Not too long ago my husband and I moved to a small town not far from Richmond. It’s quiet and near three rivers. There are marshes and the land is flat. Both of us are used to rolling hills and mountains, so this is something new.
I have this feeling that a place holds memories and in time will share them with you. My recent writings reflect this phenomenon. I’m working on a story about early English settlements and the natives.
Stories happen. History weaves itself into them.
Glenda Kotchish
Last August, I published a story, “Fireflies”. But it was more than a story. I asked my friend, Chris Semtner about illustrating it—with enough images for an exhibit at Art Works. Chris began work on sketches, then paintings.
Then I asked Addie Barnhart to narrate and Keith Ramsey put the images and voice-overs together and created a film. On opening night at Art Works, the audience saw the paintings, the film and met the cast of characters that made all this possible. The paintings are available online.
The book is available on Amazon.
You can see the video on YouTube
Enjoy.
I’m working a new story. In a way, it’s complete. But I think there is more to it then that which is on paper so far. I’m intrigued by this place where I live. After almost two years of being here, I’m only now discovering it’s secrets and magic. Here’s the opening line of my story
“Granddaughter, you are right. This place, home, feels magical. And it’s not just the memories of play tea parties on the patio with you, or the building of little sand castles here on the beach park. Let me tell you the real story, or a part of it anyway. Interested?”
“Well alright then.”
Once upon a time, this tiny patch of grass and sand, this small slice of shore, where these three rivers merge-
A winter morning walk story. Click.
The house was so quiet yesterday when we lost power. No ticking of clocks. No hum of the frig. Everyone took a nap, waiting for the power to come back on. Here’s a story the day created. Click
I submitted a new story to Narrative Magazine today. I wrote it in October. Here’s a tiny excerpt:
I have the hots for Ava and one of these days, she’s going to get the picture and I am going to make a breakthrough. I don’t know what’s holding Ava back. Well, I do actually. It’s the two big obstacles…
What an evening at Art Works in Richmond, Virginia. In the upstairs gallery, ethereal paintings adorned the walls. There were prints on the table and a stack of small books.
The lights went down in the upstairs gallery. The projector light came on the video “Fireflies” came up. It was a story, then paintings, then voice overs and images combined.
People listened, laughed and at the end clapped.
Thank you Chris Semtner for illustration my story. Addy Burkhead thank you for narrating the story and creating the voice overs. And thank you Keith M. Ramsey for putting the video and voice together. You now have this story memorized, I know!
I’ll post the video here tomorrow! Stay-tuned everyone!.
Glenda
Cast in bronze
Astride your horse, Traveler
While cars circle around you all day
And into the night
You stand tall–a familiar sight
A landmark
A work of art.
Beware.
The memory of you
Has tarnished.
There’s a brand new perspective
Recasting you.
Goodbye
Robert E. Lee
(c) Glenda Kotchish August 15, 2017
Richmond, VA
I’m working on a fairytale.
Each day I write a little. At night, in my thoughts the story takes a new turn, a journey in my mind that I know not where it leads.
At the moment, in my story, I find myself in a beautiful cavern.
Where to tomorrow?
I’m starting a new story. Here’s the first paragraph. Feels magical to me.
Once upon a time…oh what a time it was, far away from here and ages upon ages 
ago, there was a place that had no name. It was so long ago that mountains were three times as tall as they are now having not been worn down by the ravages of time. And rivers, scores of them, rushed through valleys, poured down crevices and disappeared in underground caverns so large that whales traversed these subterranes with ease and used them as birthing places.
© Glenda Kotchish 2017
