So not only did you teach me about writing memoir, you also taught me about reading and thinking about how others write memoir. Thank you so much! Rebecca
Showing posts with label Estelle Rice poet and writer. Show all posts
Showing posts with label Estelle Rice poet and writer. Show all posts

Wednesday, April 22, 2020

Help us Help Others

From now until June 1, Estelle Rice and I are offering our proceeds from the sale of Paws, Claws, Hooves, Feathers and Fins to the Clay County Food Pantry when you order from City Lights Books in Sylva, NC.  This volunteer organization feeds many people and the need is large right not.

City Lights is offering a reduced price for shipping as their way of donating.

Send a book to a friend who is staying home for protection from COVID-19.

Signing books last December - It is a great gift to have on hand for those random times you need one.
Remember a birthday coming up and send this delightful book of stories and poems about domestic pets, dogs, cats, horses and birds.

This is what author Lisa Turner said about our book:

 Evokes those special memories and relationships with our animal friends

"The emotional experiences with our beloved pets are captured in poetic detail and images in these wonderful stories in Paws, Claws, Hooves, Feathers and Fins. Our human lives are so enriched by the special relationships we have with all creatures large and small, and these stories capture this delicate and powerful drama so much that we will enjoy reading them again and again. Highly recommend."

Reviewed in the United States on April 11, 2020

Sunday, August 5, 2018

From 2014, a dog story people seemed to like

Glenda Beall

It was summer and the hot August sun beat down on the fields and pastures surrounding our white frame farmhouse in southwest Georgia.  My sister Gay and I played with our dolls on the covered front porch while Fluffy, a black curly dog near the front screen-door, slept. She had been given to us when she was a puppy, and we loved her. I often buried my face in her soft fur and squeezed her in a tight hug. She licked my face to show me she loved me as well. Wherever Gay and I played, under the huge oak tree beside the house or on the porch, Fluffy was always close by as if she had appointed herself babysitter.

Our playtime was interrupted when Mother rushed out on the porch, grabbed each of us by the arm and hurried us inside.  We were forced to leave our dolls and Fluffy behind.

Being grabbed so quickly and seeing my usually calm mother in such a dither, I cried, “Mother, what’s wrong?”

“There’s a strange dog in the yard.  He looks dangerous. Stay inside until he’s gone," she said.

It was then we saw through the screen door, the large brown dog coming from behind the house.  Mother had noticed him from the kitchen window, his muzzle white with foam, slobber dripping down in long streams. He seemed intent on a mission, looking for a victim.

Mother called to Fluffy, "Come here, come inside, Fluffy."

But Fluffy would not come. Mother did not believe in having pets in the house. Fluffy had never been inside. She ran down the steps heading for the place where she felt secure, her bed under the porch. It was the only refuge she knew.

The strange dog saw her and followed. In minutes we heard Fluffy’s pitiful yelps. I wanted to go to her. I pushed on the screen door, but Mother would not let me open it. I stood safely inside and called Fluffy until she finally came up on the porch. I let out a sigh of relief. I saw no blood. She looked fine to me. I wanted to run out to her and give her a big hug. There was no sign of another dog in the yard.

“He didn’t hurt her, Mother,” I said. “She’s not bleeding or anything.”

Still, Mother insisted we stay inside away from Fluffy who was back on the porch, licking her fur, cleaning herself of the terrible ordeal she had experienced.

My father and brothers came home for the noonday meal, and Daddy examined our friendly pet. He found bite wounds we had not seen. The rabid dog had done the damage. Daddy locked Fluffy in a cage beside the barn. She would be fed and given fresh water as he watched for signs of illness. She was quarantined, a word my sister and I did not know.

Her sad brown eyes begged for our pats and hugs, and when we approached she wagged her bushy tail. But we could only talk to her from a distance and tell her how sorry we were that she had to stay in the cage.  We missed her and every day we asked, “How much longer does she have to stay shut up?”

One day Gay and I went out to visit Fluffy and found the cage shut tight, but our beloved dog was not there.

“Mother, Fluffy’s gone. What happened to her?” I ran inside to the person who always made things right. Tears ran down my cheeks. Somehow I knew she couldn't fix this problem. She seemed as sad as I was, but I couldn't help my anger toward her. If only Fluffy had been an inside pet.

