Showing posts with label writing. Show all posts
Showing posts with label writing. Show all posts

Saturday, September 2, 2017

Writer's Block




     Writer's block can be a real hurdle (or at least a speed bump) for authors. Most deal with some form of writer's block on and off throughout the creative process. As for me, there is always a story or a poem or an observation about human nature brewing in my head wanting to be jotted down. At times, the words flow smoothly. Other times, I struggle to put my ideas into sentences. Regardless, I force myself to write when I have the time, knowing I can edit my work later.

     One thing I do naturally that helps me avoid writer's block is switch between two or three works in progress. I might type out five chapters in one book and then set it aside while writing a few new chapters in another. If I'm unsure about a developing story, I work on some other book until inspiration sorts out the hazy details in the first. Knowing I can juggle works in progress alleviates the pressure to force out chapters when I'm up against a mental wall.

     The bottom line, however, is a writer must sit down and simply write. Have faith. Writer's block or not, great ideas emerge most readily when engaged in the process of actually writing.

     ― Richelle E. Goodrich

Wednesday, August 23, 2017

What Love Means



I stand in the night and stare up at a lone star, wondering what love means.  You whisper your desire—do I love you?  I dare say yes.  But my eyes drift back to that solitary star; my mind is plagued with intimate uncertainty.   
What art thou, Love?  Tell me.   
I contemplate what I know—the qualities love doth not possess.  Love lifts no cruel or unkind hand, for it seeketh no harm.  It shirks from constraints and demands, for tyranny is not love.  A boisterous voice never crosses love’s lips, for to speak with thunder chases its very presence from the heart.  Love inflicts no pain, no fear, no misery, but conquers all such foes.  It is said love is not selfish, yet it does not guilt those who are.  On a heart unwillingly given it stakes no claim.  Love is nothing from Pandora’s box; it is no evil, sin, or sorrow unleashed on this world.   
My eyes glimmer as the star I gaze upon twinkles with brightness I do not possess.  I recognize my smallness—my ignorance of the One whose hands placed that star in the heavens for me.   
He is love.  By His own mouth He proclaimed it.   
Again the whispered question hits my ear—do I love you?  I dare say yes.  But my eyes squint tight, wishing on a lonely star, wondering what love means. 

 



Saturday, February 11, 2017

Loving You, Valentine

In the spirit of Valentine's Day I've put together my own written collection on LOVE. I hope you enjoy.





"Because," said a boy.
"Because why?" asked a young girl.
"Because I love you."

Richelle E. Goodrich, Making Wishes: Quotes, Thoughts, & a Little Poetry for Every Day of the Year


"You are the one star I wish upon nightly, praying your glory will fall from the heavens and land in my undeserving arms." Richelle E. Goodrich, Smile Anyway: Quotes, Verse, & Grumblings for Every Day of the Year


"Though I love you to the core of my being, so thoroughly that every cell comprising me aches to be near you, I must accept that we can never be together. For our existence parallels the sun and the moon—a temptation in constant, beautiful view, yet if the sun were ever to kiss the moon it would devour the heavenly orb whole. Oh, my darling, if only I were the moon! Then I would dare taste your lips and be happy for my last and final joy! But alas, I am the sun, and I will not venture to destroy the one I love." Richelle E. Goodrich, Making Wishes: Quotes, Thoughts, & a Little Poetry for Every Day of the Year


"True love takes time. It’s an earned comfort that tells you she’ll be right there beside you no matter what you do, not necessarily happy with your every action, but faithful to you just the same."Richelle E. Goodrich, Eena, The Return of a Queen (the Harrowbethian Saga #2)


"I'm not saying that I think one man is better than the other. I'm not saying that either is kinder or wiser or more ambitious, more thoughtful, confident, or able. But the fact is that when I'm with the one, comfort settles into my bones. I feel calm around him, as if the sun is smiling down on me and the world has suddenly become a sweet, safe place to be. I feel good about life―about myself. And it's hard not to want to be near someone who, just by their very nature, makes you feel that way."Richelle E. Goodrich, Smile Anyway: Quotes, Verse, & Grumblings for Every Day of the Year


"Be loved for who you are, for everything that constitutes you. Be loved for your core beliefs, your strengths and weaknesses, your admirable traits and troublesome baggage. Be loved for you, because anything less is not love at all."Richelle E. Goodrich, Making Wishes: Quotes, Thoughts, & a Little Poetry for Every Day of the Year


"I had the most beautiful dream, and then I fell asleep in your arms and my dream turned lovelier still."Richelle E. Goodrich, Smile Anyway: Quotes, Verse, & Grumblings for Every Day of the Year


"He was everything I needed because his entire character had been molded by my deepest wants and desires. He was my rock when I cried, my playmate when I laughed, and my hero when I needed to imagine that one existed for me."Richelle E. Goodrich, Dandelions: The Disappearance of Annabelle Fancher


"Prove that you love me through a lingering gaze and never losing that twinkle of adoration in your eyes."Richelle E. Goodrich, Smile Anyway: Quotes, Verse, & Grumblings for Every Day of the Year


"My love for you reaches beyond the borders of continents, so vast in scope that I would cross oceans to be with you."
"Yes, but does that same love penetrate so deep as to dare thee to sink to the oceans' depths to find me?"

