It is with a grateful, but heavy, heart that I announce the end of this project. As you have doubtless noticed, my productivity with regard to this blog has dwindled over time, and simply plummeted during the last year.
COVID has forced me to reevaluate my goals and priorities. I have decided to consciously move away from True Crime Librarian, which my heart had done long before my head. While my career still involves writing, it has long since moved away from the true-crime niche.
I will be keeping the blog up at least until June, when my WordPress contract renews, and will keep you updated as to if/when it will go offline. I hope someone else will be able to use the domain name in the future.
Sassy, my husband, and I are all well. Sassy celebrated her tenth birthday last fall and we are so blessed to have her. I started this blog shortly after adopting her, so it only feels right to acknowledge her as I leave it behind.
If you want to keep up with Sassy or my future work, I would be humbled if you followed us on Instagram @authorallison.
My professional writing website is allisonshelywriting.com.
I will be importing my WordPress subscriber list to my new SubStack so as to facilitate continued communication with my fans from TCL. I will do my best to avoid duplicate subscriptions if you have signed up for SubStack already.
If you do not wish to receive my SubStack newsletter, I’ll be sad to see you go, but you can unsubscribe from this blog before this evening, or unsubscribe when you receive the newsletter.
It’s been a good long while since we spoke. In that time, I’ve missed you a lot.
I wanted to let you know about my new project: the All Opinions Her Own newsletter. Focusing on events of the day as well as criticism, I’m sure you’ll still find your fix of macabre media reviews and much more. Content from True Crime Librarian may reappear on the Substack from time to time.
As the twentieth anniversary of the September 11 attacks approached, I found myself increasingly displeasedwith some of the language of my original “In Aggregate”
I decided to clarify that while the unidentified of 9/11 may be forever bonded, physically, to the sites of the attack, their memory and their afterlife are not bounded by the location of their remains.
May God have mercy on those who died those day, on those who have died of diseases contracted on the Pile, and of all who have died in the War on Terror. May they be brought to “a place of light, a verdant place, a place of freshness, from where suffering, pain and cries are far removed.”
May their memories be a blessing. And may God bless America.
My soul does not cleave to the dust Even if my flesh does Even if my blood clots it Even if my bone shapes it
Nowhere and everywhere I am And I am not alone— Like motes in a sunbeam We hang together, strung Between here and eternity.
This is eternity: to be bonded, but not bounded, by time and space; To see a day as twenty years And twenty years a day
The line between life and death Is so thin, and still so terrible Like the sharp blue edge of sky; So begrudge us not this sacred earth Of which we have become a part.
After all, the ceremony was set to begin at 3:30, end at 4:30. By now we would be married, have celebrated with cocktails, sat down to dinner. At this very moment we’d probably be dancing.
But we’re not. Because that’s not what the time calls for. Instead we got a strawberry-and-cream cake and drank some champagne at home.
We’ve rescheduled for October, and have plans in place for social distancing, but as long as I get married and get to wear the dress I’ll be happy.
In another timeline, another Allison is having the wedding she planned.
And in that timeline nearly 100, 000 Americans are still alive, as are hundreds of thousands more around the world.
That they are not here with us is the real tragedy of today.
At the end of our times, I pray, another wedding will take place. And the dead will rise; Arlington Cemetery, across the way, will empty; dust will rise up from the streets and form back into towers long-lost.
Best Tales of Texas Ghosts Docia Shultz Williams Republic of Texas Press 1998
Night. South Texas. A La Quinta hotel room. Circa 2007.
I have never been so terrified of the ceiling. My mother and sister are sleeping in the room, but that doesn’t comfort this twelve-year-old at all. A streetlight shines through the cracks in the curtain, reflecting a pale pool of light onto the ceiling. Shadows lurk at the edges of the pool, draping down to cover the bathroom door.
Train door at the Pentagon station opens. On the platform are a man in uniform–a Marine– and a civilian woman. She hops on. He tells her it’s the wrong train. They proceed to debate through the open train door, growing more urgent as departure time approaches.
A Metro worker begins to laugh and points at the electronic signage. The woman relents and gets off.
It is quiet on the train, except for the laughter of the Metro man.