We were little girls and no one wanted to tell us Fluffy had to be euthanized. Daddy said she must have gotten out of the cage somehow. He evidently wanted us to believe she escaped and wondered away. Even today my older brother tells me he doesn't know what happened to our pet.

I knew Fluffy would never have left us. No matter what we were told, Gay and I believed she had been destroyed. I vowed then and there, at the age of six, that when I was grown up and had my own house, I’d have my own dog, and he would sleep in the house and even sleep in my bed so that I could protect him.

We had other dogs as I grew up. They were family pets. Brit was an English Shepherd that was killed when she was run over in our yard by a neighbor kid.  Turbo, a purebred cocker Spaniel, was given to us by an Air Force officer who was going overseas. That was a big mistake. That fine animal deserved a home where he was groomed daily and fed treats, curled up by the fireplace. Instead he ran out and collected sand-spurs and burrs in his lush coat. He went to the field with my brothers and my father. Turbo rode in the pickup and acted like a hound dog. He disappeared one day, and we never saw him again. I always hoped he had found a better place to live.

One week after my wedding day, I was finally able to fulfill the promise I had made to myself. My husband Barry, who also loved dogs, gave me a puppy, a miniature black poodle, that we named Brandy.  This lovable little animal quickly owned our house and both of us. In many ways he looked like Fluffy with his dark curly coat, his deep expressive eyes that could read my mind. For nineteen years I kept him safe in spite of his mischievous ways, his daredevil personality, and his stubbornness. But one afternoon, his old body gave out as he slept in our bedroom. It was raining. Barry was out of town. Alone, I buried him under the trees behind our back yard.

Since that time I've opened my heart to other dogs – Nicki and Kodi, the Samoyeds, so pristine white, always smiling and loving – Rocky, the rescued mix, who was Barry’s dog, but won my heart even as I grieved for Kodi. We protected them well, loved them and they loved us.

Each one had his own personality, his peculiar traits just the way humans do. They all lived long and good lives except for Nicki who died at the age of two from a mysterious malady no one understood. All of them lived in our house and Brandy slept in our bed. The bigger dogs had their own beds or slept wherever they wanted.

Rabies is a terrible disease, and found in wild animals in our area even today. I am grateful that my mother was vigilant enough to protect my sister and me, even if she couldn't save sweet Fluffy.
Did you ever see a rabid animal or have a pet bitten by one?

Paws, Claws, Hooves, Feathers and Fins by Glenda Beall and Estelle Rice will be available early in September. $16.00
Order now and get a discount: Contact for ordering information.

 "Glenda Beall and Estelle Rice have documented that unique companionship offered by our furred, finned, and feathered friends. The community of animal lovers will cheer for the poodle who rode motorcycles, the rabbit that went to college, and all the other remarkable pets in these pages. It’s a pleasure to spend time with these creatures in a book that is funny, poignant, and full of warmth. 
--Carol Crawford, poet, writer, teacher, owner of Carol Crawford Editing

Wednesday, May 16, 2018

Estelle Rice and I read from our forthcoming book at CWPW.

Estelle Rice and I read from our forthcoming book, Paws, Claws, Hooves, Feathers and Fins, today at Coffee with the Poets and Writers. I was delighted to see the large audience and to see that they enjoyed the stories and poems. I read "How to Bridle an Uncooperative Horse" which has been published elsewhere.
Our writing organization, North Carolina Writers' Network - West, is a program of the state organization. We hold free events for the public to attend and to give our members opportunity to share their writing. Each month one of our NCWN-West members is featured. This month it was two featured.

Five of those attending today read at Open Mic, a time on the program when the guests are invited to read original stories or poems. Bob Grove read a humorous story about his mother. Richard Carey read a poem about cicadas.

Why do we need a writing community?

Being a member of a writing community is important for many reasons. Members can meet other writers, they attend critique groups and classes with other writers. A member can befriend someone who will read his stories or poems and give him feedback. In our community of writers, we don't compete with each other. We encourage each other and are happy when someone we know is published or wins an award.

I was taught when I joined NCWN-West twenty years ago, to do what I could to help other writers and they would do the same for me. I still do that today, and I hope new writers who join us now will do the same.

Monday, October 16, 2017

Estelle Rice, my friend and now a widow

Estelle Darrow Rice is a poet, a fiction writer and an essayist. She is also a teacher and retired as a mental health counselor some years ago.

