The first one gets up and says, ‘My opponent is a notorious liar. You can’t believe a word that he is going to say.’ … Now, Polly, think. Think hard. What’s wrong?”

I watched her closely as she knit her creamy brow in concentration. Suddenly a glimmer of intelligence—the first I had seen—came into her eyes. “It’s not fair,” she said with indignation. “It’s not a bit fair. What chance has the second man got if the first man calls him a liar before he even begins talking?”

“Right!” I cried exultantly. “One hundred per cent right. It’s not fair. The first man has poisoned the well before anybody could drink from it. He has hamstrung his opponent before he could even start … Polly, I’m proud of you.”

“Pshaws,” she murmured, blushing with pleasure.

“You see, my dear, these things aren’t so hard. All you have to do is concentrate. Think—examine—evaluate. Come now, let’s review everything we have learned.”

“Fire away,” she said with an airy wave of her hand.

Heartened by the knowledge that Polly was not altogether a cretin, I began a long, patient review of all I had told her. Over and over and over again I cited instances, pointed out flaws, kept hammering away without letup. It was like digging a tunnel. At first, everything was work, sweat, and darkness. I had no idea when I would reach the light, or even if I would. But I persisted. I pounded and clawed and scraped, and finally I was rewarded. I saw a chink of light. And then the chink got bigger and the sun came pouring in and all was bright.

Five grueling nights with this took, but it was worth it. I had made a logician out of Polly; I had taught her to think. My job was done. She was worthy of me, at last. She was a fit wife for me, a proper hostess for my many mansions, a suitable mother for my well-heeled children.

It must not be thought that I was without love for this girl. Quite the contrary. Just as Pygmalion loved the perfect woman he had fashioned, so I loved mine. I decided to acquaint her with my feelings at our very next meeting. The time had come to change our relationship from academic to romantic.

“Polly,” I said when next we sat beneath our oak, “tonight we will not discuss fallacies.”

“Aw, gee,” she said, disappointed.

“My dear,” I said, favoring her with a smile, “we have now spent five evenings together. We have gotten along splendidly. It is clear that we are well matched.”

“Hasty Generalization,” said Polly brightly.

“I beg your pardon,” said I.

“Hasty Generalization,” she repeated. “How can you say that we are well matched on the basis of only five dates?”

I chuckled with amusement. The dear child had learned her lessons well. “My dear,” I said, patting her hand in a tolerant manner, “five dates is plenty. After all, you don’t have to eat a whole cake to know that it’s good.”

“False Analogy,” said Polly promptly. “I’m not a cake. I’m a girl.”

I chuckled with somewhat less amusement. The dear child had learned her lessons perhaps too well. I decided to change tactics. Obviously the best approach was a simple, strong, direct declaration of love. I paused for a moment while my massive brain chose the proper word. Then I began:

“Polly, I love you. You are the whole world to me, the moon and the stars and the constellations of outer space. Please, my darling, say that you will go steady with me, for if you will not, life will be meaningless. I will languish. I will refuse my meals. I will wander the face of the earth, a shambling, hollow-eyed hulk.”

There, I thought, folding my arms, that ought to do it.

“Ad Misericordiam,” said Polly.

I ground my teeth. I was not Pygmalion; I was Frankenstein, and my monster had me by the throat. Frantically I fought back the tide of panic surging through me; at all costs I had to keep cool.

“Well, Polly,” I said, forcing a smile, “you certainly have learned your fallacies.”

“You’re darn right,” she said with a vigorous nod.

“And who taught them to you, Polly?”

“You did.”

“That’s right. So you do owe me something, don’t you, my dear? If I hadn’t come along you never would have learned about fallacies.”

“Hypothesis Contrary to Fact,” she said instantly.

I dashed perspiration from my brow. “Polly,” I croaked, “you mustn’t take all these things so literally. I mean this is just classroom stuff. You know that the things you learn in school don’t have anything to do with life.”

“Dicto Simpliciter,” she said, wagging her finger at me playfully.

That did it. I leaped to my feet, bellowing like a bull. “Will you or will you not go steady with me?”

“I will not,” she replied.

“Why not?” I demanded.

“Because this afternoon I promised Petey Bellows that I would go steady with him.”

I reeled back, overcome with the infamy of it. After he promised, after he made a deal, after he shook my hand! “The rat!” I shrieked, kicking up great chunks of turf. “You can’t go with him, Polly. He’s a liar. He’s a cheat. He’s a rat.”

“Poisoning the Well ,” said Polly, “and stop shouting. I think shouting must be a fallacy too.”

With an immense effort of will, I modulated my voice. “All right,” I said. “You’re a logician. Let’s look at this thing logically. How could you choose Petey Bellows over me? Look at me—a brilliant student, a tremendous intellectual, a man with an assured future. Look at Petey—a knothead, a jitterbug, a guy who’ll never know where his next meal is coming from. Can you give me one logical reason why you should go steady with Petey Bellows?”

“I certainly can,” declared Polly. “He’s got a raccoon coat.”

Feature Story Writing Prompt:
Create a modern Day version of “Love is a Fallacy.” What is the modern day “raccoon coat?” How would this story be different in today’s terms? How arrogant can your narrator be? What choices will your characters make in action and conversation? Start with your ending at the beginning and tie it all together at the end.

If you are an author in search of readers or have comments about our show, contact us:
ramblingverser@storyinstitute.com
615-431-WRIT (9748)

This week’s episode was brought to you by Enchanted Travel Tales (www.enchantedtraveltales.com), bringing travel, magic, and fun to your holidays.

Remember to Imagine, Enhance, & Grow Your Stories @ www.storyinstitute.com

Join the forum discussion on this post

Twitter Weekly Updates for 2010-05-31

John E Murray III — Mon, 31 May 2010 07:33:00 +0000

Today is a good day to…hide behind shaded glass and take a nap…relax and enjoy… #
Today is a good day to…accomplish more than you planned…quick, the day is not over…enjoy… #
My daughter just asked if we can catch the Internet in here…I told her I forgot my fishing pole… #
Today is a good day to…call someone you care about…enjoy… #

Twitter Weekly Updates for 2010-05-24

John E Murray III — Mon, 24 May 2010 07:33:00 +0000

Today is a good day to…start positive and stay the course…enjoy… #
Today is a good day to…run around in the rain…it doesn't get any wetter than that…enjoy #
Today is a good day to…just be you and guess what you get the job..enjoy… #
Today is a good day to…enjoy the sun's rays…catch them if you got em…enjoy… #
Thinking of using Google's exchange on iPhone or Windows Mobile for email…DON'T…15,000+ emails later, deleted msgs are now deleted! #

Story Institute RamblingVerser – Episode 35 – Still Listening

Story Institute — Thu, 20 May 2010 01:17:23 +0000

More podcasts and thoughts to get your writing moving and your creativity flowing…John shares one last handful of his favorite audio inspirations…

Featured Quotes:
A poem begins as a lump in the throat, a sense of wrong, a homesickness, a lovesickness.
By: Robert Frost

A poem begins in delight and ends in wisdom.
By: Robert Frost

John shares some more of his favorite podcasts that help inspire and influence him.

Check out these great shows and sites:

Chad Corrie’s Mega Feed (The Works Worlds of Chad Corrie, Cauldron of Worlds, & The World of Traloden) – Chad Corrie
http://www.chadcorrie.com/

Grammar Girl – Mignon Fogarty
http://grammar.quickanddirtytips.com/

The Memory Palace – Nate DiMeo
http://thememorypalace.us/

BetaMouse – Henry Work, Jeff Chaney, Nate Parrish, Scott Barrett, Katie Siloac
http://betamouse.net/

WedWay Radio – Nate and Matt Parrish

http://wedwayradio.squarespace.com

Be Our Guest Podcast – Mike Rahlmann, Rikki Niblett, Pam Forrester, Debbie Robertson
http://beourguestpodcast.blogspot.com/

Do you have any favorite podcasts you would like to share? Have you turned your book, poetry, or writing into a podcast? Tell us about it either at www.storyinsititue.com‘s forum, email (ramblingverser@storyinstitute.com), or phone (615-431-WRIT).

Featured Poetry Writing Prompt:
Rose Blooms
A rose is a complicated flower, both to grow and behold. The color of this symbol can determine the type of relationship you share. The level of thorns can determine how long you would like to remain in that relationship. Connecting to the buds themselves enable you to appreciate the flowers and the person receiving them.

Be creative. Be encouraging. Be as intense as the hues these beautiful creations of nature. Open your heart as the petals expand. Tie your story into the intensity of the blooming intricacies. Post it at storyinstitute.com, or share elsewhere, but write and enjoy…

Not Just a Rose

White is the innocent beauty,
Which you will always be.
Pink is the friendship which we share,
Showing each other we really care.
Red is the eternal peace and love,
We attempt to realize,
As we continue to touch each other’s lives.

Featured Short Story Writing Prompt:
Horse of a New Color
Have you ever thought that the horse of a different color could be real? What if the wish of one little girl helped make this fantasy more of a reality? What if the horse changed colors depending on the mood it was in? What if? What if? That is what the 6 year old little girl kept asking her daddy after taking a few riding lessons.

She was so enthralled by the horse, she wanted to be able to keep him. Her dad told her that they did not allow horses in their neighborhood and if he was seen, they would send him back to the farm. The little girl asked if the horse could hide for a while. She asked if she could talk to the horse about it. She asked, she did, and the horse, somehow found a way to be with the little girl. It seemed to camouflage itself and blend in. However, when the little girl needed a ride or just wanted to see her special friend, he was there.

Tell the story of how. Tell the story of why. Tell the story of when. Tell about the father and whether he believed. Share more than just a little girl and a special horse. Share more than a fantastic adventure about a horse. Share how strong a belief needs to be for a happenstance like this to become real. Decide on the story and write. Post it at storyinstitute.com, or share elsewhere, but write and enjoy…

If you are an author in search of readers or have comments about our show, contact us:
ramblingverser@storyinstitute.com
615-431-WRIT (9748)

This week’s episode was brought to you by Enchanted Travel Tales (www.enchantedtraveltales.com), bringing travel, magic, and fun to your holidays.

Remember to Imagine, Enhance, & Grow Your Stories @ www.storyinstitute.com

Join the forum discussion on this post

Twitter Weekly Updates for 2010-05-17

John E Murray III — Mon, 17 May 2010 07:33:00 +0000

Today is a good day to…take action on something you have been putting off…its not going anywhere unless you do… #
Today is a good day to…create some cloud characters with your imagination and a little help from the wind… #
I hate when I forget that I forgot to do something…here's to a better memory…for what, I am not too sure…cheers… #
Today is a good day…to swing…enjoy… #
Today is a good day to…be a duck…quackers for everyone…enjoy… #

Story Institute RamblingVerser – Episode 34 – Listen Then Write

Story Institute — Mon, 10 May 2010 11:58:24 +0000

Podcasts and thoughts to get your writing moving and your creativity flowing…John shares a handful of his favorite audio inspirations…

Featured Quote:
Belief, by definition is an assent to a proposition. It is any cognitive content that is held true. It is some expression or a vague idea in which some confidence is placed. Thus, it defines some sort of an agreement with the world view. It may be unproven assertion based on some of the fundamental assumptions. Belief is a form of judging something to be true, intermediate between mere opinion and certain knowledge. To believe something in this sense is to judge that it is true by virtue of “a ground that is objectively insufficient but subjectively sufficient”; in mere opinion neither is sufficient, in knowledge both conditions are met.Myths which are believed in tend to become true.

By: George Orwell

John shares some of his favorite podcasts that help inspire and influence him.

Check out these great shows and sites:

Writing Excuses – Brandon Sanderson, Howard Taylor, Dan Wells
http://www.writingexcuses.com/

The Poem of the Day
http://www.sonibyte.com/public/clientpodcasts

Beyond the Book – Copyright Clearance Center
http://beyondthebookcast.com/

Twit Network -Leo LaPorte
http://www.twit.tv

Daily GizWiz – Dick  Debartolo & Leo LaPorte
http://www.gizwiz.biz

MuppetCast – Steve Swanson
http://www.muppetcast.com

WDW Radio – Lou Mongello
http://www.wdwradio.com

Do you have any favorite podcasts you would like to share?  Have you turned your book, poetry, or writing into a podcast?  Tell us about it either at www.storyinsititue.com’s forum, email (ramblingverser@storyinstitute.com), or phone (615-431-WRIT).

