“How crazy it would beif the moon did spinand the earth stood stilland the sun went dim!How absolutely ludicrousif snakes could walkand kids could flyand mimes did talk!How silly it would beif the nights were tanand the mornings greenand the sun cyan!How totally ridiculousif horses chirpedand spiders sangand ladies burped!How shocking it would beif the dragons ruledand the knights were dopesbut the fish were schooled!How utterly preposterousif rain were dryand snowflakes warmand real men cried!I love to just imagineall the lows as heights,and the salty, sweet,and our lefts as rights.Perhaps it is incredibleand off the hook,but it all makes sensein a storybook!”
Copyright 2015
Friday, April 17, 2015
In a Storybook
Wednesday, March 25, 2015
Sneak Peak at Illustrations
It's
always exciting the closer I get to the end of
creating a new book. The truth is, my latest manuscript has been stored
on my hard drive for a few months now. You might wonder what I've been
waiting for, letting it sit to gather virtual cobwebs. Well, I had an
itch to include illustrations with this adventure; I imagined introducing every
chapter with an intriguing picture. And I've been working diligently at
the task, sketching out scenes in black-and-white for 'Secrets of a
Noble Key Keeper'. Only
three illustrations remain to be finished, and I'm hoping the final one will be
done in a few short weeks. After that, I will happily turn the book over
for publication. Yeah!
Secrets of a Noble Keykeeper is about a curious, young man whose calling it is to guard the gates of his homeland. As keykeeper of Dreamland, Gavin meets many outsiders referred to by his people as dreamers. Through a variety of bizarre and creative antics, Gavin steers these roaming trespassers away from the borders of his magical world—a world where ogres bowl for their dinner and pirates sail the clouds to plunder diamonds from the night's sky and bubbleberries make a person burp out loud. It is a place where anything imaginable is commonplace. All the while, the young keykeeper finds himself increasingly intrigued by stories of the outside world. Snooping about, he is captivated by a dreamer who peaks his interest in the ordinary.This book is supplemental to Dandelions: The Disappearance ofAnnabelle Fancher.
I’m finding it sooooo hard to wait and wait and wait to share my accomplishment. Like a kid, I want to hold up my work in front of willing eyes and eagerly chirp, “Look at what I did!”
So, why wait?
How about a
sneak peak at a few of the drawings I intend to include in the tale of our young
keykeeper from Dreamland. I'll tempt you with just a handful. Maybe let me know
which one you like best. Enjoy.
Look at
what I did!!!
The Red Dagger |
Ogre Bowl |
Chess in the Void |
Prince Lyarg
|
Wednesday, March 11, 2015
My Quote in an Oxford Textbook
May
I share something truly neat that happened to me?
Okay......so, I recently received this Oxford
textbook in the mail.
It's
a course companion for a philosophy class. No, I'm not taking a class at
Oxford (I wish) and neither are my sons (not yet anyway.) I was actually
aware the book would eventually be shipped to me—a free copy provided by the
wonderful people who put it together—and I was oh so excited to receive it!
The very first thing I did, of course, was open up the pages to chapter seven, entitled, 'Identity.' Now why in the world would I rush to do that?
Because my quote is printed
on the first page introducing the chapter!
How cool is that?
Yes, I'm
feeling pretty happy. It’s kind of a neat thing to see my words printed
in an Oxford textbook along with my website typed in a footnote (www.harrowbeth.com.) And concluding
the chapter, my name among references cited!
Silly me to be so excited, but I am.
Thanks for taking a moment to smile with me.
Tuesday, February 24, 2015
The Devil's Rose
You would never take a rose from a beast. If his callous hand were to hold out a scarlet flower, his grip unaffected by pricking thorns, you would shrink from the gift and refuse it. I know that is what you would do.
But the cunning beast will have his beauty.
He hunts not in hopeless pursuit, for fear would have you sprint all the day long. Thus, he turns toward the shadows and clutches the rosebud, crunching and twisting until every delicate petal is detached. One falls not far from your feet, and you notice the red spot in the snow.
The color sparkles in the sunlight, catching your curious eye. No beast stands in sight; there is nothing to fear, so you dare retrieve the lone petal. The touch of temptation is velvet against your thumb. It carries a scent you bring to your nose, and both eyes close to float on a cloud of perfume.
As your lashes lift, another scarlet drop stains the snow at a near distance. A glance around perceives no danger, and so your footprints scar the snowflakes to retrieve another rosy leaflet as soft and sweet as the first. Your eye shine with flecks of golden greed at the discovery of more discarded petals, and you blame the wind for scattering them mere footprints apart. All you want is a few, so you step and snatch, step and snatch, step and snatch.
Soon, there is enough velvet to rub against your cheek like a silken kerchief. Your collection of one-plus-one-more reeks of floral essence.
Distracted, you jump at the sight of the beast in your path. He stands before his lair, grinning without love. His callous hands grip at thorns on a single naked stem, and you look down at your own hands that now cup his rose. But how can it be? You would never take a rose from a beast. You would shrink from the gift and refuse it.
He knows that is what you would do.
― Richelle E. Goodrich
Copyright 2015 Richelle E. Goodrich
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
Friday, January 9, 2015
Discouragement, Fear, & Depression
“
Discouragement, fear, and depression—
three villains who lurk in the dark.
They slip inside souls with a blindfold and goals
to shatter your dreams and extinguish your spark.
three villains who lurk in the dark.
They slip inside souls with a blindfold and goals
to shatter your dreams and extinguish your spark.
Their tactics are highly effective.
They crush a great many each day.
And under their spell it is easy to dwell
On fiascoes and failures that end in dismay.
They crush a great many each day.
And under their spell it is easy to dwell
On fiascoes and failures that end in dismay.
