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I remind myself that I don't have to worry about writing so often, because my audience is in the future. I also don't have to worry about giving away too much, from my books, because there are so many entries that the information is hidden amongst them. It would be less work--and more satisfying--to simply read my books, than to try to compile it from this blog. So if I give away something here, only a handful of people will see it.

Only a handful will see it now, that is.

Yesterday, I went in some depth into the evidence that Mathew Franklin Whittier--myself in the 19th century--was the real author of "The Raven," and that Edgar Allan Poe stole it from him. I also mentioned that Mathew and Abby were the original co-authors of "A Christmas Carol"--or, perhaps more accurately, they were the authors of a small book, or play, which Charles Dickens hastily re-worked into "A Christmas Carol," a couple of years after Abby's death.

I've visited different facets of that theory in three separate sections of my book, and discussed it at various times in this blog, as well. But perhaps you would like to see a photograph of the room in which it was written.

This is featured in my sequel, "Mathew Franklin Whittier in his own world," and you can find the context, there. Or, you can dig back through this blog. I think the blog is fairly well-written, but again, you will probably enjoy it in the book, with everything presented in its full context, more.

I would have to guess that there are academcians who know full-well that what I'm saying, here, regarding these historical attributions, is entirely plausible. Some of them, perhaps, know I'm right. There are three types of academicians: 1) courageous, 2) cowardly, and 3) unscrupulous. The courageous ones boldly come out with the truth, and openly support others who tell the truth. If they are established, sometimes they can weather the resulting storm; if they are not, they stand to lose everything. One must not be too hard on them if they quail at the prospect. If they are just starting out in their career, probably they are young and have families. And if they lose their position and their reputation is ruined, such that they can't obtain another position, they will find themselves trying to support a family by flipping burgers or waiting on tables. (Then, by definition, they will no-longer be academicians, they will be burger-flippers--and who listens to a burger-flipper?)

Then there are the unscrupulous ones, who know I'm right, but are scratching their heads trying to figure out a way to steal this from me, for fame and glory. But there is the little problem that I would be able to prove I was first--that is, if anybody would believe me, or even listen to me. There's a very good chance they could simply ignore me and get away with it. But there is a slim, outside chance that, being able to prove that I was first, I might get the attention of some reporter or other. Or even a lawyer. That might give such a person pause for thought. (It would certainly give me some good publicity.)

Then, of course, there would be thousands who simply dismiss what I'm saying out-of-hand. This might be a rational response, if I didn't have evidence. But as I have demonstrated the last few entries, I do have evidence.* As far as Poe is concerned, some of the evidence is right there in your face. "The Raven" is not a horror poem, nor is it an intellectual exercise, it's a grief poem--and Poe wasn't grieving at the time. Therefore, when I say he didn't write it, to automatically dismiss what I'm saying is irrational.

I think this is relatively rare, by the way--meaning true, actual open-mindedness. I haven't even given that its own category, because it's so rare. Conceivably, if such a professor specializes in, say, ancient Egypt, and he reads about an intrigue in 19th-century American literature, he might have a reaction similar to mine regarding alien abductees. "Sounds plausible, but it's not in my area, and I don't have the time to verify it independently."

I can only say one thing--if an unscrupulous person attempts to steal these conclusions, I will come out fighting. I may be ignored, but it's a ticking time-bomb for anyone who tries to steal it from me, because eventually my work will come to the fore; and as soon as it does, the false claimant will go down in history as an imitator. So if you want quick riches and brief fame, it might work. But if you want lasting fame, you are likely to get lasting infamy, instead.

Just as Poe and Dickens are eventually going to get it.

Best regards,

Stephen Sakellarios, M.S.

*There's another weird little clue I didn't mention in the previous blog entries. Did you know that Mathew's brother, poet John Greenleaf Whittier, wrote a poem entitled "The Raven" very early in his career? Mathew, as the acting editor of the New York "Constellation," published it in the May 15, 1830 edition for him. I'm not quite sure how to interpret this, but Mathew would have remembered it. One tie-in is that I gather, from many clues, that the boys' mother was superstitious, and an association of ravens with death is something they would have both learned from her (not that it wasn't known in the general population). Of course the poem, itself, bears no resemblance to the now-famous 1845 poem claimed by Poe.


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Music opening this page: "Death Letter Blues," performed by Gove Scrivenor,
on the album, "Heavy Cowboy"



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