S.E. Reichert's Blog, page 11

What’s Happening?

Hey kids, just a quick little catch up blog to let you know some things going down, and give you a heads up for some events. Also–A poem.

First, a huge thank you to Bookmarked Literary Festival in Lander, Wyoming. The organizers, sponsors, and community made it such a memorable and fun event. It’s a beautiful thing when readers and writers can come together and share their joy of literature and their support for all voices. I was so impressed by the participating writers and poets and the new voices and fresh perspectives I heard.

If you don’t have a festival like this in your town, talk to your librarians and local writers. Now, more than ever, we need people who love books and the people who believe in reading them instead of banning them. No one who ever banned a book, in the history of the world, was on the right side of things. And as writers and readers, it’s our duty to protect the free flow of ideas to be written and words to be read. Free will gives everyone a choice as to what they read, we have no right to take away the choice of someone else.

Um…what else? Oh! I have some books coming out!

Composing Laney It should be up for presale soon and book signing dates will be forthcoming. I also have a new saccharine holiday short called Rewriting Christmas with Kerrie Flanagan. If you like Hallmark and a bit of my snark, you’ll probably like it. I’ll be posting the cover reveal soon on that one. I have a new Vella out The Three Hearts of Eve which is a quick-reading adventure into the perils of genetics, assassins, and free will. It’s about to heat up, so don’t miss out. And remember the first three are free!

As always you can find my other novels, poetry anthologies and writings here on the site, at Amazon, Barnes and Noble, and 5 Prince Publishing.

The LAST thing to announce is that my Youth Writing group will be participating in an Anthology due out in 2024. These talented kiddos are learning the ropes from writing to publishing and everything in between. If you know a youth who wants to be a writer (or is one), between the ages of 12-17+, send them the link here: WHWA Youth Writers. We’re still in need of entries for the anthology that will be published in May or late June. All writers will be paid for accepted submissions, and any proceeds from book sales will go directly back into the youths’ writing group for supplies, trips, and conference fees. It’s free to sign up with the youth program and there are no requirements except to enjoy the writing and be kind to one another.

Whew!

And now… Poetry

You Needn't You needn't worry about me anymoreI'm quite moved onwithout youI've folded up my broken heartand stuffed it in a drawerwith all my too tight sweatersand kindergarten art workthings once minethat do not fit any moreYou needn't try to pretend we are friendsor play my sympathieswith your most recent tragedyI've washed those awaywith the news of your betrayaldown the drain they spiraledto settle in the dark and moldy pipeswhere such sympathies belongYou needn't worry for me anymoreI am an empty vesselproperly left to collect duston someone else' shelfa picture of once beautiful,chipped and wornand waiting for something worthyto fill me up again.

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Published on October 05, 2023 05:00

The Best Advice

You all know I’ve been going through some stuff. And there are good days and bad days that cycle through (sometimes it seems endlessly). I’m more than certain that friends are getting tired of my shit. I’m tired of my shit. I’m tired of the ceaseless parade of thoughts that run over, and over, and over in my head. The same story, and the injustice that it carries. And my powerlessness to fix it, to solve it, to gain back my power.

And my friends have been wonderful. They’ve listened they’ve helped me get through the toughest points. They have been soft and understanding. They’ve allowed me space to rant and cry and feel all the things. But I’m getting tired of my own emotional stink. I reached a breaking point last night. I was laying in bed, hoping I could somehow manifest a small tear in my own heart. A weak blood vessel wall in my brain. Anything that would silently open in the night and insure I wouldn’t have to wake up today and face another round of my emotional baggage. That’s how exhausted I am of all of this.

But I did wake up. I woke up and my depression sat heavy on my chest and begged me to stay in bed. But I know if I don’t get up and move in the morning, it will hold me hostage for the whole day. So I got up, dressed, checked my email and had a response from an older lady in one of the groups I’m a part of. I’d written her, irate, and kind of rudely (not proud of that) last night about some issues with the group.

