Joseph R. Goodall's Blog, page 2

Raccoon’s Eyes (Publication Link)

Check out my short story Raccoon's Eyes on Litro Magazine's website.

This story went through four different drafts, and with input from several readers I'm happy with how it turned out. It follows a disoriented woman named Julia, who returns to her mother’s house for the first time in decades after a messy breakup. Already reeling from co-dependency and financial woes, Julia is overwhelmed by the reality of her mother’s dementia, which is aggravated by the stirring of nocturnal animals and p...

We Make, We Observe

I know precious little about seeds. But I’m learning to identify the wild plants growing in the open field that stretches between the house I live in and the stream winding through the neighborhood. Aster, jewelweed, woodsorrel, and summer grape all sprang up unbidden this past year after I decided to stop mowing—partially out of busy-ness, but also out of curiosity. Plants which I’d stunted or fought the previous year exerted their brilliant dominance, their seeds dormant in the soil now produ...

Full Immersion (Publication Link)

Here is an excerpt of my new short story, "Full Immersion," which is featured in the first issue of The DeKalb Voices Review. You can read the entire story in the online publication, along with other short stories, essays, and poetry from writers local to DeKalb County, GA. Enjoy!

The summer Granny gave up drinking, her fresh conviction brought a wave of change to our free-range schedule. One Sunday morning before my cousin and I could escape to the mechanic’s junkyard or to the pond behind the...

A Galaxy of Good

There’s a galaxy of good in your existence

Though terror persists and hope seems hidden

There are beautiful patterns aloft in the sky

Even as you await the faithful sunrise

There’s a gaping chasm of fear in your chest

A harrowing valley of death, and yet

There is a strong bridge beyond isolation

A generous stream that brings jubilation

There is a deep joy evil cannot erase

Recuperation in a restorative space

There’s a loving resistance against war and disease

All oppression and vengeance will ...

Beyond the Reach of a Lasso

He steers his brown delivery truck off the highway and down a worn, two-lane road. Several potholes jostle the old vehicle, and he holds on to the dashboard to maintain his balance in the balding leather seat. He passes a red sign prohibiting truck traffic as he follows the GPS toward a residential address. Towering pine trees and colorful mailboxes line the narrow street, but his attention is continually drawn to the blank phone screen laying in the passenger seat.

Occasionally, he is distra...

Who Wore It Better: Barbie or Margaret?

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Forget "Barbenheimer." There was a different movie mashup on my mind this past weekend: "Bargaret." Or "Margarbie?"

Regardless of the name's catchiness (or lack thereof), I noticed many striking parallels between the new “Barbie” movie and another movie from earlier this year: the heartwarming, thought-provoking and surprisingly hilarious film adaptation of the 1970 coming-of-age novel, “Are You There God? It’s Me, Margaret.” While both flicks offer remarkably layered stories, I found "Marg...

Blended Together: On Building Soil and Local Community

The dark gray sky warned of an approaching storm as I drove into the small parking lot sheltered by moss-laden trees. The humid summer air clung to my skin beneath the stuffy business clothes I'd just changed into at a nearby gas station. I trotted up a ramp to a purple wooden porch and ducked into the one-story historic house, a manila envelope with a map of trees clutched under my arm and a stack of business cards in my pocket.

Instead of entering a living room off the porch, I found mysel...

Imperfect, In Progress

Twice over the past several weeks, I have found myself in front of a room of several dozen people, facing a microphone and an audience expecting me to share a personal story. Each time I walked to the stage, I felt a rush of nerves while mulling over my opening line, fretting over how I would end the story and worried my courage to be vulnerable may give out or that I might regret oversharing.

Yet after verbalizing my first thought, I had the gumption to continue to the next beat. Soon a rh...

All Under One Roof

Oftentimes the formative places of our youth shrink as we get older, dimming like a shadow compared to the prestige of their rose-tinted memory. Or they might altogether disappear when the bulldozers arrive to make room for the next iteration of a house or school. Recently, I found the opposite to be true when I stopped by the neighborhood library I frequented from elementary school to college. The building hadn't increased in size, but the magnitude of its impact on my outlook and character cam...

Close Enough to Be Unavoidable

I was in a hurry when I drove past my next-door neighbor's house early Monday morning on my way to work. If I'd been walking, I would have stopped to chat. Anna and I had exchanged pleasantries every month or so the last couple years, our houses on either side of the stream flowing through our neighborhood. We would talk about tackling the vines overtaking the stream banks, gardening, dogs, car repairs and work stress. We even discovered we were born the same year.

Our neighborliness extended b...