Featured Writing Prompt:
Write a poem, short story, or otherwise that reflects on the podcast and where it fits within your storyline.  Is it just a little voice you hear in your ear as you jog or walk around the block?  Or, is it much more than that for your character and inspiration?  How does your character fit in with the podcast world?   Make it all up, or base your verse or story on some show you know.  Share it at Story Institute or share it elsewhere, but write and enjoy…

If you are an author in search of readers or have comments about our show, contact us:
ramblingverser@storyinstitute.com
615-431-WRIT (9748)

This week’s episode was brought to you by Enchanted Travel Tales (www.enchantedtraveltales.com), bringing travel, magic, and fun to your holidays.

Remember to Imagine, Enhance, & Grow Your Stories @ www.storyinstitute.com

Join the forum discussion on this post

Twitter Weekly Updates for 2010-05-10

John E Murray III — Mon, 10 May 2010 07:33:00 +0000

Just moved the Apple iPad from my want list to my have list on @gdgt! http://gdg.to/cfEa5I #
I work with great people! #
RT npbooks Short Story Month Q & A: Sarah Selecky: The poets received all the attention last month, so once again… http://bit.ly/97DFkQ #
Story Institute Techie: iPad – To Print…Or, Maybe Something Like That http://bit.ly/bfvIV1 #
I really want to use the @mediafly app for the iPhone…it just keeps crashing…back to iPod function for now…Will wait for an update. #
RT @OrlandoUpdates Video:New Disney meet and greet experience allows Mickey to talk with guests http://cli.gs/Rh8BY:AttractionsMag. Magical! #
Birds…yes, you would believe it…birds are in our vents…insert silly statement here… #

Twitter Weekly Updates for 2010-05-03

John E Murray III — Mon, 03 May 2010 07:33:00 +0000

Momentum is great…just make sure you don't hit too many hills as it grows… #
Story Institute Techie: iPad – Alternative Media Player http://www.storyinstitute.com/techtales/2010/04/27/ipad-alternative-media-player/ #
Interesting…we upgraded the memory on an older MacBook Pro and used the old memory to upgrade an Asus EEE Box…2 for 1…good deal! #
The rain in Spain may stay mainly in the plains, but it is spilling all over the newly planted yard here… #
I almost forgot…it's free comic book day…visit your local comic store today…happy reading! #
Interesting weather we are having in TN…if anyone has lost some water, I think we found it…be well and safe. #

Story Institute – RamblingVerser Episode 33 – Believe Your Characters

Story Institute — Mon, 03 May 2010 03:31:37 +0000

Do you believe in your characters? OK, but do you have faith in your characters to live beyond the time you put them on paper? Is there a difference? Listen and engage in the writing prompts.

Featured Quote:
Faith is not belief. Belief is passive. Faith is active.
Edith Hamilton

Inspiration for this week’s conversation:
Six Characters in Search of an Author is the most famous and celebrated play by the Italian writer Luigi Pirandello

Featured Poem: The Computation
By: John Donne

FOR my first twenty years, since yesterday,
I scarce believed thou couldst be gone away ;
For forty more I fed on favours past,
And forty on hopes that thou wouldst they might last ;
Tears drown`d one hundred, and sighs blew out two ;
A thousand, I did neither think nor do,
Or not divide, all being one thought of you ;
Or in a thousand more, forgot that too.
Yet call not this long life ; but think that I
Am, by being dead, immortal ; can ghosts die ?

Poetry Writing Prompt:
Write a Dialogue Poem between yourself, a modern day reader, and John Donne, the writer. How would you address his words in The Computation? If you need help with understanding a dialogue poem, check out this article:
How to Write a Dialogue Poem – By Jacqueline Thomas, eHow Contributing Writer
http://www.ehow.com/how_5089536_write-dialogue-poem.html

Additional Poem for creative inspiration:
Eternity
By: William Blake
He who binds to himself a joy
Does the winged life destroy;
But he who kisses the joy as it flies
Lives in eternity’s sun rise.

Short Story Topics – Pet Turtles Are Funny
Pets are wonderful for teaching children responsibility. What better way to teach a boy the responsibility of a pet than with a turtle. That is what the eight-year old boy thought. That is until he met the turtle. The creature disappears inside its shell every time the boy gets near. The boy’s sister sits and stares at the reptile for what seems like hours as it appears to dance, bob its head in and out to the rhythm of music, and go for a swim at random moments. When the boy passes, the turtle freezes and collapses inside its shell.

Describe the boy’s feelings. Describe the steps the boy would take to literally pull the creature out of its shell. Describe how the sister acts. Describe the turtle. What makes it special? Why does it stay in its shell? Is it just an ordinary turtle? Or, is there something a little more exciting, more imaginative? Decide on the path. Decide on the story, and write. Post it at Story Institute, or share elsewhere, but write and enjoy…

Short Story Topics – Flower Power
Picking the right flower can make or break a relationship. Do you go with the red ones? The pink ones? The white ones? The roses? The tulips? The brightly-colored, always in bloom ones? Wait, those might be plastic. They might be, but as you pass the store, you are drawn in by the beauty, fragrance, and allure of the rather unique petal filled vase. Something about these flowers says look at me, smell me, buy me.

What happens after you go into the store? What happens if you bring the flowers home to your significant other? What happens as you share in the moment together? Decide on the interaction between people and the flower. Decide on the interaction between the people and each other after interacting with the budding entity. Decide on the happenstance that erupts in the life of the first person to see the flower. Decide on the path. Decide on the story, and write. Post it at Story Institute, or share elsewhere, but write and enjoy…

Join the forum discussion on this post

Twitter Weekly Updates for 2010-04-26

John E Murray III — Mon, 26 Apr 2010 07:33:00 +0000

Are we just too connected these days…or, were we just greatly disconnected before? #
RT @GuyKawasaki: Earth Day photo celebration from NASA http://is.gd/bDMF9 #
RT @TMatlack: New Yorker on the future of the book publishing industry: http://bit.ly/dpF0ZI #
HBR Tip: Be a Better Leader by Building Your Self-Awareness http://web.hbr.org/e/?e=mt&d=042210 #
#FF @enothing, @straypoetry, @MousePod, @DarthGoofyIsD23, @LennOnLearning #
Too tired to sleep…plus, I need to talk with some birds about their tone in the morning…what branch did they fall from… #
Thought I found balance for podcast listening ota while saving battery life and Mediafly decides not to work today…back to syncing… #

Story Institute – RamblingVerser Episode 32 – Search for Your Voice

Story Institute — Wed, 21 Apr 2010 01:46:31 +0000

John releases some inner voices…what do you release in your writing…

If you are an author in search of readers or have comments about our show, contact us:
ramblingverser@storyinstitute.com
615-431-WRIT (9748)

This week’s episode was brought to you by Enchanted Travel Tales (www.enchantedtraveltales.com), bringing travel, magic, and fun to your holidays.

Featured Quotes:
“Imagination is the voice of daring. If there is anything Godlike about God it is that. He dared to imagine everything.”
Henry Miller

“Give every man thy ear, but few thy voice.”
William Shakespeare

Featured Poem:
“I Wandered Lonely as a Cloud”
By: William Wordsworth

I wandered lonely as a cloud
That floats on high o’er vales and hills,
When all at once I saw a crowd,
A host, of golden daffodils;
Beside the lake, beneath the trees,
Fluttering and dancing in the breeze.

Continuous as the stars that shine
And twinkle on the milky way,
They stretched in never-ending line
Along the margin of a bay:
Ten thousand saw I at a glance,
Tossing their heads in sprightly dance.

The waves beside them danced; but they
Out-did the sparkling waves in glee:
A poet could not but be gay,
In such a jocund company:
I gazed—and gazed—but little thought
What wealth the show to me had brought:

For oft, when on my couch I lie
In vacant or in pensive mood,
They flash upon that inward eye
Which is the bliss of solitude;
And then my heart with pleasure fills,
And dances with the daffodils.

Featured Short Story Topic – Grandma and the Friendly Feline
Grandma has not been feeling well recently. In fact, her grandchildren think that she is starting to lose more than her memory. She seems to have intimate conversations with her cat. One day, however, her littlest granddaughter over hears one of those conversations…both sides…

This story connects the imagination of a little one with the belief that rests only with age. The granddaughter sneaks away from playing with her sisters to listen to the stories the feline and her grandmother share. The cat talks about what he does at night and the tricks he plays on the children, while grandma shares stories of her past.

Who is this special animal? How is the grandma and the grandchild able to understand what it is saying? Where exactly do they live? How will the stories progress? How will the story end? Decide on the path. Decide on the why. Decide on the story, but write. Post it on Story Institute, or share elsewhere, but write and enjoy…

Featured Writing Prompt:
Find a favorite fairy tales, nusery rhyme, or story and listen to the voice of the lesser known characters. What prevented them from being the main character, the star of the show, the big voice? Tell another story using one of those characters and find their inner voice. Share it with someone who doesn’t always hear that voice from you. Write and enjoy.

Remember to Imagine, Enhance, & Grow Your Stories @ www.storyinstitute.com

Join the forum discussion on this post

Twitter Weekly Updates for 2010-04-19

John E Murray III — Mon, 19 Apr 2010 07:33:00 +0000

RT @EmailCopywriter: Tips to Improve the iPad Experience http://su.pr/1Ro9HT #
RT @eNothing: NEW POEM by Thomas Herr on eNothing Blog — "Shoebox". Enjoy, comments – http://tinyurl.com/ybhbyyb**** #
Story Institute Techie: iPad in Review -Week 1 http://www.storyinstitute.com/techtales/2010/04/11/ipad-in-review-week-1/ #
Why is there always too much to do when you don't really have the time in the first place? #
Sometimes, I think I miss simpler times…then, I look around at all the technology and feel like I'd be missing something else…W2D, W2D #

Author Updates – Chad Corrie

Story Institute — Sat, 17 Apr 2010 13:32:48 +0000

We have two updates from Chad Corrie…Chad has appeared on many RamblingVerser Podcasts…If you are in the area, please stop by and support Chad…

Direct from www.chadcorrie.com:

Chad will be running another World Building Workshop at the Fridley Community Center starting on the last week of April.

Once again he will be running two workshops for different age groups. You can find out more about these workshops by going to the events page. If you or anyone you know of might be interested than you might want to register now and make sure you have a spot as space is limited.

If you like, you can also feel free to download the sign up sheet that the community center was nice enough to put together and send our way or you can contact them by the information provided on the events page.
ChadCorrieFlyer.pdf

