Tuesday, November 17, 2015
Monday, November 9, 2015
That There Indomitable Spirit
Across
from campus there’s a wooden bench that sits beneath a cluster of cherry trees. From there one can look to the right and see
a dignified university decorated with red brick and crème lattice. On the left, a new playground sits in the
middle of a green park, popular among children who giggle and shriek as if
silliness were their universal tongue.
I found the
bench, my favorite reading spot, occupied that afternoon by an older gentleman
in a black ball cap. The gold insignia above
the bill was a badge denoting some military cavalry. His smile was a more powerful draw for my
attention; he seemed to be enjoying the nice spring weather.
I took a
seat on the far end of the bench, a couple spaces down from him. He appeared lost in thought when I glanced
his way, mesmerized by the youthful scene taking place a distance out on the
playground.
“So, what’ve
you been up to today, son?”
I squinted
at the man, a bit startled by his raspy voice, uncertain if his question was
meant for me. There was really no one
else within earshot.
“Um…” It was the most intelligent answer I could
manage in my befuddled state.
The old
man twisted his neck to look at my face.
His wrinkled smile stretched even farther as he waited patiently for me
to provide a better answer to his question.
I fumbled around with a physiology textbook and placed it in my lap.
“Well, I
uh…” I thought back to the beginning of
my day and rehearsed it for him. “I woke
up late this morning and had to hurry to my seminary class—drove two miles on
an empty tank of gas. Luckily my old Ford
manages pretty far on fumes. Then, after
class, I purchased breakfast from a vending machine before hustling to take a grueling
calculus test.”
“You a
math major?” the man asked.
I shook
my head. “No, sir, not really. Pre-med.
But I’m good at math. My other
classes are organic chemistry and human physiology.” I lifted up the textbook in my lap as proof.
The old
man nodded. “You a lucky young
fella. A religious boy?”
I
gestured affirmatively. “I wouldn’t drag
myself out of bed at five o’clock every morning to attend seminary if I wasn’t,
I suppose.”
“I s’pose
not,” the man agreed. “Did you fight for
your seat in that class?”
“Fight?”
I repeated, confused.
“You pay
for it?”
“Oh….no,
no, no. Seminary’s free of charge. Anyone can attend if they care to rise before
the sun and sanity.”
The old
man chuckled, but I got the feeling it wasn’t because he found me funny. Then he went on to make an
announcement, pointing a finger at my nose as if it
were important.
“That
there religion—that’s Andy Shindler’s right arm.”
I waited
for an explanation, but none came.
“Oh,” I
finally breathed and opened up my textbook.
There was a section on facial muscles I needed to read. Another odd question hit my ear before I
could find the right chapter.
“Someone
force you to go to school? They makin’
you learn what’s in that book?”
“Um,
no. No, sir, I’ve always wanted to be a
doctor. I chose to take this class.”
Again, a rigid finger was pointed at me.
“Hmm. That there choice—that’s James Kennedy’s legs,
both of ‘em.”
I tried
not to look at the man as if he were talking crazy, but….
“Oh,” I
nodded.
“And that
there book—” His stern finger nearly
reached to touch the colorful skull painted on the front cover. “—that’s Donald Maccaby’s left eye. Lost his left ear too.”
“From a
book accident?” I couldn’t help but
ask. I imagined a shelf in the library
falling over, the edge hitting an unsuspecting man named Donald Maccaby in the
face. Ouch.
The crazy
old man chuckled again. He didn’t answer
me but kept right on talking.
“I call
all this here Willy Whitman’s.” His
pointing finger gestured to our surroundings, mostly to the campus at the right
of us. I wondered then if the guy was
lost.
“Sir,
that’s not Whitman College. It’s the
University of Washington.”
The old
man looked at me, smiling, staring patiently as if I were actually the lost one. But I attended classes in those buildings
every weekday; I was quite certain of the name of my own university.
I’d about
decided to bury my head in my book and ignore the gawking madman when his
features fell. The smile that had
appeared pinned from ear to ear collapsed, and his twinkling blue eyes glazed
over, dull and sober. His next words
were not that of a madman at all, rather those of a wise, seasoned soldier.