The heart and the mind are left heavy.
The last speck of will is erased.
And nothing stays on when these villains are gone
but a mouthful of bile with the bitterest taste.
The last speck of will is erased.
And nothing stays on when these villains are gone
but a mouthful of bile with the bitterest taste.
Alas! You must conquer the scoundrels!
Elude, dodge, and keep them at bay!
To feel fear slink in, boring under your skin,
is a sign that his brothers are well on their way.
Elude, dodge, and keep them at bay!
To feel fear slink in, boring under your skin,
is a sign that his brothers are well on their way.
So reach for your weapons against them!
Take hope and hard work in each hand!
Strap faith on your hips and a prayer on your lips
and show those debasers how firmly you stand!
Take hope and hard work in each hand!
Strap faith on your hips and a prayer on your lips
and show those debasers how firmly you stand!
Discouragement, fear and depression;
the truth should be known of these cads.
They’re empty and weak; it is your strength they seek.
Deny them and life is your wish in the bag.
”the truth should be known of these cads.
They’re empty and weak; it is your strength they seek.
Deny them and life is your wish in the bag.
Thursday, January 1, 2015
Gratitude is Medicine
My New Year's Eve was the worst ever.
I felt like the crud under cow herder's shoes, having cried my fair share of tears the past few days. My husband was seriously hurt in a car accident―a wreck that kept him in the hospital for five days, me at his side. It was wrong; it was just wrong. For crying in the night, he's the seasoned emergency responder who saves other people in car wrecks!
Life is so not fair. I have been repeating these words as if the fact were some profound epiphany. This whole thing sucks lemons. And so for New Year's Eve, all I could think about was how awful, how dreadful 2015 was destined to be.
It seems traditionally we bring in every new year with eager optimism, making grand goals, having great expectations that excite us to action from day one. We stand at the threshold, hopeful. But this year, day one kindled no such hope or excitement for me, only a bleak sigh at the unavoidable uphill climb ahead.
It's easy to stew in a pot of "woe is me"―a salty stock made from my own tears. Nearly lost his life. Stapled and stitched together, his mobility hampered by injury. Bedrest, the doctors say. No work. An active guy forced to stop and wait for bones and flesh to heal.
What a dismal way to start off the new year. Life is so not fair.
January 1st, the sun rose as always. My spirits did not. I got up and went about helping my husband to carefully rise and strap on a sturdy back brace. Pain killers are administered every four hours; it hurts otherwise. He paused to thank me for my help, for my aid and assistance throughout the past hard week. This John Wayne of a man thanked me with tears in his eyes. I felt a warm ray of sunlight in my chest at his expression of gratitude, and I too was grateful. I was grateful to hear him say those words to me; he does not say them often.
I was affected by feelings of gratitude amid tragedy. The idea made me contemplate how we have things in this situation to be grateful for:
I felt like the crud under cow herder's shoes, having cried my fair share of tears the past few days. My husband was seriously hurt in a car accident―a wreck that kept him in the hospital for five days, me at his side. It was wrong; it was just wrong. For crying in the night, he's the seasoned emergency responder who saves other people in car wrecks!
Life is so not fair. I have been repeating these words as if the fact were some profound epiphany. This whole thing sucks lemons. And so for New Year's Eve, all I could think about was how awful, how dreadful 2015 was destined to be.
It seems traditionally we bring in every new year with eager optimism, making grand goals, having great expectations that excite us to action from day one. We stand at the threshold, hopeful. But this year, day one kindled no such hope or excitement for me, only a bleak sigh at the unavoidable uphill climb ahead.
It's easy to stew in a pot of "woe is me"―a salty stock made from my own tears. Nearly lost his life. Stapled and stitched together, his mobility hampered by injury. Bedrest, the doctors say. No work. An active guy forced to stop and wait for bones and flesh to heal.
What a dismal way to start off the new year. Life is so not fair.
January 1st, the sun rose as always. My spirits did not. I got up and went about helping my husband to carefully rise and strap on a sturdy back brace. Pain killers are administered every four hours; it hurts otherwise. He paused to thank me for my help, for my aid and assistance throughout the past hard week. This John Wayne of a man thanked me with tears in his eyes. I felt a warm ray of sunlight in my chest at his expression of gratitude, and I too was grateful. I was grateful to hear him say those words to me; he does not say them often.
I was affected by feelings of gratitude amid tragedy. The idea made me contemplate how we have things in this situation to be grateful for:
- Survival. A rear-end collision at 50-60 mph managed to crumple his truck like an aluminum can, but my husband survived.
- No one was in the truck with him―no child crushed in the back seat.
- His injuries, though painful and timely to heal, are expected to mend. He was nearly killed, but not. He was nearly paralyzed, but not.
- A great many friends and family have reached out to support us. They have stopped by for unexpected visits at the hospital and at home, offered words of encouragement over the phone, posted kind sentiments on Facebook, brought meals to us, offered assistance at any time of the day, held us firmly with hugs, whispered earnest prayers―all of it a heartwarming reminder that friends make every bit of difference in life.
- We have learned that laughter is a better painkiller than any narcotic.
- At the hospital, I crossed paths with many a stranger who proved to me that kindness and compassion are still strong in the world. I also realized that misfortune is a shared truth; everyone has an emotional, true story to tell.
My eyes still sting with tears, and weariness lingers in my bones, but I have decided that a year beginning with an uphill challenge has the potential to reap more rewards than I first thought. Perhaps 2015 will be a year of improved health, closer friendships, greater wisdom... and a new truck."Gratitude is medicine for a heart devastated by tragedy. If you can only be thankful for the blue sky, then do so." — Richelle E. Goodrich (Smile Anyway: Quotes, Verse, & Grumblings for Every Day of the Year)
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