A Dramatic New-Look Website

Crawford’s photograph that crowns our home page reflects the haunting drama of a mystery that will never be solved.

Backed by the photographic artistry of J Gerald Crawford, we are giving the home page of our Website a major new facelift.

We have used his mysterious image of a forgotten gravesite beneath the mountains of Big Bend National Park in far West Texas as a dramatic backdrop to illustrate our Website’s theme: Here Comes a Mystery.

We will continue to showcase our Featured Book, usually, the latest novel that either Linda or I write.

Lost Side of an Orphan’s Moon, the third book in the Boom Town Saga, is my latest release.

And Linda is closing in on the final pages of the fourth book in her “Games We Play” series, Scrabbled Secrets.

She has reached that point in her cozy mystery when, at the end of the day, she tells me, “Only two more chapters.”

And the next day, she says, “Only two more chapters.”

Writers hate to tell their characters goodbye.

Some fade away and are never seen again.

Some refuse to go.

They hang around and audition for a speaking part in the next book.

The home page of the new-look Website will feature our Favorite Reviews, “I Love a Mystery” blog and the latest news of what’s happening in our writing lives.

J Gerald Crawford

Right now, the emphasis is on Crawford’s photograph.

He and I have spent most of our lives traveling around the country, digging up stories from people we didn’t know existed, and recording vivid, breathtaking images of the landscape, bringing back art that could hang on any wall of any home.

We worked together when he was chief photographer and I was travel editor for Southern Living Magazine.

We quit at the same time.

We came to Texas.

And our scope spread throughout the country, not just the South, and we loved the South dearly.

Still do.

Crawford carried several thousands of dollars worth of Nikon camera equipment when we traveled.

I carried a dollar writing pad and a nineteen-cent ballpoint pen.


That’s not quite right.

I carried a dollar writing pad, a nineteen-cent ballpoint pen, and Crawford’s seventy-five-pound camera bag filled with cameras, assorted lens, assorted filters, and God only knows how many rolls of Kodachrome film while I climbed mountains, waded swamps, hiked across deserts, and fought our way through small, out-of-the-way Southern towns that did not like two out-of-towners with long hair down to our shoulders. Called us hippies is what they did. These were the seventies, after all.

I went on to write books.

And Crawford became chief photographer for B.A.S.S. publications, covering every fishing tournament in and out of America, and eventually becoming enshrined in the Bass Fishing Hall of Fame.

He still sends me photographs he takes.

And, for years, his collection has graced the pages of our calebandlindapirtle.com Website.

But the one that now crowns our home page reflects the haunting drama of a mystery that will never be solved.

No date.

No name.

No memory.

Too much wind has already blown across the mountain tops.

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