I expected her response to be in kind. But it wasn’t. But neither was it coddling to my tantrum. In essence she grabbed me by the shirt front, pulled me up off the floor, looked me in the eyes and said: Yeah, you’re going through it. We all do. It’s not the end of the world, stop being a little bitch about it and do something. (This is complete paraphrasing). She’s too decent to use that kind of language, but the salt-of-the-earth response was the same.

We all suffer. Get over yourself. You’re not going to get better sitting in your self-pity. We can’t change the way of the world but we get to decide how we let it change us. So stop being a little bitch. Do something about it.

I dunno. I think that’s actually the thing I needed to hear. Pull yourself up kid. You’re tougher than this. So you took a loss. Don’t we all? Move the fuck on.

So this morning I worked out, went through the normal morning routine and looked at my to do list as a series of steps towards something better. Even if it’s just more sanity. Even if its just away from the pit of vipers I barely escaped. Even if its just a step towards something else to be determined. It’s better than sitting still, with the loop of regrets and hurt running over and over in my head. Some days we step far, some days we shuffle a few inches. But today when that loop threatens to run, a broken megaphone on repeat, in my head…I’m going to give it that response… Stop being the victim. Get over yourself. Get back to work.

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Published on September 28, 2023 05:00

Poetry 9-21-23

Hey kids. Just a quick note to remind you that my next, unrelated Vella The Three Hearts of Eve is up and available (first three are free) at Amazon. It’s a fun little romp into espionage, genetic experimentation, forced proximity and questions of ethics. Still, oddly light hearted.

Also, I’ll be in Wyoming the weekend of September 29th through October 1st to celebrate their annual Bookmarked Literary Festival. If you’re in the area, come check it out, lots of awesome writers looking to connect with new and equally amazing readers.

And now, enjoy some Verse:

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Published on September 21, 2023 04:00

Learning to Say Yes Again

Gentle readers, its been a tough 9 months to say the least. In all actuality, it’s probably been more like a tough year. Year and a half? The point is, I can’t remember feeling good, and so this haze of depression and anxiety has been with me for too long a while. It transcends my short term memory cut off date.

That’s not to say wonderful things haven’t happened this year. They have. I’m eternally grateful for the opportunities and experiences I’ve been given (and earned). But all totalled, this last year has been the equivalent of having half my heart ripped out while the other half worked in vain to make up the difference. It was doable, it was survivable, but it wasn’t living.

Time may not heal all things, but time gives you the tools to learn how to go on living despite your losses, and the perspective to help you learn from those losses. In that period of learning and readjustment, I didn’t do a lot of saying yes. Only when absolutely necessary. Only when I couldn’t afford not to. And rarely to things that threatened to open the stitches of my past wounds. I just didn’t believe I was strong enough to suffer that kind of blood loss. I was barely strong enough to make it through the benign and even the enjoyable events of my post-loss world.

But a few weeks ago, I said yes. To something I thought I’d never be able to do. A small step. Hardly a big deal for most people on the outside of my traumatic experience, but kind of an epic ordeal for me. And it brought up a lot of feelings and emotions and tugged at those stitches, now solidly grown into my heart and skin…but it did not tear them. And it did not sign a contract, and it did not change my mind about certain things. But it wasn’t as painful as I thought it would be, as I feared it would be. It wasn’t impossible.

That one yes, opened opportunity. Not to go backwards, by any means, but to have the choice to go forwards. Sometimes saying yes, reminds us of our ability, our strength, and the experience we earned through going through some kind of awful shit, that leaves us stronger and more prepared to set boundaries and protect ourselves.

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I’m saying yes more now. Yes, to events I would have bypassed before, yes to opportunities and possibilities. Yes to challenges that keep me from being stagnant. Yes to moving on. Yes to resting when I need to rest, and yes to pushing my comfort level when I’ve grown too at ease.

Yes to myself. To my future, to the things that I want as part of my distant horizon. I’m leaving the no’s behind me. The ones that showed me what wasn’t meant for me. What didn’t deserve me. I’m leaving behind old hurts, but taking the scars to remind me. How strong I am. How capable I am, How I own the capacity to say yes, and mean it.