Richelle E. Goodrich, My Aquarius


"To have a caring and committed heart toward someone—a heart so firm in its devotion as to sooner stop beating than neglect the object of its desire despite the person's state of health, appearance, reputation, finances, troubles, or challenges—that, dear world, is love. It is a rare find."Richelle E. Goodrich, Smile Anyway: Quotes, Verse, & Grumblings for Every Day of the Year


"The most difficult challenge an honest man will ever face is having to choose between duty and love. One creates a man of honorable character―a life worth dying for. The other creates a vulnerable soul that madly yearns for either death or immortality."Richelle E. Goodrich, Eena, The Return of a Queen (the Harrowbethian Saga #2)


"Love is an afternoon of fishing when I'd sooner be at the ballet. Love is eating burnt toast and lumpy graving with a big smile. Love is hearing the words 'You're beautiful' as I fail to squeeze into my fat jeans. Love is refusing to bring up the past, even if doing so would be a slam dunk to prove your point. Love is your hand wiping away my tears, trying to erase streaks of mascara. Love is the warm hug that extinguishes an argument. Love is a humbly-uttered apology, even if not at fault. Love is easy to recognize but so hard to define; however, I think it boils down to this... Love is caring so much about the feelings of someone else, you sacrifice whatever it takes to help him or her feel better. In other words, love is my heart being sensitive to yours."Richelle E. Goodrich, Making Wishes: Quotes, Thoughts, & a Little Poetry for Every Day of the Year


"Love is years of devotion, sacrifice, commitment, loyalty, trust, faith, and friendship all wrapped up in one. True love does more than cause your heart to flutter. It upholds your heart when the infatuation no longer makes it flutter."Richelle E. Goodrich, Eena, The Return of a Queen (the Harrowbethian Saga #2)


"When you love someone, you don’t care that she ate your sandwich. You only hope she found it delicious."Richelle E. Goodrich, Slaying Dragons: Quotes, Poetry, & a Few Short Stories for Every Day of the Year


"True love is a developed and intense appreciation for someone. It’s that perfect awareness that you are finally whole when she’s with you, and that hollow incompleteness you suffer when she’s gone."Richelle E. Goodrich, Eena, The Return of a Queen (the Harrowbethian Saga #2)


"I believe in love―a kind, selfless, unending devotion. I believe it is rare." Richelle E. Goodrich, Smile Anyway: Quotes, Verse, & Grumblings for Every Day of the Year


"To the romantic soul, the rituals of Valentine's Day echo every day of the year."Richelle E. Goodrich, Making Wishes: Quotes, Thoughts, & a Little Poetry for Every Day of the Year




Saturday, July 30, 2016

Official Website for American Author, Richelle E. Goodrich

    My website has recently undergone a complete renovation, and I have to say I love it!  One of my favorite details is that on every page at the top border there is a stretch of forest behind the title.  It's no secret I have a thing for trees.  They are beautiful creatures and the best keepers of secrets.  So yes, I'm happy with the mystical forests that vary from webpage to webpage.  
    Other things you will find at my official author website include book quotes from my published works, vibrant cover images linked to summaries of each book, information about Harrowbeth and other nations on Moccobatra, a page for comments and questions, and a little blurb about me personally as an author.  Please, go visit my newly remodeled website at RichelleGoodrich.com and take a look around.  It's a walk through the forest, so don't forget to admire the trees!



Friday, May 22, 2015

Whatever Made You Want To Write A Book?



"Richelle, whatever made you want to write a book?"


That's a good question. One I've been asked more than once. And if the answer were as simple as "Just because", I would end right here. But my personal motivation came from a mix of circumstances perfectly intertwined. Honestly, it is a miracle I ever made an attempt to put a lengthy story on paper.

Picture this...

It was one week before Christmas 2006, and I was sitting at my computer filling out Christmas cards. It is tradition to include a short family letter with the card, nothing big, just a line or two highlighting the accomplishments of each family member. The house was eerily quiet that afternoon with my husband at work and my three boys gone for Christmas break. I missed my children terribly. Painfully even. My thoughts were bogged with concerns for them. Are they okay? Are their needs being met? Are they safe? Are they happy? Do they miss me?  But to worry over your babies is normal for any caring mother. That's what I kept telling myself after whispering the hundred-and-twenty-seventh prayer for their well-being.

