Member since October 2026
For almost a decade, Richelle has helped experts, founders and authors shape what they know into cornerstone work: books, methods, programs and the visibility to match. A trusted development partner and a first stop for top literary agents and growing entrepreneurs, she pairs that hands-on work with an insider's view from her years as Hay House's Director of Publicity & Book Marketing, where she saw firsthand which ideas get chosen and why. She brings both to your stage with hands-on workshops and keynotes that help your audience turn deep expertise into more opportunity and lasting impact.
Helping women trust their wisdom and ideas--and teaching them the frameworks that build confidence so they can take action on them. I enjoy speaking to people at career crossroads, perhaps someone leaving the corporate space and looking for what's next. Within the corporate space, I enjoy talking about growing powerful ideas that have the opportunity to create impact. I am also enjoy all sorts of ideation--from methodologies, book ideas, podcast ideas and more!
In 1983, as a bright-eyed, blonde pig-tailed preschooler, I was cast as Rudolph the Red-Nosed Reindeer in the school holiday performance. While too young to remember every detail, I have to imagine there were several rehearsals wrangling small humans in costumes and making sure we could remember our lines and stage directions. On the evening of the show, I took my place in the front of the line, with all the other reindeer children tied behind me. On our cue, we walked out as an attached unit, prepared to sing our hearts out-- and suddenly I panicked. The music wasn’t playing. We were asked to sing without the track. immediately the audience began singing along. What the heck was happening? This was NOTHING like we had rehearsed.
Seeing all those eyes staring back at me from the audience sent me into a stage fright spiral. I turned my head and saw my parents sitting in the front row, proud as can be—and I bolted. I ran and jumped off the stage and into their arms, dragging all the other reindeer off the stage with me. There we were, Just a heaping pile of children, and one crying Rudolph on the auditorium floor.
(I use this story to talk about the fear of visibility. A natural byproduct of growing and sharing new ideas.)
I had a wonderful 15-year career running a bicoastal PR and Marketing division for a major publisher and media company. I thrived on the hustle. I pitched, planned, and launched with the best of them, and my role became my identity. My clients over the years had big, recognizable names, products, and businesses. I thought I’d reached the top of my career Everest…until I had my son in 2018. Suddenly, my relationship to time itself was under reevaluation. How many hours did I want to spend away from home? And if I was going to be at the office or on the road for client events, did I feel fulfilled enough in that work? I couldn’t hear the resounding “yes” anymore. I had changed. My vision for success had changed. My sense of how I needed and wanted to use my talents had, too. Within months of new motherhood, I was flooded with ideas I couldn’t rid myself of. Grand visions of starting my own business, focusing only on the part of my work I loved most—supporting creatives and entrepreneurs, guiding them from a vague creative urge to sellable IP that would make an impact for them and the world.
So, I started with research. During midnight feedings and walks with my son along the East River, I listened to podcasts, wrote a business plan, made a list of my network and supporters, and got really freaking clear on how I wanted to spend my time and earn my money. Then, I did what most people do: I filed my vision in the “someday” folder, shut the laptop, and went back to work. I expected that the “call” would subside, that whatever postpartum hormonal flurry had kicked off my vision would fade and I’d find my footing as a corporate working mom. But, several months later, the voice, the pull for that creative work, the autonomy, only got louder. Should I do it? Can I do it? What if I do it?
I remember calling my dad, a longtime entrepreneur, to share my budding dream. His first reaction after patiently listening was, “Don’t do it.” He had started a dozen businesses and knew first-hand the late nights and financial risk; the reality that many businesses go under in the first year, and that it can take a lot of time, money, and resources to be profitable even if you survive. He wanted to protect me. He felt that if I waited things out, I’d find that fulfillment again in the safe container of my corporate home. for 15 years--not to mention the 401k and health insurance.