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Published on September 14, 2023 02:10

Poetry 9-7-2023

These are a pair. And a combined homage to a novel I’m currently and carefully crafting. One that’s been itching in my soul for over twenty years probably. I’m out of words for a scholarly post, so I’ll leave you with these instead. May you always tag along in all the adventures you can… and when you are weary, may you always find a port in stormy seas.

She confesses, if Only to Herself...I have always loved you.In darkened closets, in alleys devoid of hopein all the twisted ways propriety and opportunitytold me to back awayslowlymy heart connected and rememberedwould not let gothrough a thousand days andthe ups and downsof a character arcI never felt I was writingmyselfStill you saw me, front and centerwasting time on fallible side charactersYou were there…a reasonable voicethat seemed crazybut for an unreasonable worldyou were a calm sanitya smileI can’t help smilinga joke at the ridiculousthat no one else seesa port...my portin such an unimaginable stormand I thank the universethat I could read your starsbetween the angry cloudsand find myselfin you When He Looks at Her, the Voice Inside Says...years are unkindto souls that sit stagnant in their fateyou and i were dreamersswaying towardsstories in the starsto the detriment of the soulsalready in our companyi never saw you coming,didn’t know your nameor the hurt you spawned fromi didn’t know, becauseyou hid the scars so welluntil we were thrown togetherand i wondered,where your prologue wasbeneath them allwhere did you begin?i have always loved youin quiet acquiescing,of what i could not havefrom afar,a statue, ever smiling and dancinground the fountainsa muse to keep me enamoredwith a life i was resigned to grow still inyou made me feel youngas though I could tag along with youon every adventureeven when my ship had long since sailedyou were the coastal driftkeeping me afloat

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Published on September 07, 2023 02:00

The Tumultuous Writer’s Mind

I’ve struggled with a post this week. Either to launch into some deft and cuttingly beautiful poetry, or as Melanie Griffith once said in “Working Girl” to hit you with my smarts. I don’t have a lot of poetry or smarts today. Sorry.

Life has been chocked full of events. Some of them are little, and benign. Some of them seem like…not a big deal, but they rift something deep within the surface and you end up spending the week dealing with the ripples that have become tsunamis. Part drowning, part relishing the destruction of old temples and ideals that held you for far too long in subjecation. In any case…you start to question, where you’re at. What you’re doing? Are you living well? Are you loving well? Are you taking all the advantage of this one wild life? Or are you… stagnant? Have you slept too long in comfort and stopped fighting for something…far greater? Have you given up truth and freedom for discomfort for blissful ignorance?

And why not? Out of fear? Out of habit? Out of…this is how it’s always been and why should I wish more for myself?

It’s hard. As humans. As writers. To trust our own individual worth. Our creativity. What we offer the world. Why does it even matter in dark and vast sea of a million different voices?

Especially when cookie cutter, and formulamatic fiction seems to be the thing that draws in the most eyes… Well…shit I don’t know. There’s very little money in truth. There’s very little fame or fortune in telling the general masses something interesting and thought provoking and…god help us…challenging to their idiom. Please, as the Briar Rabbit once cried, don’t throw me into the thorn bush…Please don’t make me…think…

Is there room for the artist in this world? Is there room for the intellectual? The person disconnected from the constant spin and pizzaz of what constitutes journalism and entertainment (trick question, there’s no difference between the two now) these days. Is there room in the world for the person who chooses to turn of their screens and the voices and the barrage of constant, dumbing down information to sit still…and think… and write? About an original idea, about the absolute absurdity of life? To write something that makes us think? When was the last time you read such a thing? Such a strange soul-stirring thing? When was the last time you sat in silence, and contemplated the idea that in your not-so-distant-past, your brain kept you alive in a world full of real dangers and still managed to tell a decent story. That you were designed…for far better things. Not monetary, not status related. But…soul worth…When did you last wonder if all of this noisy bullshit was beneath you? Because I’m pretty sure it is.

I am weary of this world. It holds so little that matters. It has become so much neon pink and drowning narcissism.