“Andy
Shindler, James Kennedy, Donald Maccaby, William Whitman—they were all privates
who years ago served overseas under my command.
Those men made great sacrifices in war.
Lost limbs and other body parts.
In William’s case, his life. Their
sacrifices—their losses—paid for the rights you and I and all these here people
take for granted. The right to religion
and school and books and writin’ and speakin’ and makin’ choices that freedom
allows us to make. That’s why every time
I see a token of such freedoms, I think of my old friends. They are
those freedoms, son. They spilled blood
for ‘em, so you may as well call ‘em by their rightful names—Andy, James,
Donald, William, Logan, Jacob, Ryan, Michael, and thousands more valiant soldiers. Don’t you ever forget it.”
My head
bowed, humbled. I finally
understood.
“I won’t
forget,” I promised.
“Good
boy.”
The man’s
smile returned as bright as ever. I
closed the pages lying open on my lap.
“Sir, may
I ask your name?”
He seemed
pleased by the request and immediately shared it with me.
“Henry
Starr, First Air Cavalry.”
I pointed
to the throng of children twirling, jumping, and running on a green expanse of
American soil without a care or fear in the world.
“That
there indomitable spirit—that’s Henry Starr.”
Friday, October 30, 2015
Here's Your All Hallows Eve Treat
Having received more than one request for the newest chapters in The Tarishe Curse to be posted a day early because...
"Halloween is too filled with festivities; there's no time to read."
"I'm torn between wanting to curl up on the sofa and read vs getting into costume to go out with friends"
"I hate trying to speed read so I can be done before trick-or-treating starts."
I've sucumbed to these valid arguments. So, this chilly autumn day preceding All Hallow's Eve, I give you the next installment of the Queen of Werefolk's harrowing story.
But first, for those new to our holiday tradition, allow me to fill you in...
A few years back I thought it would be fun to write a short Halloween story for my friend, Cathie, who happens to be the holiday's biggest fan. I posted my completed work on my blog—a grim tale about the cursed Queen of Werefolk—and let Cathie know to read it.
She did.
And then she asked, "So, what's the rest of the story?"
Uh….what? The rest? You mean, you want to know what happens next? Well, I don't know; I meant for it to end.
"You should extend the story for next Halloween."
The idea appealed to me. So I wrote more about the werewolves, their enemies and challenges, and posted the result the following Halloween. That day a tradition was born. Ta-dah! Read from the beginning by clicking here.
Now, sit back and enjoy what happens next...
Dedicated to my friend, Cathie Duvall,
Tuesday, October 27, 2015
Countdown to Halloween—Newly Posted Chapters of The Tarishe Curse!
Is your skin crawling with notions of what's in store for the queen of werefolk?
Uh―waiting, that is.
The newest chapters of
The Tarishe Curse
will be posted in a few days! A sneak peek, you say? I love sneak peeks! How about a tempting taste of what's to come? Enjoy these excerpts:
"The werewolves’ howling increased in unison, mixed with vicious yapping and the sound of splintering wood echoing from various points outside the gates. I continued screaming out in pain when Baron released my hand—bloody and mangled. He swiped my sword and stepped aside, once again dropping to a knee like a trained monkey.
'I will deal with you next,' the witch warned me in a hiss."
Oh the horror!
The newest chapters of
The Tarishe Curse
will be posted in a few days! A sneak peek, you say? I love sneak peeks! How about a tempting taste of what's to come? Enjoy these excerpts:
“It isn’t always true that a critical end justifies desperate means.”
"The werewolves’ howling increased in unison, mixed with vicious yapping and the sound of splintering wood echoing from various points outside the gates. I continued screaming out in pain when Baron released my hand—bloody and mangled. He swiped my sword and stepped aside, once again dropping to a knee like a trained monkey.
'I will deal with you next,' the witch warned me in a hiss."