I didn’t blame him, but I wasn’t going to give up that easily. The timing was admittedly risky. Taking that leap of faith to start my own business when I had an infant and lived in one of the most expensive cities in the world? I had to have been nuts. But I couldn’t shake the “If not now? When?” feeling. I knew that if I stuck this on the back burner much longer, I may never have the guts to do it. A giddy chat with some girlfriends and a conversation with my husband, his encouragement, and his willingness to make his own adjustments to suit this dream of mine sealed the deal. I was going to leap. I was terrified, and yet I had never been more sure of anything. That was almost a decade ago and I've never been happier doing the work I do. I'm honored to hold people's stories and budding ideas and be their trusted partner in bringing them to life.
In 1983, as a bright-eyed, blonde pig-tailed preschooler, I was cast as Rudolph the Red-Nosed Reindeer in the school holiday performance. While too young to remember every detail, I have to imagine there were several rehearsals wrangling small humans in costumes and making sure we could remember our lines and stage directions. On the evening of the show, I took my place in the front of the line, with all the other reindeer children tied behind me. On our cue, we walked out as an attached unit, prepared to sing our hearts out-- and suddenly I panicked. The music wasn’t playing. We were asked to sing without the track. immediately the audience began singing along. What the heck was happening? This was NOTHING like we had rehearsed.
Seeing all those eyes staring back at me from the audience sent me into a stage fright spiral. I turned my head and saw my parents sitting in the front row, proud as can be—and I bolted. I ran and jumped off the stage and into their arms, dragging all the other reindeer off the stage with me. There we were, Just a heaping pile of children, and one crying Rudolph on the auditorium floor.
(I use this story to talk about the fear of visibility. A natural byproduct of growing and sharing new ideas.)
I had a wonderful 15-year career running a bicoastal PR and Marketing division for a major publisher and media company. I thrived on the hustle. I pitched, planned, and launched with the best of them, and my role became my identity. My clients over the years had big, recognizable names, products, and businesses. I thought I’d reached the top of my career Everest…until I had my son in 2018. Suddenly, my relationship to time itself was under reevaluation. How many hours did I want to spend away from home? And if I was going to be at the office or on the road for client events, did I feel fulfilled enough in that work? I couldn’t hear the resounding “yes” anymore. I had changed. My vision for success had changed. My sense of how I needed and wanted to use my talents had, too. Within months of new motherhood, I was flooded with ideas I couldn’t rid myself of. Grand visions of starting my own business, focusing only on the part of my work I loved most—supporting creatives and entrepreneurs, guiding them from a vague creative urge to sellable IP that would make an impact for them and the world.
So, I started with research. During midnight feedings and walks with my son along the East River, I listened to podcasts, wrote a business plan, made a list of my network and supporters, and got really freaking clear on how I wanted to spend my time and earn my money. Then, I did what most people do: I filed my vision in the “someday” folder, shut the laptop, and went back to work. I expected that the “call” would subside, that whatever postpartum hormonal flurry had kicked off my vision would fade and I’d find my footing as a corporate working mom. But, several months later, the voice, the pull for that creative work, the autonomy, only got louder. Should I do it? Can I do it? What if I do it?
I remember calling my dad, a longtime entrepreneur, to share my budding dream. His first reaction after patiently listening was, “Don’t do it.” He had started a dozen businesses and knew first-hand the late nights and financial risk; the reality that many businesses go under in the first year, and that it can take a lot of time, money, and resources to be profitable even if you survive. He wanted to protect me. He felt that if I waited things out, I’d find that fulfillment again in the safe container of my corporate home. for 15 years--not to mention the 401k and health insurance.
I didn’t blame him, but I wasn’t going to give up that easily. The timing was admittedly risky. Taking that leap of faith to start my own business when I had an infant and lived in one of the most expensive cities in the world? I had to have been nuts. But I couldn’t shake the “If not now? When?” feeling. I knew that if I stuck this on the back burner much longer, I may never have the guts to do it. A giddy chat with some girlfriends and a conversation with my husband, his encouragement, and his willingness to make his own adjustments to suit this dream of mine sealed the deal. I was going to leap. I was terrified, and yet I had never been more sure of anything. That was almost a decade ago and I've never been happier doing the work I do. I'm honored to hold people's stories and budding ideas and be their trusted partner in bringing them to life.