I don’t have a blog for you.

I’m too busy thinking. On my own. Observing, with eyes, not videos. Listening to all perspectives, shouting to be heard… And even if I had something worthwhile to tell you, about you, your existence, about the white washed reality you’ve been fed, all the anxieties they’ve readily given you to keep you engaged on numbing little pills, I’m not sure anybody is ready to listen.

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Published on August 31, 2023 02:00

Poetry 8-24-2023

Discovery I did not find myselfin the bottom of a glassThe burn to numb poisonand all the untethering promisesshe madeI did not find myself in the narcissistic heartsparading in poets' clothingpromising ideas of my self-worthwhile making me kneel before themI did not find myselfby losing poundsor cutting hairor searing the wrinkles of a thousand laughs awayI did not find myselfby giving my love and my yearsaway to those who only wantedto own mecollect me, objectify and fantasizewho never gave credit to the soul within only lovedthe pretty, fading paperI found myself beneaththe starlit sky, high upin a meadow between mountainscold and alivebrave and scaredbreathing deep as thoughit was my first air takenI found myself in tumbling footfallsone after another, up and downcareening not controlledalonside painpacing with anxietybut listening to my own heartbeating outyou can you can you canI found myself in the holy landof pine needles and mocking bird criessilent stage, calm in a chaotic worldand herons in silent coasting flight above mecommuning with their soul's solitudein search of quiet shoresI found myself between pages and tattooed in inkwords and ideas and truths unknown to any other heart but my ownlearning that, without meeting requirements firstI am enough I am brave I deserve loveI found myself in the facesof women I've raisedto listen to themselves in waysI am still learningI found myself in their beautiful complexityknowing I would never allow them to be hurtin the ways I have accepted hurt for myselfI am finding myself and it has taken a lifetimeI just hopeI can take my heartand lead her away from the darkI hope I can find myself in time.

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Published on August 24, 2023 05:00

What’s in a Name?

Good morrow sweet readers. Today I’m going to talk about the importance of names in your fictional writing. Every writer has a process, and some of them are very organic while others are tortuous. I have been in both of those phases. Sometimes a character is just who they say they are when they pop into my head. And even if I wanted to change the name, I couldn’t. Sometimes the same character goes through an evolution of two to three (to seven–jesus, Elle Sullivan) names before the right one lands.

So how do we do it? Well… Here’s a bullet list because… we love bullet lists. Keep in mind that a character can be named for one of these reasons or for a combination of them.

Naming your character with meaning This is where we get into the baby name sites and books and start with a meaning and back search what names correlate. I’ve done this a lot with my more urban fantasy/paranormal characters. I’m pretty sure none of my readers go around looking up the name and finding the little easter egg of their arc and purpose matching up. I do it more for me. Naming your character Regionally/In Situ Naming your character something that originates from their homeland, family, or region. This is important in some cases, to ‘show’ the reader a little bit about who they are by where they came from (like dialect but in a word). Naming your character with sound I think this is especially important in childrens’ and middle grade books. Lemony Snicket, Severus Snape, Skippyjon Jones. Not only does it make it more fun to read outloud but if you do your job right, you can intonate character with name. Severus Snape, ‘esses’ like a snake on your tongue. Naming your character in tribute There’s absolutely nothing wrong with this when it is done out of love and respect. My grandma Emma became Em. I even inadvertently wrote in a dear friend’s mother, Carmen into Back to the 80s. I know a Jamie, and love the name and fella but since it would be weird to write him as the MC, I made sure it was ‘Jameson’ in Composing Laney. I’ve used friend’s last names or nicknames. Sometimes its a way to pay tribute to them and be a little lazy. Naming your character for foreboding Gage in Pet Cemetery. Hodor from the Game of Thrones. Damien in The Omen. Even Remus Lupin, gave us some insight into the direction of the character. You can either spoil plot twists with this one or make your readers stop mid page to gasp at your cleverness. The trick is subtlety and not thing more than the name away before the twist. It could even be that an evil name (Severus Snape) is actually not attached to a villian.

