E. B. Shelton, author of Hear the Dirt Sing and Sugarland, blends her love of writing and research with her ancestors’ anecdotes to create memorable stories that educate and entertain. She holds music degrees from East Carolina University (BME) and University of North Texas (MM). Influenced by her diverse careers ranging from university music educator and touring musician to teaching high school math and middle school band, her stories feature rich Southern culture. Shelton’s writing is found on medium.com and ebshelton.com while her music can be heard on recordings with the world music ensemble, Tin Roof Tango. Born and raised in Louisiana, she currently lives in Texas with her husband, Mark.
Celebrating the Rhythm Bones Society 25th Anniversary at Bones Fest XXVIII Traveling south past Clarksdale on Mississippi Highway 49, the historic Hopson Plantation came into view, rising from the Delta’s…
During the Great Depression, three Chicago thugs, armed with guns and knives, met their match in a small Louisiana town. Friday, November 11, 1932Tallulah, Louisiana The morning sun peeked through…
The following transcription originally appeared in a newspaper in Louisiana on November 12, 1932. A trio who gave their names as Jack Doud, 32; Benny Caphone, 34; and John Kolich,…
My grandmother's paintings adorn the walls of family members and friends across the South. Georgie's watercolors, pastels, and oils were painted during the years from 1912-1971. She lived in the…
When she was only 18 years old, my grandmother, Georgie Robertson Nadler, began illustrating for Louisiana State University's Gumbo yearbook, which she continued for three years. She probably had artistic…
She didn't know they were watching. From the ocean liner’s bridge, Captain Jamison watched the woman on the dock bench raise the edge of her knee-length skirt. She tucked a…
Posted on Instagram in January 2020. In January of 2020, I posted this picture on social media. The Woman in a Feather Hat, as I call it, was sketched by…
Everyone knew what went on in the house on Franklin Street. Well, most adults, anyway. It was no secret, but people did not dare talk about it, at least not…