Shelby Foote, RIP

Early in his career, Foote took up the habit of writing by hand with an old-fashioned dipped pen, and he continued that practice throughout his life.

He kept bound volumes of his manuscripts, all written in a flowing hand, on a bookshelf in a homey bedroom-study overlooking a small garden at his Memphis residence.

Though facing a busy city street, the two-story house was almost hidden from view by trees and shrubs.

"If I were a wealthy man, I'd have someone on that gate," he said.

* * *

An excerpt from Shiloh:

The sky had cleared, the clouds raveled to tatters, and at four o'clock the sun broke through, silver on the bright green of grass and leaves, and golden on the puddles in the road; all down the column men quickened the step, smiling in the sudden burst of gold and silver weather. They would point at the sky, the shining fields, and call to each other: the sun, the sun! Their uniforms, which had darkened in the rain, began to steam in the April heat, and where formerly they had slogged through the mud, keeping their eyes down on the boots or haversack of the man ahead, now they began to look around and even dance aside with little prancing steps to avoid the wet places.

* * *

Remembered: Coalition of the Swilling * Musing's Musings * TomFlannery.com * 1754Blog * Hobbesian Conservative * Rock Creek Rambler