AND…Episode 25 of The Works and World of Chad Corrie has posted…

Twitter Weekly Updates for 2010-04-12

John E Murray III — Mon, 12 Apr 2010 07:33:00 +0000

Story Institute Shares:: Story Institute RamblingVerser – Episode 20 http://bit.ly/17eots #
Reach out to your partner in imagination and thank him for sharing a new thought…if he doesn't share, look elsewhere… #
RT @inspiremetoday: Take responsibility for your actions and inactions. You choose how to act or react. #
RT @GuyKawasaki: 100 essential tips & tools for writers of the future: http://om.ly/FyKA GR #
Reach as far back as you can and ferret out something extraordinary today…it is there, you just have to trust yourself… #
I need to get some more writing done this weekend…oh, wait, its only Wednesday…can someone skip ahead and tell me how it turns out… #
Listen to the Red River Writers Live – The Muse show by Red River Writers on #BlogTalkRadio – http://tobtr.com/s/617444 #
Is it just me, or are there too many bots out here…Oh, wait someone is knocking at the door…um, nevermind about the bots…gotta go… #
Trizzel, trazel, trizzel, trone, time for this one to come home…sorry, flashback day…write about a fun childhood memory #
If someone says, pain helps you grow stronger, kick them in the shin & ask them to repeat their advice…nah, it's not worth the pain… #
New poems and conversations at Story Institute Community Forums… http://bit.ly/LmcJY #
RT @TomVMorris: Seneca said that we complain about the brevity of life,but that, nvested well,our days are numerous enough for great things. #
Stories are like shadows…we all have them, but only a few of us would move to Neverland to show our appreciation #
Is it just me, or have many of the free iPhone apps become more of a ploy to get you to buy something else or they crash… #
Remember, when fiction goes bad, you can always blame your characters and make them forget about it in a later chapter… #
RT @npbooks: Awww! Very Hungry Caterpillar author Eric Carle gets his own crayon colour "very hungry caterpillar green" http://bit.ly/UM437 #
RT @KevinEikenberry: Remarkable leaders structure their teams based on the needs of the work, not a preconceived notion of team greatness #
Run out today and do something exciting….tomorrow comes quickly, so make haste and enjoy… #
We just added new fish to our tank…they are bigger than the previous group…the bully in there isn't so tough any more… #
Work with the words not against them…listen first, then write… #
What happens when you have a title and idea for a book…right, nothing unless you write it…what are you waiting for… #
Tales begin with someone's story…where has your tale taken you? Let it lead every once in a while…suprises are possible… #
RT@loumongello:Get excited!…Use this weekend to take Step 1 towards following YOUR dream!"Feel the flow,here we go…"(Universe of Energy) #
Everybody neat and pretty…then on with the show…I think that's what Mickey would say…soccer anyone… #
Travel can be exhausting even if it is just through your imagination… #
Installing Snow Leopard on my MacBook Air…Is it wise…we'll find out after these messages… #
ExtraLife Radio brought up a good question last episode… Can you name a good prequal? All fall short of the original… #
2 great storytelling companies, Disney and Marvel coming together…sweet, now the favorite parts of my childhood are in one place #
What we hear influence our creativity just as much as what we see…what sound inspires you the most…? #
Can it really be that time already? Oh, where is the white rabbit when you need him…at least he was headed to Wonderland… #
Today may feel like a long day…but, make it a great long day! Enjoy! #
What happens when the day seems long and short at the same time…you take a nap, right…thanks for playing… #
When is it too late for a nap…did I hear, never…sometimes, you need to let your muse rest while your imagination runs wild… #
RT @pritchro: 15 (More!) Creative Bookcases & Book Storage Solutions http://bit.ly/3zlnUi #
Too many old pieces of technology…interestingly enough…I can't seem to part with most of them… #
Story Institute Shares:: Poem – The Machine: Time Driven – Cathy P. Staley http://bit.ly/uUvPU #
If you thought living a fairytale was tough to come by…try writing them…it is fun, but a very different world indeed #
Story Institute Shares:: Story Institute RamblingVerser – Episode 21 http://bit.ly/1j7wQ #
I can be exhausted any time I would like…now sounds good… #
It has been too long since I visited parts of my imagination…do you think there is a map around here… #
OK, I have to admit, the new iPod Nano looks cool…time to save those pennies… #
All systems A OK…then on with your shoes and off you go…I think there is another phrase…I just can't seem to recall it… #
Have you identified what you are passionate about? Think about it, then ask if you are following the path to your passion… #
The biggest thing I miss on weekends these days is sleep…oh, yeah, and great cartoons…whatever happened to the cartoons… #
Ignoring a good poem can annoy you…Reading a good poem can relax you…Writing a good poem, can excite you…I'll choose writing #
What have you written today? Did you make some time? Try it now if you were waiting for an invitation…here it is…enjoy… #
New Toy Story Mania for Wii is pretty cool…I am too tired to keep throwing pies though… #
RT @inspiremetoday: There's still enough time for you to do your greatest work and live your biggest dream. #
RT @inspiremetoday: Choose consciously and wisely. You are only one choice away from changing your world! #
Dropped connections to your inner muse provide more challenges than those with your cell phone and, you can't blame AT&T… #
What comes first, being excited or pure excitement…really, think about it… #
I think we finally found another reason to use the Wii…Toy Story Mania! #
#FollowFriday @inspiremetoday, @ZimblerMiller, @sheryltut, @JeanetteJoy, @thewritinglife #
Saturday morning…when is it that children start sleeping in? I hope it is sooner than later… #
RT@loumongello:Not sure what to do today? Start a new project or begin to follow your dream. Once you begin, the hardest part is behind you. #
Jump into the day and make room for play along the way…OK, that was awkward…enjoy the day… #
When in doubt, write it out… #
You can find just about anything at a store these days, but they tell me they are fresh out of passion…BYOP… #
Story Institute Shares: New Story Idea Search http://bit.ly/eKrvs #
Learning starts with us and so does the action…apply something you just learned, then share it with others… #
More and more disappointment with Google Sync…only shows last day of msgs and does not delete…back to IMAP…good times… #
What do you do with the characters in your novel when you need to go to bed…? Cover them with some nice paper and nighty, night… #
Story Institute Shares: Poem – Who Are You – Damien Livingston http://bit.ly/1CJyvx #
With all this technology around us, do you think we can reinstall someone's I
imagination before a crash and reboot…? #
RT @DisneyParks: New blog post: "Give a Day of Volunteer Service in 2010, Get a Day of Disney Theme Park Fun – Free" http://bit.ly/lme9Y #
Sync your files online and across computers with @Dropbox. 2GB account is free! http://bit.ly/19q1ut #
Story Institute Shares: Storing Your Tales in the Cloud http://bit.ly/A0PCJ #
Happy Anniversary Walt Disney World Resort! Free Smiles for all! #
RT @loumongello:My WDW birthday gift: I'll randomly select 1 person who orders today at http://wdwradio.com/ to get their entire order FREE! #
RT @tumblemoose: Why Do You Write? http://tumblemoose.com/ppJ6 #
What is your story and how do you want to write it…don't delay, decide today… #
RT @WDFMuseum: http://twitpic.com/jvt1w – The Walt Disney Family Museum is now officially open for all to enjoy! #
#FollowFriday @BellTinkR, @DarthGoofyIsD23, @WriterWriter, @ReedyCreekRadio #
RT thomaswigington Now and then it's good to pause in our pursuit of happiness and just be happy. — Apollinaire #
Story Institute Shares: Story Institute RamblingVerser – Episode 22 – Conflict http://bit.ly/1CQZXP #
Read a book today..share it with someone, then write your own story… #
RT @loumongello: WDWRadio Meet of the Month in Walt Disney World: Sat. Oct. 24 at Hollywood Studios: http://bit.ly/1G6cp8 #
RT @DisneyD23: This Day in Disney: 'Bedknobs and Broomsticks' premieres in London http://tinyurl.com/D23-TDID #
Sometimes, I feel like life is just one big retweet… #
Quick, write something…are you done yet? OK…I'll wait… #
Imagine a world that you have never imagined before then seek out a child to determine the originality… #
RT @LennOnLearning: Learning quote: "The instructor must be completely congruent with the subject being taught." Georgi Lozanov #
Long day, turning out to be shorter than expected…interesting perspective… #
Story Institute Shares: Story Institute RamblingVerser – Episode 23 – Motive & Action http://bit.ly/gYR9F #
Pick me, pick me, I know the answer…B…no, OK carry on… #
Pick me, pick me…I know the answer…B…What? No? OK, carry on then… #
RT @inspiremetoday: If today's thoughts became tomorrows things, what would you think of now? #
Not sure if I agree,but who knew RT @booksin140: Who is literature's most romantic character? The answer may surprise you. http://ow.ly/uers #
At a Scarlet Leadership Institute session featuring Todd Buchholz, New Ideas from Dead CEOs… #
RT @LennOnLearning resentation skills tip: How to design a learning activity part – eight now posted. Viva la learner! http://short.to/to6a #
Funny is funny unless it is not funny…funny how that works… #
How do know if you have a good story…ask your characters…they'll tell you more than you want to hear…listen… #
If you foreshadow too much, do you develop a five-o'clock shadow…? #
Writing is like life…sometimes, it is good and sometimes…well, you know the drill… #
Sometimes, being a head may put you behind the eight ball…push forward anyway…no use lingering behind to be put out… #
Story Institute Shares: Short Story Topics – Soccer for the Little Ones #
Story Institute Shares: Story Institute RamblingVerser – Episode 24 – Foreshadowing & Tying Up Your Story #
Story Institute Shares: Story Institute RamblingVerser – Episode 24 – Foreshadowing & Tying Up Your Story http://bit.ly/2htwew #
Story Institute Shares: Short Story Topics – Soccer for the Little Ones http://bit.ly/1V01ov #
It's amazing to watch your followers go up & down every day w/o adding or losing anyone…we'll call it twitter math… #
It was a good day for a seven-year-old birthday… #
It is going to be a good day today…anyone have any objections…no, great…on with the show… #
The dawn of a new day is upon us…No, really…I am watching it right now…Enjoy the light… #
We made it through another day…I think a cruise in 2011 is in order…I know that's a long time, but the Disney Dream will be a float then #
The little ones enjoyed Halloween…now, we have to keep them asleep for an extra hour with all that sugar in them… #
Have you signed up for NaNoWriMo yet…? Write, write, and write some more…http://www.nanowrimo.org/ #
Arrggh…It is already November 3rd and I haven't gotten too far with my NaNo Novel…quick…write something… #
RT @LennOnLearning: FREE TELESEMINAR-Join Lenn. Discover 8 action steps to effective presentations. http://bit.ly/2mOT1l #
I know, I know…I should be writing…no really…I don't have as many words on a page as the page can take…back to work… #
http://www.macheist.com some good apps in this one… #
How far behind do you have to be to jump ahead for next year…? #
A new day of soccer, birthday parties, and writing…it'll get in there somewhere… #
Many times, the kids are more fun than my imagination… #
Life is fun if you let it be itself… #
Have you found your inspiration? Make sure to share your appreciation… #
Today, just write something…don't worry, tomorrow it will be good… #
#FF @LennOnLearning, @Bart1704, @Sherltut, @DarthGoofyIsD23, @loumongello, @ScottBourne #
#FF @sheryltut, @createspace, @audible_com #
Lists are a great feature…It also helps to prune your following list… #
Have you ever thought…why am I not writing…well, good news, I think I have covered it for you these last few weeks… #
#syncmyridepodcast #
Appreciate the positive things around you and grow from everything else… #
Editing audio is fun…OK, maybe not, but it can be… #
What time is it when you lose track of your storyline…right, time to consider a new story… #
Why do app developers break "features" with an update? This always bewilders me… #
Can the Bears really be winning…who else can Culter overthrow…? #
Learning and experience…both important to success, please don't choose one…try both for better results… #
It has been a great day to be thankful…Enjoy the long weekend all… #
Trees are up and partially decorated…Thanksgiving went quickly this year…tis the season… #
It is a good day to do something different…what difference will you make today…don't just sit there, go & enjoy…. #
To tweet or not to tweet…can that really be the question if you are not a feathered-friend… #
Children have more energy in the morning than the sun…it helps they're funny too…so much for quite time at first light… #