“My ears interpreted a mix of nearby voices as calm, friendly, ordinary chatter. With that as background noise, I enjoyed the silent attention of my mate. The way his hand brushed softly over every inch of my bare skin tempted my eyelids to close and my mind to wander, but I kept focused, not wanting to miss a moment of admiring this beautiful man and his seductive, wild look. I felt a flood of emotion set in, born from absolute, interminable love for him. I wished for the voices to cease, for time to halt, for the moment we were living to replay over and over and over again perpetually. The world could have its gain and glory, its vengeance and victories—all I wanted was the enduring love and attention of this man who most assuredly was my soulmate.”
“I drifted off after a while, staring at the only star visible through the thick covering of leaves. Hope seemed a futile wish, but I troubled the lonely star to grant it anyway.”
“Stop it!" I screamed, scrambling to my knees. “Stop your cruelty this instant! Leave them alone! Is vengeance all you know, you awful, haggard, old crone?”
My outburst proved successful at putting a halt to whatever evil had been in motion. The old woman turned her eyes full on me for the first time, looking genuinely shocked by my audacity. I continued to struggle with my bands, desperate to slip free.
“Such insolence, Catherine?”
“That is not my name, you barbarian!”
Have I peaked your curiosity? Good.
See you on Halloween. (Maybe the day before.)
Saturday, October 17, 2015
The Tarishe Curse for your Hallows Eve Pleasure
by American author, Richelle E. Goodrich
Friday, October 2, 2015
My Quotes in Pictures
While on a curious stroll through the internet (a virtual walk guided by Google) I was tickled to find a number of my original quotes posted on websites, tweeted via Twitter, Facebooked, and pinned on Pinterest.
My words have been framed over beautiful scenes that effectively emphasize the spirit of each quote, revealing the marrow of each passage's meaning. As an author, I am pleased. As a human being whose life experiences inspired me to summarize these truths, I am deeply touched. I thought I would share a few visually enriched quotes I stumbled across; they are marvelous!
My words have been framed over beautiful scenes that effectively emphasize the spirit of each quote, revealing the marrow of each passage's meaning. As an author, I am pleased. As a human being whose life experiences inspired me to summarize these truths, I am deeply touched. I thought I would share a few visually enriched quotes I stumbled across; they are marvelous!
Wednesday, September 23, 2015
Saying Goodbye
Saying goodbye is easy. Parting ways is what tears your heart out.
I am thrilled my son, Philip, chose to serve a mission, and I was tickled pink when I learned he would serve in Tokyo, Japan. The truth is, I have been so excited for him that a smile has adorned my face through most of the packing and formalities and preparations... because I have been right there at his side.
This morning he stepped in line to board a plane, and for the first time I could not remain at his side. Saying good luck, farewell, I am proud of you, goodbye; that has been easy because I know he needs to go do this—to learn and to help and to serve and to grow. He is ready. It is all good. But I did not realize that at the moment I had to stop moving forward while he continued walking on through that line and out of my sight (waving graciously to his mom) my heart would claw out of my chest and go with him. It was hard for me to smile. And for the first time, I cried. Really cried. It hurt.
Don't get me wrong, I am still very happy for my son. He is exactly where he should be. And the experience will make him a better person. But I already miss him, and I miss the part of me he took with him.
My son is going to be a great missionary. I know it.
I am thrilled my son, Philip, chose to serve a mission, and I was tickled pink when I learned he would serve in Tokyo, Japan. The truth is, I have been so excited for him that a smile has adorned my face through most of the packing and formalities and preparations... because I have been right there at his side.
This morning he stepped in line to board a plane, and for the first time I could not remain at his side. Saying good luck, farewell, I am proud of you, goodbye; that has been easy because I know he needs to go do this—to learn and to help and to serve and to grow. He is ready. It is all good. But I did not realize that at the moment I had to stop moving forward while he continued walking on through that line and out of my sight (waving graciously to his mom) my heart would claw out of my chest and go with him. It was hard for me to smile. And for the first time, I cried. Really cried. It hurt.
Don't get me wrong, I am still very happy for my son. He is exactly where he should be. And the experience will make him a better person. But I already miss him, and I miss the part of me he took with him.
My son is going to be a great missionary. I know it.
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