I realized all the worrying was doing me no good, but when your life revolves around your children for so many years, what do you do when they are gone? I needed something.  A hobby or... well, something.

I finished jotting down the yearly accomplishments for all my kids and my husband, which left mine for last. It wasn't that I was saving the best for the finale or that I was humbly mentioning my family's achievements before my own... no... the truth was, I just plain could not think of anything impressive to write about myself. What had I done in the past year?

Well, I had worked both outside and inside the home. I had made 1,100 meals, if not more. I had washed 2,000 sink loads of dishes, if not more. I had laundered, folded, and put away 600 loads of clothes (say it with me now, if not more.)  I had mopped floors, vacuumed carpets, changed sheets, scrubbed toilets, washed mirrors and windows and screens. I had weeded and re-weeded the garden, mowed the lawn, and given haircuts to my family. I had driven kids to and from school, scouts, mutual, karate, track, and whatever other functions they needed to attend. I had tucked my boys into bed with 365 nighttime prayers and bedtime reading. I had done all the regular, runaround, expected, mommy/housewife stuff.

But the question that troubled me was "What had I accomplished outside of chores?"  What personal achievement could I make note of in our Christmas letter?

I could think of nothing. That realization made me slump even further in my chair. Already moping about missing my boys, my spirits sank low realizing I had done nothing extraordinary in ages.

Did I mention that this was twenty years after my high school graduation? Oh yes, that too was on my mind. Twenty years! Where in the world had the time gone? What happened to all those amazing things I was going to do once I left home after high school? Where were the talents I once utilized in my youth? I no longer sketched or painted or danced or sang or played piano or performed in theatrical plays. My talents had been set aside for years. Neglected. Abandoned. How had that happened?

So there I sat, bemoaning lost years and the fact that happily-ever-afters don't come in happily-every-days when a sudden whisper of inspiration hit. A simple but powerful thought.

"If for the past twenty years you had written just one sentence a day, you would have composed a novel by now."

Don't ask me where it came from, but the idea was like a slap in the face, both admonishing and inspiring. 

Could I write a sentence a day? Yes! Easily! I could jot down a sentence in a matter of seconds!  But what was there to write about? I mean, you need an idea for a story, right?

The fact that I was brooding over high school memories took me back to the days when I used to finish classroom assignments so quickly that a good chunk of time was left to idle away. And what did I usually do with that time? How had I spent all those free moments in class?  Quietly drawing and daydreaming.

I had my favorite fantasies too, those I revisited and expanded on over time. One beloved adventure starred a young girl destined to rule a small world that thrived in another part of the galaxy. This was the story I never forgot. Truth be told, it was a daydream I sometimes entertained as an adult. Especially when I needed a healthy escape from reality.

In that moment of what I consider divine inspiration, I determined to write a book. A novel. The story of my favorite daydream. The account of Queen Eena of Harrowbeth.

I vowed that in twenty years from December 2006, I would at least be able to say I had written a novel, even if it meant doing so one sentence per day. I started typing those first few words at that very moment.

There is more humor to this tale
 than you might realize.  For you see, if you had asked me five minutes prior to my epiphany if I would ever attempt to write a novel, I would have laughed aloud (probably snorted) and exclaimed "Are you crazy? Do you have any idea how impossibly challenging it would be to write an entire novel? It would take like for-e-ver!"

You should also know that I earned my college degrees in Mathematics and Natural Science.  Never touched English literature.

Also, there is a tiny bit of truth I should probably confess: for the majority of my life I had a passionate distaste for writing. 

Are you laughing yet?  Okay, how about this...

Honest, true story.

In high school, my worst subject (not that I didn't earn high enough marks in the class) and the one area of study I groaned about the most was English. I hated writing assignments. Hated them. I think the reason why I hated them so much was because no "correct answer" existed.  Not like in mathematics where 2 + 2 = 4, no arguments.  But for English classes, I could scribble out a paper that one teacher stamped with a big, beautiful "A" while another instructor branded the same paper with a scarlet "C".  Writing became a matter of trying to please some disinterested adult whose expectations you could hardly guess. Not to mention the fact that the subject matter I was forced to write about was usually depressing and utterly boring.

And so I loathed writing.

I remember the day clearly when as a teenager I stood up from the kitchen table to stretch my stiff muscles. I was working on an English paper, and as I rose to my feet I made a firm, bold statement meant for any ears in the house. "I hate English, and I hate writing, but knowing my luck I'll probably grow up to be some stupid writer."

Well said, foolish teenager. Little did I know the twisted ironies of life.