Shopping for presents with children is always an adventure…luckily, I have good children who enjoy shopping for their mommy… #
RT @unorder: To tell a story is to remember. Schank #
RT @loumongello: "You can't run away from trouble. There ain't no place that far." – Uncle Remus #
Progress is a good thing…go ahead and make some today… #
Colds and headaches…no fun for anyone… #
Attending Nashville Technet Sessions on Windows 7 and new products…good stuff #
I miss Christmas…It is these days that remind us of the magic the holidays and the importance of family. #
When you write something good…who tells you it's good…can you trust that little voice…? #
Peter Pan has such the life…then again, watching our kids seeing the Neverland gang is a much better life… #
What happens when you run out of things to say…right…you don't say anything…wait…I just said something…so much for that answer… #
Story Institute Shares: Happy Holidays From Story Institute http://bit.ly/7CqXcH holidays #
How many bots does it take to litter a Twitter account…one, right…the others seem to follow from there…happy winter cleaning #
Just added the Compaq Presario SR2050NX to my have list on @gdgt! http://bit.ly/5kSe31 #
What is your story this week? Are you checking your list? Or, is the story developing around you? Enjoy the week… #
Can you tell a story through the roll of a dice…try it once and see who your characters become… #
Has the Christmas Spirit struck you yet? If it has, you may have a case…a case for imagination usage…dream a little more today #
Just added the Panasonic LUMIX DMC-LZ2 to my have list on @gdgt! http://bit.ly/8ZPw9q #
Christmas Eve, Eve was a success…good new traditions are fun… #
Family venturing the cold to celebrate the holidays together…hopefully, the snow will be as virtual as this post… #
Follow Friday @DarthGoofyIsD23, @SantaClaus, @ZimblerMiller, @LennOnLearning, @Bart1704, @DailyJazzTweets, @markdavidgerson #
How far behind do you have to be before you get ahead again? I keep hearing "further than you are now…" #
In the new year, revisit your imagination…even if you haven't been there in a while, you'll feel right at home… #
It's almost here…yes, the new year…wake up…now, what do you hear…that's it…inspiration is here…enjoy the cheer! #
Spending time with family is the best part of the season…children can provide fun adventures without going anywhere… #
Just added Microsoft Windows 7 to my have list on @gdgt! http://bit.ly/46E8Ib #
Ready, set, write…create a new line, a new character, everyday… #
Today is a good day to celebrate excellence…what is excellent in your life…For me, it is my wife… #
Your greatest inspiration lies within…how deep do you have to dig to find at least a semblance of the skeleton from a good story… #
Just added the Lenovo IdeaPad U1 Hybrid to my want list on @gdgt! http://gdg.to/8PR29f #
Story Institute Shares: New Year…New Direction and Storylines http://bit.ly/8q8oE9 #
RT @ZimblerMiller: Is Your #Website Out-of-Date? http://budurl.com/outofdate #fb #in #
Has technology grown or limited our imagination? Before all these advances, we were left with what grew from within…Is it still there? #
How far is too far to travel for a good Italian Beef sandwich…I am not sure there is a good answer to this… #
Backing up my tweets with http://backupify.com – Twitter backup is free! #
Start tomorrow by thanking someone for being a part of the stories you've created…they wouldn't be as good without them… #
I need to do some writing this weekend…now, I just need a topic…back to the drawing board… #
It is never fun when you cordless phones decide to die in the middle of a conversation…Rechargeable batteries…gotta love em… #
Just added the Vizio VX37L to my have list on @gdgt! http://gdg.to/1W8Cy #
Excitement is more meaningful when you get to share it with others… #
RT @radiate Jean-Pierre Raven Gregoire~ beyond reason is one of my favorite places to visit~every time I lose my mind I find myself dwelling #
Sometimes you just have to take a different path to find your passion…it is out there, go get it… #
The skies were clear, now they're cloudy…drat…"Everybody talks about the weather, but nobody does anything about it." – Mark Twain #
Apple's #iPad ..a new generation of creativity and media ahead…inspirations abound… http://bit.ly/c0ak2D #
RT @JimMacMillan VoIP Calling Over 3G Arrives on the iPhone http://su.pr/6qbkju #
RT @chrisguillebeau “I'm sick of not having the courage to be an absolute nobody.” – JD Salinger #
Follow Friday @DarthGoofyIsD23, @radiate, @loumongello, @ZimblerMiller, @ScottBourne #
The day is much warmer and less damp…having a great day at WDW http://twitpic.com/110woe #
More than one character here… http://twitpic.com/1134jq #
Days go by quicker at Disney…really, we don't have this problem at home…too much to do, too little time… #
I think we may get to "see" a laugh… http://twitpic.com/118iqk #
If you try to do too much, you may miss the smaller, inspirational pieces…enjoy your surroundings… #
It has been to long since I said anything…OK, maybe not that long, but it helps to communicate sometimes…until then, enjoy the quietude #
It has been too long since I said anything…OK, maybe not that long, but it helps to communicate sometimes…until then, enjoy the quietude #
How bad is it to postpone a New Year's resolution until you have time to actually be successful at it… #
I hesitate to be excited about the iPad since it is not here yet…however, I still would like to see it sooner than later… #
Story Institute Shares: New RamblingVerser Podcasts to appear soon… http://bit.ly/9WsTwu #
Just added the Apple iPad to my want list on @gdgt! http://gdg.to/cfEa5I #
I would like a projector like the one at the Winter Olympics… #
Just switched macs with my wife…interesting transition so far…went from an Air to a MBPro…this thing is heavy… #
Story Institute Shares: Story Institute RamblingVerser – Episode 25 – Time Back from Beyond http://bit.ly/cRi32P #
Funny thing about karma…it has a way of coming back to you 10-fold…so, be aware before you evoke, engage, or empower your karma… #
It's aweful when you have a "brilliant" idea but don't have time to write it down…can I bum a time machine off someone…please… #
Reach out to someone and share a positive tune…your day will be better for it. #
Just joined the Books community. http://mrtweet.com/community/books?jt #books #
Just joined the Writing community. http://mrtweet.com/community/writing?jt #writing #
See My Twitter buddies here: @inspiremetoday, @BellTinkR, and @gdgt. What's yours? http://mrtweet.com/RamblingVerser?ltb #
Recommended by I: @LennOnLearning, @loumongello, and @ScottBourne. See them here! http://mrtweet.com/RamblingVerser?irec #
Still trying to remember that idea from yesterday, but happy with the response to our most recent podcast http://bit.ly/aFqONk #
Ahhh, updating Windows XP from SP1…fun times for all…so much for slipstreaming… #
The flu is not fun…the aches, the pains…and, that was the easy part…I am glad it is over…here's to good food today… #
Story Institute Shares: Story Institute Rambling Verser – Episode 26 – Style and Story http://bit.ly/dmwSHR #
RT @littlebrown:Great writers' rules for writing, including Ian Rankin (@beathhigh):No. 6 – Have a story worth telling. http://tiny.cc/iYap0 #
Story Institute Shares: What do you like most about Story Institute http://bit.ly/a7Tf8L #
I really enjoy great interactive meetings…they make the day go by much smoother… #
RT @loumongello Who else is feeling inspired today? "Your imagination is your preview of life's coming attractions." – Albert Einstein #
Just added the Epson Artisan 810 to my have list on @gdgt! http://gdg.to/82cPAO #
RT @biblioadonis Become a Progress Citizen Today! New #Disney Geek podcast review @ Imaginerding http://bit.ly/9sSFqr #
RT @paulvharris Every morning you are gifted 24 beautiful hours what are you going to do with yours today? #
cool… i snagged squeeze for mac free at http://macheist.com #
Why is it when I add a follower, my follower numbers go down instead of up…:) yeah Twitter…:( #
Make today extraordinary…what, do you have something better to do…enjoy… #
RT @ paulocoelho For you who has 1 MIN this Sunday to read my thoughts on writing http://bit.ly/bLpVGS PORTUGUES : http://bit.ly/d6kxvN #
Story Institute Shares: Story Institute RamblingVerser – Episode 27 – Ending in the Beginning http://bit.ly/9KvKLc #
Sometimes, inspiration just doesn't enter into being until it is ready…where does your inspiration hide…? #
A little scary…I'm trying a new Twitter app…will Echofon be better than TweetDeck? #
Be well, be positive, be yourself…enjoy the day! #
It is interesting how much I may have missed because I did not know for what it was I was looking… #
I am finding a few more changes in Firefox 3.6 that are annoying…please tell me there is an update coming… #
Appreciate the wonders of a child today…they see things we continually miss and they do it without even looking… #
So, I finally reach 500 followers and I have to wonder how many are marketing accounts…eh…who cares…500 is 500…thank you. #
Check this TUAW article out: iPad ships April 3. Preorders s…: http://bit.ly/aRXvlu #
Eating at Campione's…a little taste of home without the cold and snow… #
Today will bring sunshine…clouds, feel free to sleep in…enjoy the day… #
Story Institute Shares: Story Institute RamblingVerser – Episode 28 – Reflection and Knowledge http://bit.ly/90Lk5H #
New days, new opportunities ahead…keep striving for creativity and growing your imagination. #
Birds in the morning can be fun…but, you have to get sleep to enjoy their incessant chirping before the sun rises…:) #
Today was a good day…Tomorrow will be even better…wash, rinse, repeat… #
Story Institute Shares: New Store at Story Institute http://bit.ly/bDmCBF #
How do you know when you're too busy…should you slow down or keep going…? I always choose to keep going and reach for more…You? #
We just changed primary domains for our hosting…here's hoping everything is back to normal…please, oh, please be well…:) #
Cool picture: RT @BellTinkR NEW blog post*~*~* Sanibel treasures http://bit.ly/9IjiS1 #
Story Institute Shares: Story Institute RamblingVerser – Episode 29 – Remember & Write http://bit.ly/avLTtu #
RT @etudeapp I just got a FREE copy of SimpleChord to go with Etude: http://etudeapp.com/tweet #
Drat…I forgot to play the lottery…now what I am going to do with this dollar… #
Follow Friday @straypoetry, @BellTinkR, @LennOnLearning, @Bart1704, @loumongello #
Story Institute Shares: Short Story Topics – Twittering Your Life Away… http://bit.ly/dfmiD5 #
Happy Sweater Day! Make the best of this beautiful day, neighbor. #
RT @EvaUlian Men have had every advantage of us in telling their own story. Education has been theirs in so much…http://bit.ly/cpzd7L #
Busy, busy, busy…too far behind in life outside of work…but, life is good…enjoy the day, be positive! #
Our podcast is a little delayed this week. Hopefully, it will be out by tomorrow…Sometimes, time is not your friend…:) #
Story Institute Shares: Story Institute RamblingVerser – Episode 30 – Grab a Newspaper, Quick http://bit.ly/90tW5h #
I think I am still struggling with this daylight savings time…can we just take a mulligan and try again… #
The free @digg app is here for iPhone! They're giving out a custom ColorWare iPad everyday for 2 weeks to celebrate! http://bit.ly/diggapp #
Vacations can be tiring sometimes, but I'll take 'em…unfortunately, not for a while…Enjoy the day, vacations are right around the corner #
We make our own beds,sometimes…we make up our own minds,usually…we should live our own lives, always…be true to yourself #
Story Institute Techie: Netflix for Wii Arriving…today! http://bit.ly/dAeIFZ #
Story Institute Techie: iPhone to Case or Not to Case http://www.storyinstitute.com/techtales/2010/03/27/iphone-to-case-or-not-to-case/ #
Who ordered all this rain? I was only on for half the drops…oh well, liquid sunshine it is…enjoy the day! #
Sir Arthur Conan Doyle…brilliant writer, brilliant characters…what else can you ask for…reading more of the classics these days… #
My thoughts are a little behind today…once they catch up, we can move to the next idea together… #
The weather is getting warmer, Clash of the Titans is coming, & iPad arrives on Saturday…good times all around… #
You know it is sad when you reach the end of the week and remember that you forgot to put out a podcast…drat… #
I finally broke down and began using Google Chrome…So far, so good… #
#FF @MousePod, @DarthGoofyIsD23, @straypoetry, @BellTinkR, @LennOnLearning, @loumongello, @WedwayRadio, @BeOurGuestMike #
The iPad is about as fun as I thought it would be…any chance I could get rid of these finger prints? Enjoy the evening! #
Hannibal, Mo., is a 'holy land' for Mark Twain fans. http://usat.me?38075804. Consider visiting Twain's hometown this year… #
Win a free iPad! #Ambrosia http://bit.ly/ASWiPad…great software #
Kids and bedtime…always a fun adventure…always finding new & creative ways to share a story with them… #
Be happy…really, think about the alternative…it is much less appealing…relax and enjoy the evening. #
Good weekend…forecast for week…sunny with a good chance of happiness…think away the clouds this week and enjoy! #

