All posts filed under: creating

Mad Mona, Monarch of Madonia’s Christmas Surprise By Rachael Ritchey

I know better than to answer my phone after nine at night, and on Christmas Eve to boot. I really don’t know what came over me … except as I think on it, I doubt my not answering would have stopped Her Majesty from knocking my door down. It’s not as though anyone else would follow her on one of her hair-brained schemes. Learning to skateboard and royal spaghetti-eating contests in neighboring Pastarea aside, she’s not always a loon, but Queen Mona isn’t lovingly referred to as Mad Mona, Her Majesty of Madonia for nothing. At least I’m not wearing a ridiculous red-checked tablecloth as a cape this time. Still …. “Doyle!” Her Majesty waves me over with a wild sweep of her plump arm, the roundness of the limb enhanced by the down-filled coat I insisted she wear on this winter excursion that is quite against my better judgment. “Doyle! Stop lolly-gagging, you overzealous buffoon.” “Of course, Your Majesty.” I approach her and take the hand she extends to me. Between myself and the …

What They Say: Fiction by Candice Coates

“The only time I want to see a whole lot of red inky letters on paper is when Jesus is talking in my Bible, not when I have to hand you back your manuscript!” Mr. Hopeheld drummed his fingers on his desk, the frustration in his eyes melting into compassion. “Don’t look so chewed up. You and I both know you can do better than this. This,” He stabbed his pointer finger into the tome upon his shiny desktop. “This was a distracted effort of lifeless words and that just isn’t who you are.” The tempered rebuke from Lloyd’s publisher a week ago had nearly given him an ulcer. The sad thing was Mr. Hopeheld was right in all he said. The only problem was that him being right had not helped Lloyd one iota. He’d only told him what he’d already known. Lloyd didn’t believe in writer’s block. The truth was he always had something to say, always had some character whispering in his ears, flashing pictures of their questionable misadventures before his eyes. But …

Handful of Hope: A Short Story & Encouragement

She wanted to see if they could float so with faith she tossed them across the sackcloth that would be the sky and watched as her handful of hope like diamonds suspended themselves and twinkled as stars. She wasn’t the King Creator, nor His Glorious Son, but she was born of His Spirit, and thusly imbued with the authority and call to create. She was learning how to do so with a voice and song uniquely her own, a song she longed to sing to please only His ears. So she tossed up another handful of hope and watched it twinkle and grow in light until the inky darkness bled away yielding to the brilliance of life. The cold uncertainty that had once made her limbs stiff with immobility began to retreat as her being grew warm with the fire of expectation and joy. Handful after handful of hope and dreams and faith jettisoned from her vibrant fingertips and ate away at the dreadful nothing that sought to blanket her with fear. Laughter erupted from her …

I Promise: A Short Story…A Testimony

“They’ll be safe here, I promise.” His smile bloomed like the radiant sun coming from behind a cloud, and with the same tenderness, it warmed her face and bathed her heart with gladness. She exhaled and hoped that the worry lines would ease from between her brow even if she couldn’t stop the fluttering that tickled beneath her chest. It was hard to leave them there. She had done this before so many years ago, but then… Reading her thoughts, His gaze turned tender, His scarred hand kissed the crown of her head before sliding down to cup her cheek. The feel of it washed through her like a gentle summer wind. He whispered again, “I promise.” And the storm within her ceased. She dared to gaze back upon them, the tiny, fragile seedlings that she had planted with hope within this heavenly soil. It was excellent soil, He had told her, and the words bubbled within her belly as if they were a child come to life in her womb. It made her giggle …

Summer Winds: Micro Fiction

The warmth was a blessed reprieve from the chilly winds. The sun shining heat as if its very rays were that which turned the leaves from vibrant green to royal shades of ochre, amber, and red. Fall had definitely arrived but summer was giving its last good-bye, kissing the atmosphere with crystal blue skies and a warm embrace. It was the last dance until the cycle began anew. Fall had taken the stage but danced with the last season to the tune of “Summer Winds.” THE END *Written October 17, 2016

Fall: A Poem & Musing

I love the smokey grey of the sky in Fall The rustling of the leaves Their shifting colors from dark green to orange lights The chill within the breeze I love the scent of fire that moves upon the wind Longer nights and rain that falls The touch of woolen clothing, hoodies, and pumpkins I LOVE IT ALL! Friends, it is a new season, my favorite season! Autumn or Fall. For some, this is a time of seeming woe. A time when life fades and all things slip into darkness. But just like when we have spent our time working hard and producing a job-well-done, at the end of it, we desire a well-deserved rest with (hopefully) the anticipation for something even greater in the day or days to come. Autumn is a season of rest. It is the pause in the moment, the beginning of an intermission right before the symphony of life begins again. The current of Fall comes down up Summer with the vibrancy of fire and ice. Newness is just ahead, …

Second Sight by Rachael Ritchey

The future we see through broken and twisted spectacles There is not sure sight to know the path We trip along, hoping to grasp a rail When in fact, none is to be had Not with our hands, at least Only our hearts can lead For our hearts see what Eyes cannot see Feel what hands do not feel Touch what bone cannot touch Deeper is marrow than that of bone The core of one life is beyond imagining When hearts reach out to search the blindness Our hearts can go to places our bodies are unwilling In the heart lies the soul of a man and desire to love is there Photo by Quentin Lagache on Unsplash *This poem was written by Indie Author, Rachael Ritchey. To read more of her works, including her published pieces, follow her at: rachaelritchey.com Twitter: Rachael Ritchey Facebook: WritingRaci

Wisps & Willow: A Poem

Forested in by sunlight and skin My mind drifts upon dream’s meadow To turning unwind the shackles that bind Through whispers, wisps and willow. The sweet cedar kiss of dew and mist Roll gentle as the thunder Until I awake with the craving ache That tears my heart asunder I’ll heed beck and call forsaking my all For the embrace of wisps and willow. ~Candice Coates *February 2, 2016 Featured Photo by Rebecca Prest on Unsplash  

It All Begins with a Dream

*Article updated from August 25, 2014 “I sleep to dream, I dream to be inspired, and through inspiration, I live. Jesus  is my Inspiration.” ~Candice Coates I came up with that little ditty when I was sixteen or seventeen years old.  It was then that I created the image of myself resting and dreaming yet holding onto the Spirit of Peace.  For years I have been gleaning inspiration from the dreams that I live in each time I lay my head on my pillow at night. But even though I understand the importance of dreaming, I often encounter people who have no concept of dreaming at all. Not only do they shun the concept or idea of dreaming one’s way into a tailor-made future but they scoff at the idea of dreams born out of rest. “…dreaming is the pinnacle of imagination and thus the root of creativity.” What many fail to realize in their efforts to remain ‘practical’ is that dreaming is the pinnacle of imagination and thus the root of creativity. Authentic creativity …