And so, many many years later, pushing forty years of age, I sat at my computer and determined to accomplish a feat I deemed highly challenging. I figured it would take years, but the odd thing was, it didn't seem so impossible when I looked at the goal as a mere few sentences compounded daily. The more I wrote, the more I found myself craving free time to add additional paragraphs. I discovered an enormous difference in my frame of mind when it came to composing a work meant to please only me versus struggling with a composition meant to impress others. 

It is actually freeing.

And sweetly delicious.

And unbelievably addictive!

So I will eat crow and admit... I do love writing. 

No, no, I'm far from being a Victor Hugo or a Charles Dickens, but I profit by as much joy from the journey as I'm sure they did.  And it pleases me. I hope that for some readers out there, my stories prove entertaining enough to please you as well.  So, that is my answer to your question, "Whatever made you want to write a book?"



Thursday, January 15, 2015

Writer's Magic



Writers possess magic. It's in their words.
They compose phrases as powerful as incantations, creating illusions in the minds of readers. These spells make eyes envision things that aren't real; they make hearts feel things that aren't actual. A writer's work is to pen enchantments meant to entrance and hypnotize the mind, causing neglect of all other duties and responsibilities in order for the reader to remain a puppet controlled by the writer's wand. And if some foul friend does manage to break the spell, he is despised for it. His heroics are too late in coming. The words―the fairytales―have seeped beyond the body and into the soul, taking possession. Our poor reader is infected, compromised, never to be cured. The notion of magic found in simple words such as "Once upon a time..." has always fascinated me. It is no wonder I am compelled to write.


Copyright 2015 Richelle E. Goodrich

Saturday, October 25, 2014

A Cursed Halloween Story

All Hallows Eve is nearing!  I'm so excited!
You know what this meansanother installment in the ongoing spook tale, 
If you have yet to experience the plight of the Queen of Werefolk—caused by a witch’s cursenow is the time to curl up in the corner of your sofa and greedily feast on the beginning chapters of a gripping Halloween tale.  Following are quotes from the reading to wet your appetite:




"Vengeance, retaliation, retribution, revenge are deceitful brothers; vile, beguiling demons promising justifiable compensation to a pained soul for his losses. Yet in truth they craftily fester away all else of worth remaining."



“I squinted at the western sky behind Thaddeus, a blood-red smear melting into blackness. Twisting my neck, I glanced the opposite direction. My teeth clenched at a magnified, round moon nearly as scarlet as the portending sunset, its luminous face half masked by hazy cloud cover. Hatred, vengeance, anger… such emotions coursed through my veins in a poisonous concoction that muddied my mind, impelling me to grip my sword tighter and fight with every ounce of strength I possessed against those who threatened my family - my kind. Currently, Thaddeus was behaving as such a threat, using his powers of persuasion to condone human sacrifice for some outrageously perceived good. He wanted an offering for the monsters; a desperate, futile offering of human flesh that would in no way protect the other villagers from being mauled as he promised.”



“Misery is a river of tears that whispers my name in a constant hiss.” 



He gestured at me. “Do you like the blanket?”

I nodded. “It’s warm.”

“I made it. Well, actually, I didn’t skin the animal, but I did kill it… after the others pinned it down. It’s werewolf skin.”

My heart faltered; I gripped at a wad of black fur.

“I slayed the beast for you, Catherine. I used your sword. It was your grandmother’s idea actually, a wedding present. You mentioned how chilly you get.”

“You didn’t slay a werewolf,” I breathed before repeating the words louder. “You did not slay a werewolf, Thaddeus.”

“Oh, but I did. I took a band of huntsman with me and we tracked one down. A smaller one, mind you, not far from the front gate…”

“You did not!” I contended more strongly. Why would one wolf have separated from the pack? Why outside our walls?

“Yes, Catherine, I did,” he insisted.

I shook my head disbelieving. “You’re not capable—”

“I am so.”

I wanted to cry. I wanted to protest, but to do so meant giving away my knowledge of the truth. Without knowing what else to do or say I changed the subject.

“The fire’s gone out.”

Thaddeus turned his head to check. “You’re right. I’ll see to it.”

He fed the barrel stove until a healthy blaze was roaring. Finding me no longer a decent conversationalist, Thaddeus left with a promise to return soon with food and water. Unobserved, I gathered up the fur hide of a lost soul and curled into a ball, hugging it close to my chest.

I cried silent tears and mourned for this unknown werewolf for days.





“Enemies may unite to eliminate a common threat, but never without a wary eye fixed on their ally.”



“Vengeance would have us assault an enemy's pride to beat him down. But vengeance hides a dangerous truth, for a humbled foe gains patience, courage, strength, and greater determination.” 



The nonsense of his claim made me stammer over the rest of my question.  “But…no, no, why did you… I mean, why didn’t you kill me?  Why let me live?  I’m your sworn enemy wielding the power to destroy you, so why am I not dead?”