Story Institute RamblingVerser – Episode 31 – Elementary Dear What’s Your Name

Story Institute — Thu, 08 Apr 2010 02:05:00 +0000

A look at a better story driven character and your connection as a writer…

If you are an author in search of readers or have comments about our show, contact us:
ramblingverser@storyinstitute.com
615-431-WRIT (9748)

This week’s episode was brought to you by Enchanted Travel Tales (www.enchantedtraveltales.com), bringing travel, magic, and fun to your holidays.

Featured Quote:
“Mediocrity knows nothing higher than itself, but talent instantly recognizes genius.”
Sir Arthur Conan Doyle (1859 – 1930), (Sherlock Holmes) Valley of Fear, 1915

Featured Short Story:
The Adventures of Sherlock Holmes: Adventure 4 – The Boscombe Valley Mystery
By: Sir Arthur Conan Doyle

We were seated at breakfast one morning, my wife and I, when the maid brought in a telegram. It was from Sherlock Holmes and ran in this way:
Have you a couple of days to spare? Have just been wired for from the west of England in connection with Boscombe Valley tragedy. Shall be glad if you will come with me. Air and scenery perfect. Leave Paddington by the 11:15.
“What do you say, dear?” said my wife, looking across at me. “Will you go?”
“I really don’t know what to say. I have a fairly long list at present.”
“Oh, Anstruther would do your work for you. You have been looking a little pale lately. I think that the change would do you good, and you are always so interested in Mr. Sherlock Holmes’s cases.”
“I should be ungrateful if I were not, seeing what I gained through one of them,” I answered. “But if I am to go, I must pack at once, for I have only half an hour.”
My experience of camp life in Afghanistan had at least had the effect of making me a prompt and ready traveller. My wants were few and simple, so that in less than the time stated I was in a cab with my valise, rattling away to Paddington Station. Sherlock Holmes was pacing up and down the platform, his tall, gaunt figure made even gaunter and taller by his long gray travelling-cloak and close-fitting cloth cap.
“It is reaily very good of you to come, Watson,” said he. “It makes a considerable difference to me, having someone with me on whom I can thoroughly rely. Local aid is always either worthless or else biassed. If you will keep the two corner seats I shall get the tickets.”
We had the carriage to ourselves save for an immense litter of papers which Holmes had brought with him. Among these he rummaged and read, with intervals of note-taking and of meditation, until we were past Reading. Then he suddenly rolled them all into a gigantic ball and tossed them up onto the rack.
“Have you heard anything of the case?” he asked.
“Not a word. I have not seen a paper for some days.”
“The London press has not had very full accounts. I have just been looking through all the recent papers in order to master the particulars. It seems, from what I gather, to be one of those simple cases which are so extremely difficult.”
“That sounds a little paradoxical.”
“But it is profoundly true. Singularity is almost invariably a clue. The more featureless and commonplace a crime is, the more difficult it is to bring it home. In this case, however, they have established a very serious case against the son of the murdered man.”
“It is a murder, then?”
“Well, it is conjectured to be so. I shall take nothing for granted until I have the opportunity of looking personally into it. I will explain the state of things to you, as far as I have been able to understand it, in a very few words.
“Boscombe Valley is a country district not very far from Ross, in Herefordshire. The largest landed proprietor in that part is a Mr. John Turner, who made his money in Australia and returned some years ago to the old country. One of the farms which he held, that of Hatherley, was let to Mr. Charles McCarthy, who was also an ex-Australian. The men had known each other in the colonies, so that it was not unnatural that when they came to settle down they should do so as near each other as possible. Turner was apparently the richer man, so McCarthy became his tenant but still remained, it seems, upon terms of perfect equality, as they were frequently together. McCarthy had one son, a lad of eighteen, and Turner had an only daughter of the same age, but neither of them had wives living. They appear to have avoided the society of the neighbouring English families and to have led retired lives, though both the McCarthys were fond of sport and were frequently seen at the race-meetings of the neighbourhood. McCarthy kept two servants — a man and a girl. Turner had a considerable household, some half-dozen at the least. That is as much as I have been able to gather about the families. Now for the facts.
“On June 3rd, that is, on Monday last, McCarthy left his house at Hatherley about three in the afternoon and walked down to the Boscombe Pool, which is a small lake formed by the spreading out of the stream which runs down the Boscombe Valley. He had been out with his serving-man in the morning at Ross, and he had told the man that he must hurry, as he had an appointment of importance to keep at three. From that appointment he never came back alive.
“From Hatherley Farmhouse to the Boscombe Pool is a quarter of a mile, and two people saw him as he passed over this ground. One was an old woman, whose name is not mentioned, and the other was William Crowder, a game-keeper in the employ of Mr. Turner. Both these witnesses depose that Mr. McCarthy was walking alone. The game-keeper adds that within a few minutes of his seeing Mr. McCarthy pass he had seen his son, Mr. James McCarthy, going the same way with a gun under his arm. To the best of his belief, the father was actually in sight at the time, and the son was following him. He thought no more of the matter until he heard in the evening of the tragedy that had occurred.
“The two McCarthys were seen after the time when William Crowder, the game-keeper, lost sight of them. The Boscombe Pool is thickly wooded round, with just a fringe of grass and of reeds round the edge. A girl of fourteen, Patience Moran, who is the daughter of the lodge-keeper of the Boscombe Valley estate, was in one of the woods picking flowers. She states that while she was there she saw, at the border of the wood and close by the lake, Mr. McCarthy and his son, and that they appeared to be having a violent quarrel. She heard Mr. McCarthy the elder using very strong language to his son, and she saw the latter raise up his hand as if to strike his father. She was so frightened by their violence that she ran away and told her mother when she reached home that she had left the two McCarthys quarrelling near Boscombe Pool, and that she was afraid that they were going to fight. She had hardly said the words when young Mr. McCarthy came running up to the lodge to say that he had found his father dead in the wood, and to ask for the help of the lodge-keeper. He was much excited, without either his gun or his hat, and his right hand and sleeve were observed to be stained with fresh blood. On following him they found the dead body stretched out upon the grass beside the pool. The head had been beaten in by repeated blows of some heavy and blunt weapon. The injuries were such as might very well have been inflicted by the butt-end of his son’s gun, which was found lying on the grass within a few paces of the body. Under these circumstances the young man was instantly arrested, and a verdict of ‘wilful murder’ having been returned at the inquest on Tuesday, he was on Wednesday brought before the magistrates at Ross, who have referred the case to the next Assizes. Those are the main facts of the case as they came out before the coroner and the police-court.”
“I could hardly imagine a more damning case,” I remarked. “If ever circumstantial evidence pointed to a criminal it does so here.”
“Circumstantial evidence is a very tricky thing,” answered Holmes thoughtfully. “It may seem to point very straight to one thing, but if you shift your own point of view a little, you may find it pointing in an equally uncompromising manner to something entirely different. It must be confessed, however, that the case looks exceedingly grave against the young man, and it is very possible that he is indeed the culprit. There are several people in the neighbourhood, however, and among them Miss Turner, the daughter of the neighbouring landowner, who believe in his innocence, and who have retained Lestrade, whom you may recollect in connection with ‘A Study in Scarlet’, to work out the case in his interest. Lestrade, being rather puzzled, has referred the case to me, and hence it is that two middle-aged gentlemen are flying westward at fifty miles an hour instead of quietly digesting their breakfasts at home.”
“I am afraid,” said I, “that the facts are so obvious that you will find little credit to be gained out of this case.”
“There is nothing more deceptive than an obvious fact,” he answered, laughing. “Besides, we may chance to hit upon some other obvious facts which may have been by no means obvious to Mr. Lestrade. You know me too well to think that I am boasting when I say that I shall either confirm or destroy his theory by means which he is quite incapable of employing, or even of understanding. To take the first example to hand, I very clearly perceive that in your bedroom the window is upon the right-hand side, and yet I question whether Mr. Lestrade would have noted even so self-evident a thing as that.”
“How on earth –”
“My dear fellow, I know you well. I know the military neatness which characterizes you. You shave every morning, and in this season you shave by the sunlight; but since your shaving is less and less complete as we get farther back on the left side, until it becomes positively slovenly as we get round the angle of the jaw, it is surely very clear that that side is less illuminated than the other. I could not imagine a man of your habits looking at himself in an equal light and being satisfied with such a result. I only quote this as a trivial example of observation and inference. Therein lies my metier, and it is just possible that it may be of some service in the investigation which lies before us. There are one or two minor points which were brought out in the inquest, and which are worth considering.”
“What are they?”
“It appears that his arrest did not take place at once, but after the return to Hatherley Farm. On the inspector of constabulary informing him that he was a prisoner, he remarked that he was not surprised to hear it, and that it was no more than his deserts. This observation of his had the natural effect of removing any traces of doubt which might have remained in the minds of the coroner’s jury.”
“It was a confession,” I ejaculated.
“No, for it was followed by a protestation of innocence.”
“Coming on the top of such a damning series of events, it was at least a most suspicious remark.”
“On the contrary,” said Holmes, “it is the brightest rift which I can at present see in the clouds. However innocent he might be, he could not be such an absolute imbecile as not to see that the circumstances were very black against him. Had he appeared surprised at his own arrest, or feigned indignation at it, I should have looked upon it as highly suspicious, because such surprise or anger would not be natural under the circumstances, and yet might appear to be the best policy to a scheming man. His frank acceptance of the situation marks him as either an innocent man, or else as a man of considerable self-restraint and firmness. As to his remark about his deserts, it was also not unnatural if you consider that he stood beside the dead body of his father, and that there is no doubt that he had that very day so far forgotten his filial duty as to bandy words with him, and even, according to the little girl whose evidence is so important, to raise his hand as if to strike him. The self-reproach and contrition which are displayed in his remark appear to me to be the signs of a healthy mind rather than of a guilty on.”
I shook my head. “Many men have been hanged on far slighter evidence,” I remarked.
“So they have. And many men have been wrongfully hanged.”
“What is the young man’s own account of the matter?”
“It is, I am afraid, not very encouraging to his supporters, though there are one or two points in it which are suggestive. You will find it here, and may read it for yourself.”
He picked out from his bundle a copy of the local Herefordshire paper, and having turned down the sheet he pointed out the paragraph in which the unfortunate young man had given his own statement of what had occurred. I settled myself down in the corner of the carriage and read it very carefully. It ran in this way:

Mr. James McCarthy, the only son of the deceased,
was then called and gave evidence as follows: “I had been
away from home for three days at Bristol, and had only just
returned upon the morning of last Monday, the 3d. My
father was absent from home at the time of my arrival, and I
was informed by the maid that he had driven over to Ross
with John Cobb, the groom. Shortly after my return I heard
the wheels of his trap in the yard, and, looking out of my
window, I saw him get out and walk rapidly out of the yard,
though I was not aware in which direction he was going. I
then took my gun and strolled out in the direction of the
Boscombe Pool, with the intention of visiting the rabbitwarren which is upon the other side. On my way I saw
William Crowder, the game-keeper, as he had stated in his
evidence; but he is mistaken in thinking that I was following
my father. I had no idea that he was in front of me. When
about a hundred yards from the pool I heard a cry of
‘Cooee!’ which was a usual signal between my father and
myself. I then hurried forward, and found him standing by
the pool. He appeared to be much surprised at seeing me
and asked me rather roughly what I was doing there. A
conversation ensued which led to high words and almost to
blows, for my father was a man of a very violent temper.
Seeing that his passion was becoming ungovernable, I left
him and returned towards Hatherley Farm. I had not gone
more than 150 yards, however, when I heard a hideous
outcry behind me, which caused me to run back again.
I found my father expiring upon the ground, with his head
terribly injured. I dropped my gun and held him in my
arms, but he almost instantly expired. I knelt beside him for
some minutes, and then made my way to Mr. Turner’s
lodge-keeper, his house being the nearest, to ask for assistance. I saw no one near my father when I returned, and I
have no idea how he came by his injuries. He was not a
popular man, being somewhat cold and forbidding in his
manners, but he had, as far as I know, no active enemies. I
know nothing further of the matter.”
The Coroner: Did your father make any statement to you before he died?
Witness: He mumbled a few words, but I could only catch some allusion to a rat.
The Coroner: What did you understand by that?
Witness: It conveyed no meaning to me. I thought that he was delirious.
The Coroner: What was the point upon which you and your father had this final quarrel?
Witness: I should prefer not to answer.
The Coroner: I am afraid that I must press it.
Witness: It is really impossible for me to tell you. I can assure you that it has nothing to do with the sad tragedy which followed.
The Coroner: That is for the court to decide. I need not point out to you that your refusal to answer will prejudice your case considerably in any future proceedings which may arise.
Witness: I must still refuse.
The Coroner: I understand that the cry of “Cooee” was a common signal between you and your father?
Witnesls: It was.
The Coroner: How was it, then, that he uttered it before he saw you, and before he even knew that you had returned from Bristol?
Witness (with considerable confusion): I do not know.
A Juryman: Did you see nothing which aroused your suspiclons when you returned on hearing the cry and found your father fatally injured?
Witness: Nothing definite.
The Coroner: What do you mean?
Witness: I was so disturbed and excited as I rushed out into the open, that I could think of nothing except of my father. Yet I have a vague impression that as I ran forward something lay upon the ground to the left of me. It seemed to me to be something gray in colour, a coat of some sort, or a plaid perhaps. When I rose from my father I looked round for it, but it was gone.
“Do you mean that it disappeared before you went for help ?”
“Yes, it was gone.”
“You cannot say what it was?”
“No, I had a feeling something was there.”
“How far from the body?”
“A dozen yards or so.”
“And how far from the edge of the wood?”
“About the same.”
“Then if it was removed it was while you were within a dozen yards of it?”
“Yes, but with my back towards it.”
This concluded the examination of the witness.
“I see,” said I as I glanced down the column, “that the coroner in his concluding remarks was rather severe upon young McCarthy. He calls attention, and with reason, to the discrepancy about his father having signalled to him before seeing him also to his refusal to give details of his conversation with his father, and his singular account of his father’s dying words. They are all, as he remarks, very much against the son.”
Holmes laughed softly to himself and stretched himself out upon the cushioned seat. “Both you and the coroner have been at some pains,” said he, “to single out the very strongest points in the young man’s favour. Don’t you see that you alternately give him credit for having too much imaginition and too little? Too little, if he could not invent a cause of quarrel which would give him the sympathy of the jury; too much, if he evolved from his own inner consciousness anything so outre as a dying reference to a rat, and the incident of the vanishing cloth. No, sir, I shall approach this case from the point of view that what this young man says is true, and we shall see whither that hypothesis will lead us. And now here is my pocket Petrarch, and not another word shall I say of this case until we are on the scene of action. We lunch at Swindon, and I see that we shall be there in twenty minutes.”
It was nearly four o’clock when we at last, after passing through the beautiful Stroud Valley, and over the broad gleaming Severn, found ourselves at the pretty little country-town of Ross. A lean, ferret-like man, furtive and sly-looking, was waiting for us upon the platform. In spite of the light brown dustcoat and leather-leggings which he wore in deference to his rustic surroundings, I had no difficulty in recognizing Lestrade, of Scotland Yard. With him we drove to the Hereford Arms where a room had already been engaged for us.
“I have ordered a carriage,” said Lestrade as we sat over a cup of tea. “I knew your energetic nature, and that you would not be happy until you had been on the scene of the crime.”
“It was very nice and complimentary of you,” Holmes answered. “It is entirely a question of barometric pressure.”
Lestrade looked startled. “I do not quite follow,” he said.
“How is the glass? Twenty-nine, I see. No wind, and not a cloud in the sky. I have a caseful of cigarettes here which need smoking, and the sofa is very much superior to the usual country hotel abomination. I do not think that it is probable that I shall use the carriage to-night.”
Lestrade laughed indulgently. “Yau have, no doubt, already formed your conclusions from the newspapers,” he said. “The case is as plain as a pikestaff, and the more one goes into it the plainer it becomes. Still, of course, one can’t refuse a lady, and such a very positive one, too. She hai heard of you, and would have your opinion, though I repeatedly told her that there was nothing which you could do which I had not already done. Why, bless my soul! here is her carriage at the door.”
He had hardly spoken before there rushed into the room one of the most lovely young women that I have ever seen in my life. Her violet eyes shining, her lips parted, a pink flush upon her cheeks, all thought of her natural reserve lost in her overpowering excitement and concern.
“Oh, Mr. Sherlock Holmes!” she cried, glancing from one to the other of us, and finally, with a woman’s quick intuition, fastening upon my companion, “I am so glad that you have come. I have driven down to tell you so. I know that James didn’t do it. I know it, and I want you to start upon your work knowing it, too. Never let yourself doubt upon that point. We have known each other since we were little children, and I know his faults as no one else does; but he is too tenderhearted to hurt a fly. Such a charge is absurd to anyone who really knows him.”
“I hope we may clear him, Miss Turner,” said Sherlock Holmes. “You may rely upon my doing all that I can.”
“But you have read the evidence. You have formed some conclusion? Do you not see some loophole, some flaw? Do you not yourself think that he is innocent?”
“I think that it is very probable.”
“There, now!” she cried, throwing back her head and looking defiantly at Lestrade. “You hear! He gives me hopes.”
Lestrade shrugged his shoulders. “I am afraid that my colleague has been a little quick in forming his conclusions,” he said.
“But he is right. Oh! I know that he is right. James never did it. And about his quarrel with his father, I am sure that the reason why he would not speak about it to the coroner was because I was concerned in it.”
“In what way?” asked Holmes.
“It is no time for me to hide anything. James and his father had many disagreements about me. Mr. McCarthy was very anxious that there should be a marriage between us. James and I have always loved each other as brother and sister; but of course he is young and has seen very little of life yet, and — and — well, he naturally did not wish to do anything like that yet. So there were quarrels, and this, I am sure, was one of them.”
“And your father?” asked Holmes. “Was he in favour of such a union?”
“No, he was averse to it also. No one but Mr. McCarthy was in favour of it.” A quick blush passed over her fresh young face as Holmes shot one of his keen, questioning glances at her.
“Thank you for this information,” said he. “May I see your father if I call to-morrow?”
“I am afraid the doctor won’t allow it.”
“The doctor?”
“Yes, have you not heard? Poor father has never been strong for years back, but this has broken him down completely. He has taken to his bed, and Dr. Willows says that he is a wreck and that his nlervous system is shattered. Mr. McCarthy was the only man alive who had known dad in the old days in Victoria.”
“Ha! ln Victoria! That is important.”
“Yes, at the mines.”
“Quite so; at the gold-mines, where, as I understand, Mr. Turner made his money.”
“Yes, certainly.”
“Thank you, Miss Turner. You have been of material assistance to me.”
“You will tell me if you have any news to-morrow. No doubt you will go to the prison to see James. Oh, if you do, Mr. Holmes, do tell him that I know him to be innocent.”
“I will, Miss Turner.”
“I must go home now, for dad is very ill, and he misses me so if I leave him. Good-bye, and God help you in your undertaking.” She hurried from the room as impulsively as she had entered, and we heard the wheels of her carriage rattle off down the street.
“I am ashamed of you, Holmes,” said Lestrade with dignity after a few minutes’ silence. “Why should you raise up hopes which you are bound to disappoint? I am not over-tender of heart, but I call it cruel.”
“I think that I see my way to clearing James McCarthy,” said Holmes. “Have you an order to see him in prison?”
“Yes, but only for you and me.”
“Then I shall reconsider my resolution about going out. We have still time to take a train to Hereford and see him to-night?”
“Ample.”
“Then let us do so. Watson, I fear that you will find it very slow, but I shall only be away a couple of hours.”
I walked down to the station with them, and then wandered through the streets of the little town, finally returning to the hotel, where I lay upon the sofa and tried to interest myself in a yellow-backed novel. The puny plot of the story was so thin, however, when compared to the deep mystery through which we were groping, and I found my attention wander so continually from the action to the fact, that I at last flung it across the room and gave myself up entirely to a consideration of the events of the day. Supposing that this unhappy young man’s story were absolutely true, then what hellish thing, what absolutely unforeseen and extraordinary calamity could have occurred between the time when he parted from his father, and the moment when drawn back by his screams, he rushed into the glade? It was something terrible and deadly. What could it be? Might not the nature of the injuries reveal something to my medical instincts? I rang the bell and called for the weekly county paper, which contained a verbatim account of the inquest. In the surgeon’s deposition it was stated that the posterior third of the left parietal bone and the left half of the occipital bone hail been shattered by a heavy blow from a blunt weapon. I marked the spot upon my own head. Clearly such a blow must have been struck from behind. That was to some extent in favour of the accused, as when seen quarrelling he was face to face with his father. Still, it did not go for very much, for the older man might have turned his back before the blow fell. Still, it might be worth while to call Holmes’s attention to it. Then there was the peculiar dying reference to a rat. What could that mean? It could not be delirium. A man dying from a sudden blow does not commonly become delirious. No, it was more likely to be an attempt to explain how he met his fate. But what could it indicate? I cudgelled my brains to find some possible explanation. And then the incident of the gray cloth seen by young McCarthy. If that were true the murderer must have dropped some part of his dress, presumably his overcoat, in his flight, and must have had the hardihood to return and to carry it away at the instant when the son was kneeling with his back turned not a dozen paces off. What a tissue of mysteries and improbabilities the whole thing was! I did not wonder at Lestrade’s opinion, and yet I had so much faith in Sherlock Holmes’s insight that I could not lose hope as long as every fresh fact seemed to strengthen his conviction of young McCarthy’s innocence.
It was late before Sherlock Holmes returned. He came back alone, for Lestrade was staying in lodgings in the town.
“The glass still keeps very high,” he remarked as he sat down. “It is of importance that it should not rain before we are able to go over the ground. On the other hand, a man should be at his very best and keenest for such nice work as that, and I did not wish to do it when fagged by a long journey. I have seen young McCarthy.”
“And what did you learn from him?”
“Nothing.”
“Could he throw no light?”
“None at all. I was inclined to think at one time that he knew who had done it and was screening him or her, but I am convinced now that he is as puzzled as everyone else. He is not a very quick-witted youth, though comely to look at and, I should think, sound at heart.”
“I cannot admire his taste,” I remarked, “if it is indeed a fact that he was averse to a marriage with so charming a young lady as this Miss Turner.”
“Ah, thereby hangs a rather painful tale. This fellow is madly, insanely, in love with her, but some two years ago, when he was only a lad, and before he really knew her, for she had been away five years at a boarding-school, what does the idiot do but get into the clutches of a barmaid in Bristol and marry her at a registry office? No one knows a word of the matter, but you can imagine how maddening it must be to him to be upbraided for not doing what he would give his very eyes to do, but what he knows to be absolutely impossible. It was sheer frenzy of this sort which made him throw his hands up into the air when his father, at their last interview, was goading him on to propose to Miss Turner. On the other hand, he had no means of supporting himself, and his father, who was by all accounts a very hard man, would have thrown him over utterly had he known the truth. It was with his barmaid wife that he had spent the last three days in Bristol, and his father did not know where he was. Mark that point. It is of importance. Good has come out of evil, however, for the barmaid, finding from the papers that he is in serious trouble and likely to be hanged, has thrown him over utterly and has written to him to say that she has a husband already in the Bermuda Dockyard, so that there is really no tie between them. I think that that bit of news has consoled young McCarthy for all that he has suffered.”
“But if he is innocent, who has done it?”
“Ah! who? I would call your attention very particularly to two points. One is that the murdered man had an appointment with someone at the pool, and that the someone could not have been his son, for his son was away, and he did not know when he would return. The second is that the murdered man was heard to cry ‘Cooee!’ before he knew that his son had returned. Those are the crucial points upon which the case depends. And now let us talk about George Meredith, if you please, and we shall leave all minor matters until to-morrow.”
There was no rain, as Holmes had foretold, and the morning broke bright and cloudless. At nine o’clock Lestrade called for us with the carriage, and we set off for Hatherley Farm and the Boscombe Pool.
“There is serious news this morning,” Lestrade observed. “It is said that Mr. Turner, of the Hall, is so ill that his life is despaired of.”
“An elderly man, I presume?” saild Holmes.
“About sixty; but his constitution has been shattered by his life abroad, and he has been in failing health for some time. This business has had a very bad effect upon him. He was an old friend of McCarthy’s, and, I may add, a great benefactor to him, for I have learned that he gave him Hatherley Farm rent free.”
“Indeed! That is interesting,” said Holmes.
“Oh, yes! In a hundred other ways he has help ed him. Everybody about here speaks of his kindness to him.”
“Really! Does it not strike- you as a little singular that this McCarthy, who appears to have had little of his own, and to have been under such obligations to Turner, should still talk of marrying his son to Turner’s daughter, who is, presumably, heiress to the estate, and that in such a very cocksure manner, as if it were merely a case of a proposal and all else would follow? It is the more strange, since we know that Turner himself was averse to the idea. The daughter told us as much. Do you not deduce something from that?”
“We have got to the deductions and the inferences,” said Lestrade, winking at me. “I find it hard enough to tackle facts, Holmes, without flying away after theories and fancies.”
“You are right,” said Holmes demurely; “you do find it very hard to tackle the facts.”
“Anyhow, I have grasped one fact which you seem to find it difficult to get hold of,” replied Lesbiade with some warmth.
“And that is –”
“That McCarthy senior met his death from McCarthy junior and that all theories to the contrary are the merest moonshine.”
“Well, moonshine is a brighter thing than fog,” said Holmes, laughing. “But I am very much mistaken if this is not Hatherley Farm upon the left.”
“Yes, that is it.” It was a widespread, comfortable-looking building, two-storied, slate-roofed, with great yellow blotches of lichen upon the gray walls. The drawn blinds and the smokeless chimneys, however, gave it a stricken look, as though the weight of this horror still lay heavy upon it. We called at the door, when the maid, at Holmes’s request, showed us the boots which her master wore at the time of his death, and also a pair of the son’s, though not the pair which he had then had. Having measured these very carefully from seven or eight different points, Holmes desired to be led to the court-yard, from which we all followed the winding track which led to Boscombe Pool.