Estelle and her husband, Nevin, have been married 71 years. Now that is a long marriage. Sadly, for the past ten years, Estelle has been the major caregiver for Nevin after he developed Alzheimer's disease.

He and Estelle have known each other since they were in school together. They had a good marriage and raised three girls together.

On Saturday morning, Estelle called to tell me Nevin had died at 6:00 a.m. in bed at home. They went to sleep Friday night holding hands. Doctors had told the family that Nevin would not live more than another day or two. He didn't make it a full day. But before he fell asleep he had thrown kisses to those who cared for him. He was a delightful man, always making people laugh. I will always think of him as loving and caring.

Both of them in their nineties for the past two years, I often wondered if Estelle would be able to continue her patient and loving support. Caregivers had to be hired, and they were life savers for Estelle and Nevin. After a fall that broke Estelle's foot, caregivers were needed round the clock. But her positive attitude and happy smile never quit. She is truly a ray of sunshine to all who know her.

Just last week, my friend, Mary Mike and I took Estelle out in a wheelchair for lunch and then we took her shopping. She had not been out in a store for a long, long time and we had a ball as we shopped together.

We told her today that when everyone went home after the funeral, we would still be here and we would continue to do things together. She wants to take a class at the local college, and I can guarantee she will be attending writing events as long as someone will drive her.

Losing a loved one to Alzheimer's is very hard. But losing him again to death is also hard and she will grieve and mourn his death in the months to come. She will go through the same stages that I and many others have after losing a spouse. Mary Mike and I hope to be there to help smooth the way when we can.

Author of a poetry chapbook and many published poems and short stories, Estelle Rice

Sunday, August 10, 2014

Article by Lucy Gratton - Rice and Beall read at JCCFS

              On Thursday, August 21, 2014 at 7:00 PM, John Campbell Folk School and N.C. Writers Network West are sponsoring The Literary Hour, an hour of poetry and prose reading held at Keith House on the JCFS campus. This is being held on the third Thursday of the month unless otherwise notified.  The reading is free of charge and open to the public.  Writers Estelle Rice and Glenda Beall will be the featured readers, both of whom are well established poets in the mountain area. 

Estelle Rice, author of Quiet Times, a book of poetry, is a well-published writer whose short stories have appeared in The Appalachian Heritage Journal, the Journal of Kentucky Studies, and in anthologies and magazines, including Lights in the Mountains and Echoes Across the Blue Ridge.

She is a native North Carolinian, born in Rock y Mount and raised in Charlotte. She now lives in Marble, NC. Estelle received her BA in psychology from Queens University in Charlotte and a MA in counseling from the University of South Alabama. She is a retired Licensed Professional Counselor. Although she is a full-time caregiver for her husband now, she still attends writing workshops and continues to create poems and stories. Her poetry has been published in The Back Porch, the Freeing Jonah series and others.
Estelle has been a member of  the North Carolina Writers’ Network West for many years and has endeared herself to her friends and co-writers alike.


Glenda Beall’s poems, essays and short stories have been published in numerous literary journals and magazines including, Reunions Magazine, Main Street Rag, Appalachian Heritage, Muscadine Lines: A Southern Journal, The Dead Mule, School of Southern Literature and Wild Goose Poetry Review. Her poems have been anthologized in Lights in the Mountains, The Best of Poetry Hickory Series, 2011, Kakalak: North Carolina Poets of 2009, and Women’s Spaces, Women’s Places, among others.

Glenda enjoys writing articles for newspapers on subjects that are important to her such as indoor air pollution and spaying and neutering pets. She supports animal rescue shelters with her articles. She  taught memoir writing at John C. Campbell Folk School for several years. She also teaches writing at Tri-County Community College.

Glenda served as program director of North Carolina Writers’ Network West in 2007 and 2008, and is now Clay County Representative for NCWN West.  Glenda is author of  NOW MIGHT AS WELL BE THEN, poetry published by Finishing Line Press, and she compiled a family history,  PROFILES AND PEDIGREES, THOMAS CHARLES COUNCIL AND HIS DESCENDANTS, published by Genealogy Publishing Company.

Glenda is Owner/Director of Writers Circle where she invites those interested in writing poetry or prose to her home studio for classes taught by some of the best poets and writers in the area.  Find her online at and