His face fell forlorn as if he had insight into the ending of my story, one that could only be labeled a tragedy.  I was certain such was the case; I would most likely die here at the hands of the same monsters who’d taken my offspring.  But I would not go to the grave without first understanding this mystery.  When moisture appeared to glisten in his eyes, the sight was excruciating to me, so I dropped my gaze to stare at his legs—waiting.”


“Enemies may unite to eliminate a common threat, but never without a wary eye fixed on their ally.” 



I made a heart-sworn oath at that very moment, vowing on my son’s grave to hunt down the black queen of the devil and strike her dead with my silver sword.  And I would do the same to her companion, that foul umber wolf. 

“Grandma, it hurts,” I cried, lifting my face to seek compassion in her gaze.  “I want that wolf to pay for what she’s done!”

Her cold hand rested on my cheek and wiped at a spill of tears. 

“Oh, the wretched creature shall pay, Catherine,” Grandmother assured me.  A fiery glimmer flashed in her eyes, and I knew my pain was understood.  “She shall pay dearly.”




“Vengeance is a monster of appetite, forever bloodthirsty and never filled.” 

Copyright 2012 Richelle E. Goodrich

Monday, October 13, 2014

Prepare for Hallows Eve with a Werewolf Tale

It's mid October.
The air has taken on an icy chill.  The trees have turned colors—from calm green to blazing red and ginger. Maple leaves rain down on me as I realize All Hallows Eve is merely days away.  I am excited because this means another installment in my ongoing Halloween Tale.





If you've not heard how the ritual of my annual spook tale got started, three years back I wrote a short story for a friend who could easily be crowned Queen of Halloween (she is that obsessed with the holiday.)  Her thrill over the story and a question as to what happens next started a writing tradition that continues today.  Every Halloween, I add to an ongoing adventure starring the queen of werefolk—including a powerful and vengeful witch, devious vampires, and other frightful creatures of the night.  It is a spooky delight!

So prepare yourselves!  

Read the beginning chapters of The Tarishe Curse and either enjoy it for the first time or refresh your memory of Duvalla and Kresh.  And on this next Halloween… get ready for more!


Follow Richelle's board Encourage and Enlighten Me on Pinterest.


Friday, July 18, 2014

I Am a Writer

 

“I bleed words.
I dream in narrative.
I live in infinite worlds.
I befriend figmental characters.
I wish on stars in other galaxies.
I harvest stories from a brooding muse.
I bloom under moonlight in hushed seclusion.
I am a writer.”


Copyright 2014 Richelle E. Goodrich

Thursday, July 10, 2014

Giving Away Stories

Would you like to know the most frustrating thing about being a book writer?  You might guess that it's the headache of attempting to compose a concise and gripping query letter meant to convince an agent to please, please, please consider your work.  Or you might think it's the effort of maintaining blogs and tweets and social media when what you really need is to be writing your manuscript.  Or maybe it is sweating over another revision where words and phrases have become déja vu protected by some muse-conjured force field outside your ability to edit.  Or perhaps it's just the futility of trying to find ways to make your book stand out among millions and millions of probably far superior...

Whoa, wait.  Let me rewind here.

Would you like to know ONE of the most frustrating things about being a book writer?  It is holding this completed novel in your handsa work you've fallen in love with over the months it's taken to research and revise and carefully compose until it is now a wondrous reading experiencethat only you have tasted.  You're alone in knowing how grand the story is; you've no one to talk to about this fantastical, life-altering journey you've been on!  More than anything in the world, you want to post it everywhere for the multitudes to readbecause they'll surely want toand share in the remarkable triumphs your clever characters have fought to overcome!

But you can't simply give your hard work away... even though you long to do just that.  I mean, what about your goal to profit off your books?  You've spent years putting them together, hoping someday to live the dream of supporting yourself as a novelist!  All that work... all that time... and you just want to give it away?

Ah heck, why not?

I'll admit that when I complete a writing project, all I really want is for someone to read it. Just read it! Take it in. Experience the story I crafted. That's why I always post beginning book chapters on my author blog. That's why two years ago I started writing online stories available for free. I add new chapters annually to my developing adventures, a tradition I look forward to.

How did this ritual begin? A few Halloweens back I had the idea to write a short story for a friend who happens to be a fanatic when it comes to All Hallows Eve. I wrote the story and titled it The Tarishe Curse. It was posted on Halloween 2012. My friend loved it! *Whew* And as far as I was concerned, the task (and the tale) was over.

But then she asked, "What happens next?"
What do you mean? The story ended. Well, sort of. But a good imagination can take it from there. However...

An idea was planted in my head—an idea I fell in love with. Why not write a story online for everyone to read? A story that develops into something greater every year! Yeah, why not? And so I did.