Sherlock Holmes was transformed when he was hot upon such a scent as this. Men who had only known the quiet thinker and logician of Baker Street would have failed to recognize him. His face flushed and darkened. His brows were drawn into two hard black lines, while his eyes shone out from beneath them with a steely glitter. His face was bent downward, his shoulders bowed, his lips compressed, and the veins stood out like whipcord in his long, sinewy neck. His nostrils seemed to dilate with a purely animal lust for the chase, and his mind was so absolutely concentrated upon the matter before him that a question or remark fell unheeded upon his ears, or, at the most, only provoked a quick, impatient snarl in reply. Swiftly and silently he made his way along the track which ran through the meadows, and so by way of the woods to the Boscombe Pool. It was damp, marshy ground, as is all that district, and there were marks of many feet, both upon the path and amid the short grass which bounded it on either side. Sometimes Holmes would hurry on, sometimes stop dead, and once he made quite a little detour into the meadow. Lestrade and I walked behind him, the detective indifferent and contemptuous, while I watched my friend with the interest which sprang from the conviction that every one of his actions was directed towards a definite end.
The Boscombe Pool, which is a little reed-girt sheet of water some fifty yards across, is situated at the boundary between the Hatherley Farm and the private park of the wealthy Mr. Turner. Above the woods which lined it upon the farther side we could see the red, jutting pinnacles which marked the site of the rich landowner’s dwelling. On the Hatherley side of the pool the woods grew very thick, and there was a narrow belt of sodden grass twenty paces across between the edge of the trees land the reeds which lined the lake. Lestrade showed us the exact spot at which the body had been found, and, indeed, so moist was the ground, that I could plainly see the traces which had been left by the fall of the stricken man. To Holmes, as I could see by his eager face and peering eyes, very many other things were to be read upon the trampled grass. He ran round, like a dog who is picking up a scent, and then turned upon my companion.
“What did you go into the pool for?” he asked.
“I fished about with a rake. I thought there might be some weapon or other trace. But how on earth –”
“Oh, tut, tut! I have no time! That left foot of yours with its inward twist is all over the place. A mole could trace it, and there it vanishes among the reeds. Oh, how simple it would all have been had I been here before they came like a herd of buffalo and wallowed all over it. Here is where the party with the lodge-keeper came, and they have covered all tracks for six or eight feet round the body. But here are three separate tracks of the same feet.” He drew out a lens and lay down upon his waterproof to have a better view, talking all the time rather to himself than to us. “These are young McCarthy’s feet. Twice he was walking, and once he ran swiftly, so that the soles are deeply marked and the heels hardly visible. That bears out his story. He ran when he saw his father on the ground. Then here are the father’s feet as he paced up and down. What is this, then? It is the butt-end of the gun as the son stood listening. And this? Ha, ha! What have we here? Tiptoes! tiptoes! Square, too, quite unusual boots! They come, they go, they come again — of course that was for the cloak. Now where did they come from?” He ran up and down, sometimes losing, sometimes finding the track until we were well within the edge of the wood and under the shadow of a great beech, the largest tree in the neighbourhood. Holmes traced his way to the farther side of this and lay down once more upon his face with a little cry of satisfaction. For a long time he remained there, turning over the leaves and dried sticks, gathering up what seemed to me to be dust into an envelope and examining with his lens not only the ground but even the bark of the tree as far as he could reach. A jagged stone was lying among the moss, and this also he carefully examined and retained. Then he followed a pathway through the wood until he came to the highroad, where all traces were lost.
“It has been a case of considerable interest,” he remarked, returning to his natural manner. “I fancy that this gray house on the right must be the lodge. I think that I will go in and have a word with Moran, and perhaps write a little note. Having done that, we may drive back to our lunchebn. You may walk to the cab, and I shall be with you presently.”
It was about ten minutes before we regained our cab and drove back into Ross, Holmes still carrying with him the stone which he had picked up in the wood.
“This may interest you, Lestrade,” he remarked, holding it out. “The murder was done with it.”
“I see no marks.”
“There are none.”
“How do you know, then?”
“The grass was growing under it. It had only lain there a few days. There was no sign of a place whence it had been taken. It corresponds with the injuries. There is no sign of any other weapon.”
“And the murderer?”
“Is a tall man, left-handed, limps with the right leg, wears thick-soled shooting-boots and a gray cloak, smokes Indian cigars, uses a cigar-holder, and carries a blunt pen-knife in his pocket. There are several other indications, but these may be enough to aid us in our search.”
Lestrade laughed. “I am afraid that I am still a sceptic,” he said. “Theories are all very well, but we have to deal with a hard-headed British jury.”
“Nous verrons,” answered Holmes calmly. “You work your own method, and I shall work mine. I shall be busy this afternoon, and shall probably return to London by the evening train.”
“And leave your case unfinished?”
“No, finished.”
“But the mystery?”
“It is solved.’
“Who was the criminal, then?”
“The gentleman I describe.”
“But who is he?”
“Surely it would not be difficult to find out. This is not such a populous neighbourhood.”
Lestrade shrugged his shoulders. “I am a practical man,” he said, “and I really cannot undertake to go about the country looking for a left-handed gentleman with a game-leg. I should become the laughing-stock of Scotland Yard.”
“All right,” said Holmes quietly. “I have given you the chance. Here are your lodgings. Good-bye. I shall drop you a line before I leave.”
Having left Lestrade at his rooms, we drove to our hotel, where we found lunch upon the table. Holmes was silent and buried in thought with a pained expression upon his face, as one who finds himself in a perplexing position.
“Look here, Watson,” he said when the cloth was cleared “just sit down in this chair and let me preach to you for a little. don’t know quite what to do, and I should value your advice. Light a cigar and let me expound.”
“Pray do so.”
“Well, now, in considering this case there are two points about young McCarthy’s narrative which struck us both instantly, although they impressed me in his favour and you against him. One was the fact that his father should, according to his account, cry ‘Cooee!’ before seeing him. The other was his singular dying reference to a rat. He mumbled several words, you understand, but that was all that caught the son’s ear. Now from this double point our research must commence, and we will begin it by presuming that what the lad says is absolutely true.”
“What of this ‘Cooee!’ then?”
“Well, obviously it could not have been meant for the son. The son, as far as he knew, was in Bristol. It was mere chance that he was within earshot. The ‘Cooee!’ was meant to attract the attention of whoever it was that he had the appointment with. But ‘Cooee’ is a distinctly Australian cry, and one which is used between Australians. There is a strong presumption that the person whom McCarthy expected to meet him at Boscombe Pool was someone who had been in Australia.”
“What of the rat, then?”
Sherlock Holmes took a folded paper from his pocket and flattened it out on the table. “This is a map of the Colony of Victoria,” he said. “I wired to Bristol for it last night.” He put his hand over part of the map. “What do you read?”
“ARAT,” I read.
“And now?” He raised his hand.
“BALLARAT. ”
“Quite so. That was the word the man uttered, and of which his son only caught the last two syllables. He was trying to utter the name of his murderer. So and so, of Ballarat.”
“It is wonderful!” I exclaimed.
“It is obvious. And now, you see, I had narrowed the field down considerably. The possession of a gray garment was a third point which, granting the son’s statement to be correct, was a certainty. We have come now out of mere vagueness to the definite conception of an Australian from Ballarat with a gray cloak.”
“Certainly. ”
“And one who was at home in the district, for the pool can only be approached by the farm or by the estate, where strangers could hardly wander.”
“Quite so.”
“Then comes our expedition of to-day. By an examination of the ground I gained the trifling details which I gave to that imbecile Lestrade, as to the personality of the criminal.”
“But how did you gain them?”
“You know my method. It is founded upon the observation of trifles.”
“His height I know that you might roughly judge from the length of his stride. His boots, too, might be told from their traces.”
“Yes, they were peculiar boots.”
“But his lameness?”
“The impression of his right foot was always less distinct than his left. He put less weight upon it. Why? Because he limped — he was lame.”
“But his left-handedness.”
“You were yourself struck by the nature of the injury as recorded by the surgeon at-the inquest. The blow was struck from immediately behind, and yet was upon the left side. Now, how can that be unless it were by a left-handed man? He had stood behind that tree during the interview between the father and son. He had even smoked there. I found the ash of a cigar, which my special knowledge of tobacco ashes enables me to pronounce as an Indian cigar. I have, as you know, devoted some attention to this, and written a little monograph on the ashes of 140 different varieties of pipe, cigar, and cigarette tobacco. Having found the ash, I then looked round and discovered the stump among the moss where he had tossed it. It was an Indian cigar, of the variety which are rolled in Rotterdam.”
“And the cigar-holder?”
“I could see that the end had not been in his mouth. Therefore he used a holder. The tip had been cut off, not bitten off, but the cut was not a clean one, so I deduced a blunt pen-knife.”
“Holmes,” I said, “you have drawn a net round this man from which he cannot escape, and you have saved an innocent human life as truly as if you had cut the cord which was hanging him. I see the direction in which all this points. The culprit is –”
“Mr. John Turner,” cried the hotel waiter, opening the door of our sitting-room, and ushering in a visitor.
The man who entered was a strange and impressive figure. His slow, limping step and bowed shoulders gave the appearance of decrepitude, and yet his hard, deep-lined, craggy features, and his enormous limbs showed that he was possessed of unusual strength of body and of character. His tangled beard, grizzled hair, and outstanding, drooping eyebrows combined to give an air of dignity and power to his appearance, but his face was of an ashen white, while his lips and the corners of his nostrils were tinged with a shade of blue. It was clear to me at a glance that he was in the grip of some deadly and chronic disease.
“Pray sit down on the sofa,” said Holmes gently. “You had my note?”
“Yes, the lodge-keeper brought it up. You said that you wished to see me here to avoid scandal.”
“I thought people would talk if I went to the Hall.”
“And why did you wish to see me?” He looked across at my companion with despair in his weary eyes, as though his question was already answered.
“Yes,” said Holmes, answering the look rather than the words. “It is so. I know all about McCarthy.”
The old man sank his face in his hands. “God help me!” he cried. “But I would not have let the young man come to harm. I give you my word that I would have spoken out if it went against him at the Assizes.”
“I am glad to hear you say so,” said Holmes gravely.
“I would have spoken now had it not been for my dear girl. It would break her heart — it will break her heart when she hears that I am arrested.”
“It may not come to that,” said Holmes.
“What?”
“I am no official agent. I understand that it was your daughter who required my presence here, and I am acting in her interests. Young McCarthy must be got off, however.”
“I am a dying man,” said old Turner. “I have had diabetes for years. My doctor says it is a question whether I shall live a month. Yet I would rather die under my own roof than in a jail.”
Holmes rose and sat down at the table with his pen in his hand and a bundle of paper before him. “lust tell us the truth,” he said. “I shall jot down the facts. You will sign it, and Watson here can witness it. Then I could produce your confession at the last extremity to save young McCarthy. I promise you that I shall not use it unless it is absolutely needed.”
“It’s as well,” said the old man; “it’s a question whether I shall live to the Assizes, so it matters little to me, but I should wish to spare Alice the shock. And now I will make the thing clear to you; it has been a long time in the acting, but will not take me long to tell.
“You didn’t know this dead man, McCarthy. He was a devil incarnate. I tell you that. God keep you out of the clutches of such a man as he. His grip has been upon me these twenty years, and he has blasted my life. I’ll tell you first how I came to be in his power.
“It was in the early ’60′s at the diggings. I was a young chap then, hot-blooded and reckless, ready to turn my hand at anything; I got among bad companions, took to drink, had no luck with my claim, took to the bush, and in a word became what you would call over here a highway robber. There were six of us, and we had a wild, free life of it, sticking up a station from time to time, or stopping the wagons on the road to the diggings. Black Jack of Ballarat was the name I went under, and our party is still remembered in the colony as the Ballarat Gang.
“One day a gold convoy came down from Ballarat to Melbourne, and we lay in wait for it and attacked it. There were six troopers and six of us, so it was a close thing, but we emptied four of their saddles at the first volley. Three of our boys were killed, however, before we got the swag. I put my pistol to the head of the wagon-driver, who was this very man McCarthy. I wish to the Lord that I had shot him then, but I spared him, though I saw his wicked little eyes fixed on my face, as though to remember every feature. We got away with the gold, became wealthy men, and made our way over to England without being suspected. There I parted from my old pals and determined to settle down to a quiet and respectable life. I bought this estate, which chanced to be in the market, and I set myself to do a little good with my money, to make up for the way in which I had earned it. I married, too, and though my wife died young she left me my dear little Alice. Even when she was just a baby her wee hand seemed to lead me down the right path as nothing else had ever done. In a word, I turned over a new leaf and did my best to make up for the past. All was going well when McCarthy laid hls grip upon me.
“I had gone up to town about an investment, and I met him in Regent Street with hardly a coat to his back or a boot to his foot.
“‘Here we are, Jack,’ says he, touching me on the arm; ‘we’ll be as good as a family to you. There’s two of us, me and my son, and you can have the keeping of us. If you don’t — it’s a fine, law-abiding country is England, and there’s always a policeman within hail.’
“Well, down they came to the west country, there was no shaking them off, and there they have lived rent free on my best land ever since. There was no rest for me, no peace, no forgetfulness; turn where I would, there was his cunning, grinning face at my elbow. It grew worse as Alice grew up, for he soon saw I was more afraid of her knowing my past than of the police. Whatever he wanted he must have, and whatever it was I gave him without question, land, money, houses, until at last he asked a thing which I could not give. He asked for Alice.
“His son, you see, had grown up, and so had my girl, and as I was known to be in weak health, it seemed a fine stroke to him that his lad should step into the whole property. But there I was firm. I would not have his cursed stock mixed with mine; not that I had any dislike to the lad, but his blood was in him, and that was enough. I stood firm. McCarthy threatened. I braved him to do his worst. We were to meet at the pool midway between our houses to talk it over.
“When we went down there I found him talking with his son, so smoked a cigar and waited behind a tree until he should be alone. But as I listened to his talk all that was black and bitter in me seemed to come uppermost. He was urging his son to marry my daughter with as little regard for what she might think as if she were a slut from off the streets. It drove me mad to think that I and all that I held most dear should be in the power of such a man as this. Could I not snap the bond? I was already a dying and a desperate man. Though clear of mind and fairly strong of limb, I knew that my own fate was sealed. But my memory and my girl! Both could be saved if I could but silence that foul tongue. I did it, Mr. Holmes. I would do it again. Deeply as I have sinned, I have led a life of martyrdom to atone for it. But that my girl should be entangled in the same meshes which held me was more than I could suffer. I struck him down with no more compunction than if he had been some foul and venomous beast. His cry brought back his son; but I had gained the cover of the wood, though I was forced to go back to fetch the cloak which I had dropped in my flight. That is the true story, gentlemen, of all that occurred.”
“Well, it is not for me to judge you,” said Holmes as the old man signed the statement which had been drawn out. “I pray that we may never be exposed to such a temptation.”
“I pray not, sir. And what do you intend to do?”
“In view of your health, nothing. You are yourself aware that you will soon have to answer for your deed at a higher court than the Assizes. I will keep your confession, and if McCarthy is condemned I shall be forced to use it. If not, it shall never be seen by mortal eye; and your secret, whether you be alive or dead, shall be safe with us.”
“Farewell, then,” said the old man solemnly. “Your own deathbeds, when they come, will be the easier for the thought of the peace which you have given to mine.” Tottering and shaking in all his giant frame, he stumbled slowly from the room.
“God help us!” said Holmes after a long silence. “Why does fate play such tricks with poor, help less worms? I never hear of such a case as this that I do not think of Baxter’s words, and say, ‘There, but for the grace of God, goes Sherlock Holmes.’ ”
James McCarthy was acquitted at the Assizes on the strength of a number of objections which had been drawn out by Holmes and submitted to the defending counsel. Old Turner lived for seven months after our interview, but he is now dead; and there is every prospect that the son and daughter may come to live happily together in ignorance of the black cloud which rests upon their past.