You can read it for free and anticipate more to come. Perhaps consider adding this to your holiday traditions.


 

This is a developing online book with new chapters added every Halloween.

Catherine fights every Hallows Eve to protect her village from creatures of the night. She has sworn to avenge the deaths of loved ones, but a witch's curse may prove a stumbling block impossible to overcome.

"A thrilling piece of fantasy fiction from the Queen of Werefolk's point of view. It is challenging enough for Duvalla and Kresh to protect their young family in a world of Hallows Eve creatures, but such a feat proves near impossible when a witch bent on vengeance against the werewolves casts a Tarishe curse that manipulates both heart and mind. The fight is not only with the sword but an internal struggle to love the ones Duvalla has sworn under a spell to hate, and hate the one who through evil enchantment manipulates her heart."

And please share! Leave your reaction; write a review; talk to others about it. Talk to ME about it! I write to entertain―myself first and then others.


Copyright 2014 Richelle E. Goodrich


Monday, May 5, 2014

Fun Rules for Writers

Writing is an odyssey.    
For some it is a pleasurable wandering.
For others it is an arduous and deliberate trek.  
The writing process often develops into a longer, more serious quest than intended, but the end results can be highly rewarding.
In any case, it helps to seek out ways to improve performance and in the process lighten the pressures and anxieties commonly associated with the conditions of writing.  And if a little cheerful relief comes from establishing a few fun and clever guidelines for the trade, then all the more reason to smile and read on....


I believe those addicted to the pen can relate to my following rules for writing:  


#1 - Don't listen to anyone but the voices in your head.  
       They know how the story is supposed to go.


#2 - If a word you need doesn't exist, make it up.  Readers will intuit what it means; most won't realize it's not a real word.  
       Some examples I've personally penned: 
       chameleonesque, selfishism, hobbitish, stompled, unwakeable, unicorned.


#3 - Following two-thousand literary agents on Twitter will result in none of them following you.


#4 - A few very terrible words that writers should never really use to live a suddenly awesome happily ever after.
  • very
  • really
  • suddenly
  • that
  • awesome
  • amazing
  • terrible
  • deadline
  • sequel
  • once upon a time
  • happily ever after
  • a dark and stormy night
  • as soon as I finish this
  • plagiarized


#5 - Accept that you are mental.  There is evidence that this is true.
  • You chose to be a writer of your own free will.
  • You make up bizarre worlds inhabited by extraordinary creatures who face unrealistic odds and challenges daily (if not hourly) the whole while engaged in clever character banter.  
  • The before-mentioned worlds live and breathe in your head, abusing an excessive amount of plot twists... even when you're not writing. 
  • People constantly look at you funny, wondering how your brain works.


#6 - Memorize these responses.  Recite them as needed.
  • I thought deadlines were fictionallike a death curse conjured up by the god of the underworld.
  • It's a story.  It's not real.  (Make sure to cross your fingers when you say this.)
  • I would love to donate a piece for free, but then the characters in my head might start screaming that I'm neglecting them, and I can't afford medication for the migraines.
  • No, I am not just staring at a blank screen.  It's called exercising your mental muscle before the marathon. 
  • The almighty agent forced me *at sword point* to edit that part.
  • You wouldn't understand; you're not a writer.


#7 - Never comment on negative reviews (without first logging out and then logging in under your super secret identity.)



#8 - Always jot down inspiration the moment you have it.  This is a must!  Like a bolt of lightning, a muse moment will flash brilliant and then be gone... for~ev~er.
Here are common articles you can write with when normal note-taking devices are unavailable:  
  • crayons, paint, coal, ashes, condiments in squirt bottles, dark juice or jello (and a paint brush), melted chocolate, frosting, blood
Here are articles that can be used as parchment in a pinch:
  • napkins, toilet paper, newspapers, business cards, menus, a child's coloring book (she doesn't need it as much as you), candy wrappers, tortillas, bread slices, an arm, a hand, a leg, a sleeve, eyeglass lenses, book jackets, the back of your date's shirt.

#9 - Publishers, editors, agents, filmmakers, readers, and other writers are not your best friends.  Your best friends live in your head.  Everyone else is out to get you.


#10 - Write about what you knowotherwise look it up on the internet.


#11 - Construct personality-trait outlines for every character in your book. Include descriptions of style and appearance, mannerisms, frequently uttered expressions, and individual tics or quirks. Ask friends and family members to behave like these characters for the purpose of establishing realism. Call it research.


#12 - If everyone but you esteems your written work as excellent, it is not a success. If no one but you esteems your written work as excellent, it is not a success. If characters from your book ask you to read the finished work over and over again, applauding after each reading, consider it a success.


#13 - Every rule for writing adhered to by outstanding authors has a completely opposite rule supported by equally outstanding authors. (To deal with this, refer to rule #1.)

Tuesday, January 21, 2014

Do You Have the Passion?

I read a writer's blog the other day and was impressed by the talent I discovered in samples of a murder mystery piece.  It was enjoyable to read what was offered.  It was shocking, however, to find in the last entry an adamant statement regarding the writer's work. 

'I quit on my novel.'  Point blankno excuses. 

How sad.


So, I wrote her a message, one that might help others who stand on the brink of that high cliff called I Quit.  Are you so sure you want to jump? 
Perhaps you should fill your name in the blank.

"You,_________, have talent in writing, that is clear. But what I sense is a novelist's dream detached from real love for the work.


Let me be bold here, not to bruise feelings but to help you face your desires full on.  It seems your attitude towards writing is more like that of a spectatora hopeful soul thrilling in the race from the sidelines, mostly glorying in the idea of crossing that coveted finish line but without stepping foot on the track.  Do you dare join the harried sprint, to sweat and struggle and sacrifice things of worth, to risk being knocked onto your butt, laughed at or pitied for attempting to compete with experienced performers and risk everything only to find yourself the least of the pack?


It is a gamble: following a dream. To be one small and perhaps weak voice among millions. That is precisely why you must LOVE the work.


I write because in all my life I have found no other venture that consumes me with the same fierce desire. I am a storyteller at heart. Like hunger, the need to put fantasy into words controls my appetite continually throughout each and every day. I yearn to share my daydreamed adventures, and I hope (as well as pray) to live long enough to scribble out every last story swirling about in my head. Writing is my passion. Succeeding as a novelist, minor successes even, drives my daily choices and actions.


So the questions you must ask yourself are these: Do I crave opportunities to write? Is writing my driving force or simply a hobby and a pleasant way to fill the time? Does the desire to write push me to the point of sacrificing other activities of arguable importance? Would you give up your lunch hour just to scratch out one more really good paragraph? And perhaps the best test of all—would your family ever accuse you of being obsessed with the work?


I love this quote by Leon Uris - "'Who here wants to be a writer,' I asked. Everyone in the room raised his hand. 'Why the hell aren't you home writing?' I said, and left the stage."


I dare you to feel toward writing as you do toward whatever activity wins your free time. Or... perhaps... is it this other distraction that truly sparks your inner drive? Are you an artist, a builder, an athlete, a performer at heart? If you had the choice to describe a love scene through words, or sketch and color it visually, or perhaps act it out on stage, which would excite you to action? And which would cause your shoulders to droop with thoughts of procrastination?


If a desire to write burns in you, try this approach to a new novel. Think up an ending first. Imagine those last touching moments in a movie, the final chapter of a book so consuming you neglected all else to finish it in two days. Envision this great ending (you don't have to know the plot yet) and play it out a few times in your imagination. Give the characters mental faces and names. Then write the ending to this masterful story. If you are awed by your own ending to the book, then in my opinion you are more than halfway there.


It is building castles in the sky! Now, all you have to do is put foundations under them. Or in other words, write towards that amazing ending. It will steer your characters' choices all throughout the creation of the book. For me, it has always been an effective way to write because it assures where the story is headed and where the finish line has been drawn. That is how I write—with the end determined first, my goal clearly in sight.


I wish you the best of luck in whatever dream you pursue. The difficult part is choosing where to focus your efforts when you are obviously gifted in more than one creative area. God has blessed you with talents that you have been faithful in developing.  But, do not fail to do something daily to move toward your goal, even if it means writing only one sentence. You will be amazed by how quickly those simple sentences accumulate into an impressive accomplishment! 


Small steps.  You can do it!  There is no need to quit.



Sunday, June 2, 2013

A Tormented Writer



" I long for a writer's soul
sealed in ink on the page."


Someone described a writer's world as tormented, and I had to laugh. A tormented writer? I wouldn't have put those two words together.

Emotions have the power to torment a soul, yes, I agree to that. But writers, through the formation of our characters, delve so often into the depths of a vast range of emotions that we earn the advantage. For we've examined every little thrumming, fracture, spark, pang, and darkening of the heart to a point that we recognize and appreciate the necessity and strength of emotions as well as the cause and effects manipulating them.

We anticipate.
We envision.
We understand.

Our knowledge is power over the torment of emotional ignorance.
I would suggest that those truly tormented are the readers of our works because those poor souls shall never know with such clarity and sentiment all the tiny details that make our characters breath, move, and live before our very eyes.

Perhaps, if torment does lurk among writers, it comes simply through knowing more about an imagined friend than can ever be adequately expressed in words.



"There is nothing to writing.
All you do is sit down at a typewriter and bleed."