Featured Short Story Topic:
Selected Stories Unravel
The book has sat on the shelf since you were three. OK, maybe four…However, the book has always been there. You remember when you were ten, opening the cover once…once…And, your father stood over you and asked where the book belonged. You quickly put it back. You managed to see a few words inside the cover. Those words have stuck with you to this day. Now, as you sort through your father’s belongings shortly after his recent passing, you remember them…

What were those words? Who is this character? What was the book? Why did the father leave it on the shelf for so long? Were there other books on the shelf? Was the character able to read the other books? Were there other times the character got close to finding out what was inside?

Think about the special times in your own life and reflect on the stories they can tell. Connect with your parents and remember the stories they shared. What plotlines did they leave out? Did you find out about any later in life? Realize the impact of the storyline as you write and expand on the ideas and the meaning of the book itself. Decide on the story, and write. Post it here, or share elsewhere, but write and enjoy…

Featured Poetry Topic:
Easter Bunny or Day…
A hop, hop, hopping day that is celebrated by many world-wide for many different reasons. Easter is recognized commercially as the day of the Easter Bunny. Children go to malls of many shapes and sizes to see and take pictures with this happy hopper. The Easter Bunny is a rabbit who hides eggs for children to find and provides baskets of candy to munch on during a day celebrating new life. The children that partake in the candy definitely receive a new life as they mirror the bunny and bounce around the house, the yard, and across the lawns and flower beds of the recently blooming tulips.

What ever path you go down for this poem, stick strongly to the words that connect you most to your beliefs and experiences. Is the spirit of the holiday resurrected from your childhood memories or ones that you developed as an adult? Have you sat on the lap of the Easter Bunny and wondered how he could bring such wonderful candy and where his factory may be? You know Santa builds toys in the North Poll, but where is the candy created? Either way, choose your words well. Remember poems are simple, but have all the power of a story in a little, tiny space. Post it here, or share elsewhere, but write and enjoy…

Remember to Imagine, Enhance, & Grow Your Stories @ www.storyinstitute.com

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Twitter Updates for 2010-04-06

John E Murray III — Tue, 06 Apr 2010 07:33:00 +0000

Win a free iPad! #Ambrosia http://bit.ly/ASWiPad…great software #
Kids and bedtime…always a fun adventure…always finding new & creative ways to share a story with them… #

Twitter Updates for 2010-04-05

John E Murray III — Mon, 05 Apr 2010 07:33:00 +0000

Hannibal, Mo., is a 'holy land' for Mark Twain fans. http://usat.me?38075804. Consider visiting Twain's hometown this year… #

Twitter Updates for 2010-04-04

John E Murray III — Sun, 04 Apr 2010 07:33:00 +0000

The iPad is about as fun as I thought it would be…any chance I could get rid of these finger prints? Enjoy the evening! #

Twitter Updates for 2010-04-03

John E Murray III — Sat, 03 Apr 2010 07:33:00 +0000

I finally broke down and began using Google Chrome…So far, so good… #
#FF @MousePod, @DarthGoofyIsD23, @straypoetry, @BellTinkR, @LennOnLearning, @loumongello, @WedwayRadio, @BeOurGuestMike #

Twitter Updates for 2010-04-02

John E Murray III — Fri, 02 Apr 2010 07:33:00 +0000

You know it is sad when you reach the end of the week and remember that you forgot to put out a podcast…drat… #

We make our own beds,sometimes…

John E Murray III — Sat, 27 Mar 2010 01:07:36 +0000

We make our own beds,sometimes…we make up our own minds,usually…we should live our own lives, always…be true to yourself

Vacations can be tiring sometimes…

John E Murray III — Fri, 26 Mar 2010 12:15:14 +0000

Vacations can be tiring sometimes, but I’ll take ‘em…unfortunately, not for a while…Enjoy the day, vacations are right around the corner

The free @digg app is here for…

John E Murray III — Thu, 25 Mar 2010 20:52:59 +0000

The free @digg app is here for iPhone! They’re giving out a custom ColorWare iPad everyday for 2 weeks to celebrate! http://bit.ly/diggapp

I think I am still struggling …

John E Murray III — Wed, 24 Mar 2010 11:49:36 +0000

I think I am still struggling with this daylight savings time…can we just take a mulligan and try again…

Story Institute RamblingVerser – Episode 30 – Grab a Newspaper, Quick

Story Institute — Wed, 24 Mar 2010 02:00:26 +0000

Grab that paper and write…a newspaper that is…

“If you watch a game, it’s fun. If you play at it, it’s recreation. If you work at it, it’s golf.”
~ Bob Hope

Headlines to help you with thoughts, ideas a provide realistic writing prompts:

“Run over on a Florida beach: can’t Americans walk anywhere at all?”

“No Flat for Cats”

“App Tells You Whether Your Date is a ‘Keeper’ or ‘Crazy’”

“Talking about a stinky subject”

Look up these headlines, of merely use them to help you come up with subjects for your storylines. What direction will you choose? Have you found other stories out there? Share them here or elsewhere, but write and enjoy.

Short Story Topic & Prompt:
Twittering Your Life Away…

So, you have decided to sign-up for Twitter…you don’t know why, but you do know that it is all that…or, at least that is what your younger sister told you. You have gone to the main page, signed up, waited…nothing. That’s right, nothing. You check the screen for days wondering when the “news” will be flooding in. Once, after signing in, you see a large whale on the screen and then a funky bird. After refreshing your browser a few times, you see a blank spot under your update box. You can’t take it any more. So, you decide to have a conversation with yourself using Twitter.

How will you do this? Who is this other personality? Do you create another account? Or, do you just change voices within the tweet itself? Decide if you followed anyone. Decide if you talked to anyone? Decide on what response you got if any from other out there in the random electronic world. Do you find that people are adding you as a friend? What topics do you cover in the conversation with yourself? What impact does this dialogue have on your more physical life?

OK, while this may be a little too close to reality for some, it aligns well with what is possible in today’s society. The storyline doesn’t have to be about Twitter. You could change the timeline and set it earlier where you are writing letters back and forth to yourself. Same idea, different method…Choose your path and choose your storyline, but write and enjoy.

If you are an author in search of readers or have comments about our show, contact us:
ramblingverser@storyinstitute.com
615-431-WRIT (9748)

This week’s episode was brought to you by Enchanted Travel Tales (www.enchantedtraveltales.com), bringing travel, magic, and fun to your holidays.

Remember to Imagine, Enhance, and Grow your stories @ www.storyinstitute.com

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Our podcast is a little delayed…

John E Murray III — Tue, 23 Mar 2010 11:43:32 +0000

Our podcast is a little delayed this week. Hopefully, it will be out by tomorrow…Sometimes, time is not your friend…:)

Busy, busy, busy…too far behind…

John E Murray III — Mon, 22 Mar 2010 15:05:53 +0000

Busy, busy, busy…too far behind in life outside of work…but, life is good…enjoy the day, be positive!

RT @EvaUlian Men have had ever…

John E Murray III — Sat, 20 Mar 2010 12:44:24 +0000

RT @EvaUlian Men have had every advantage of us in telling their own story. Education has been theirs in so much…http://bit.ly/cpzd7L

Happy Sweater Day! Make the best…

John E Murray III — Sat, 20 Mar 2010 12:28:13 +0000

Happy Sweater Day! Make the best of this beautiful day, neighbor.

Short Story Topics – Twittering Your Life Away…

Story Institute — Fri, 19 Mar 2010 19:39:33 +0000

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Follow Friday @straypoetry…

John E Murray III — Fri, 19 Mar 2010 11:53:33 +0000

Follow Friday @straypoetry, @BellTinkR, @LennOnLearning, @Bart1704, @loumongello

Drat…I forgot to play the lottery…

John E Murray III — Thu, 18 Mar 2010 11:49:50 +0000

Drat…I forgot to play the lottery…now what I am going to do with this dollar…

RT @etudeapp I just got a FREE…

John E Murray III — Wed, 17 Mar 2010 23:32:46 +0000

RT @etudeapp I just got a FREE copy of SimpleChord to go with Etude: http://etudeapp.com/tweet