Friday, January 18, 2013

Writer's Nightmare

"A daydreamer is a writer 
just waiting for pen and paper."
~ Richelle E. Goodrich

Where do stories come from?  How does an author conjure up new adventures, new characters, and realities that seem to peel off the printed page?  How do they engage the reader's imagination so effectively?  And how is it that so many diverse tales even exist, with more scribbled out daily to add to a truly endless library? 

The fact that billions of unique people enter and leave this world (and perhaps other worlds) is proof that at least that many unique stories are possible.  But how do authors think up these wild tales?  Though this is a frequently asked question, there is no single answer--no perfect process.

Some say that artistic insight is granted by the Muses, and that it can be robbed from a writer by the same beautiful goddess of inspiration.  Others account for creativity by calling it talent--a gift from God that improves with use.  There's also the thought that inspiration is whispered influence from ghosts of past poets and authors.  And still others attribute an unsettled mind or unbridled imagination as the spring of creative writing.  Genius?  Madness?  Delusions?  Dreams?  Or the gift of an enchanted pen?



I believe...  " Artistry exists in everyone.  What makes it blossom is a soul's personal desire to find an outlet for expression." 
~ Richelle E. Goodrich

In the same way that people are not born with identical characteristics, writers are not inspired in the same fashion, nor for the same reasons.  Some require outside stimuli to spark a creative flame, needing environmental immersion in music or softy-whispered poetry.  Some prefer to be surrounded by panoramas of artwork, collectibles, or a library of favorite books where every glance is tied to memories that act as prompts for fresh ideas.  

Many writers read incessantly for inspiration, taking in a wealth of finely-narrated stories, allowing these adventures to swirl and blend in their subconscious until new ideas emerge, borrowed from proven talent.  Still other authors formulate their best stories from everyday experiences; adopting the hobby of 'people watching' in order to develop realistic and colorful characters.  They often write in public settings--at a central table or hidden in a corner--to observe human interactions when not engaged in furious bouts of writing.  Some books are simply the result of adoration for another being's existence.  


Then there are artists, like myself, who work best in the absence of stimuli, craving peace and utter silence.  Perhaps this is because of being easily distracted.  Or because imagination treads as warily and timidly as its mistress, willing to abandon inhibitions only in solitude.  Or, perhaps it is that silence allows the whispers of muses to reach the ear, while stillness invites the gentle hand of divine inspiration.  



"Some build their castles 'mid thunderbolts and fireworks.  
My worlds take shape in silence."
~ Richelle E. Goodrich

And that brings me to another place of serenity where many have been inspired to write.  I speak of the extraordinary realm of dreams.  Whether hypnotized by a vivid daydream or overcome by sleep, raven to the winds of fantasy, the creative process sprouts wings within a disencumbered mind.  Imagination runs wild, as they say, because nothing is absurd or unreal or nonsensical in Dreamland.  Dreams innocently grasp the possibility of anything!  The trick is - during that hazy state between slumber and cognizance - to quickly memorize the performance before it evaporates in the light of reason.

Regardless of the circumstances and means for artistic creativity, all authors will agree that when immersed in the process, writing is a passionate experience.  The hours spent forming a written work can make one obsessive, distracted, compulsive, and neurotic even, especially when it comes to those rare, precious occasions of streaming pure inspiration.  To have a muse moment interrupted - to watch her scuttle back into hiding with unshared insight remaining on the tip of her tongue - is a wicked irritation.  When a writer's eyes glaze over, when she stares off at nothing or appears to be memorizing the lines on a blank page, when she falls asleep at the desk.......tiptoe softly.  For a writer's greatest desire is to receive inspiration; her greatest nightmare, to have tossed to the wind what could've been captured in words.  





WRITER'S NIGHTMARE
By Richelle E. Goodrich


I felt a grip on my arm that shook my body, forcefully pulling me toward a tunnel of darkness. The threat of consciousness stole my steady breath. For a moment I believed myself to be under siege; ripped from the sky in mid flight, my wings useless against the monstrous claws shredding my reality. I struggled to remain, to be left alone, aloft. Reaching with wings that through the power of imagination were suddenly feathered arms, I grabbed at the air. My hands clutched at something solid. Wooden. A desk. My head spun as I held the furniture, suffering the illusion of falling.

"I was flying," I gasped, realizing suddenly that it had all been a dream. "My best fantasy ever."

Lifting my head from its resting spot on the writing desk, I worked mentally to secure the fading images, hoping to capture their essence to memory before they faded away forever. Bitterness tainted my heart against the hand that had jerked me into sensibility. Why was I always so callously awakened while doing my best work? Why not let me dream?



What no (spouse) of a writer can ever understand is 
that a writer is working when he's staring out of the window.  
~Burton Rascoe