Well, there you go. A few ways to start thinking (and probably overthinking if you’re like me) about how to name your next character. For a few more resources, check out the list below. Some of these are way more in depth than I like to go, some are fun and you can just keep spinning the wheel until the right one comes up. Good luck out there.

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Published on August 17, 2023 05:00

Poetry 8-10-2023

Good morning all.

I took a little break from the interconnected world of social media this week, but despite that little vacay, I’m still not feeling up to par. At first I thought I was approaching burnout. That I needed a reset. But the truth is, after self-reflecting…I’m past the point. So far past, that I’ve built up a whole township on the far end of it. I think for the last year I’ve been operating in the midst of burnout…just digging myself deeper into a hole of meeting demands I had no energy for. And now, I’m, smack dab in the middle of my own little cavernous oubliette.

I don’t have sunlight, or stars to navigate by, and the walls are much too steep and slick to entertain hopes of climbing out. So…I’m going to sit here, in the dark for awhile. Contemplate my purpose. My next move, if any.

Here’s a poem I wrote months ago. Seemed appropriate on a day such as this. A week. A month.

Last Day If this is the last of my dayswill I have done enough?loved enough?Fought enough? smiled and danced and kissed enough?Did I hold their hands long enough? Did I forgive?Did I let go so much of this useless weight? to travel light into the next world?What are the chains I regret most?The lack of wonder in my eyes a boredom with the world a seeing through of everyone's angles? Or is it the rusted and heavy links cutting in tetanus scrapes boring out the sinking pit dark nemesis, regret?That I was unkind to myself.That I gave away heartbeats to the undeserving?That I don't remember the last time I told you that I loved you?If this is the last of my days will I have done enough? Loved enough? Fought enough?For them?For myself?

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Published on August 10, 2023 05:00

Process and Perfection

Look at us, surviving (nearly?) another summer, a Camp NaNoWriMo, and one of the most interesting and invested writer’s strikes in a while. I’m so proud of those on picket lines and, though I still produce my blog, I do so for the other writers out there, and for my own sanity. That being said, if you’re a writer, artist, (struggling or not) or simply someone who believes in the arts, keep your eyes and your voices raised. This battle is one that is fought on every screen, newspaper, and blog post. Support all of our artists and dreamers. Because creativity is not just the source of our humanity, it is the building blocks of our survival. Engineers build bridges but someone must first imagine the bridge. You know what I mean? Survival takes all the bright and brilliant we can offer as species, so support all the bright and brilliant with a living wage, and do not pay into the corporate machine.

Okay–let me just….step down from that…soap…box (grunt). Now! Where was I? Well, I’ve been promoting and reviewing and doing all sorts of extraneous writing/marketing fluff, so today I wanted to get back to writing and talk about PROCESS.

If you’re a writer, I know you own at least three to 50 books on writing. And every single one of those offers you advice, usually from someone who “made it” in the world. We could say “experts” in the field. And where, yes, there are some constants that should be paid attention to (the book won’t write itself, you do have to put in the time, no its not easy, yes you will fail…repeatedly) I want you to take my advice (Ha! hypocrite!) on these few things…

Why take my advice? I’m not Stephen King, or Dan Brown, or Robin McKinnley, or Connie Willis…Who TF do I think I am? Well, beyond the fact that I’m a pretty average writer, with a good community, and an interesting background…I care. I actually care about your success as a writer (see above rant about artists and creatives).

And the thing about us, is that no single writer is in the same life or head space as the next. Stephen King isn’t raising two toddlers and working full time. Connie Willis isn’t supporting a family of seven with a night shift job. I’m not trying to cope with dyslexia or ADHD… We are all on a similar journey but we’re not all wearing the same shoes. Some of us may not even have shoes. And it may be night. And there are wolves chasing us…okay…back on point…

PROCESS ISN’T AN ABSOLUTE: No singular way to write is the RIGHT way to write. (that’s a lot of goddamn ‘right/writes’) Write everyday, write in the morning, write at night, sit in the chair and don’t come out until you’ve got 5,000 words…NO. There’s absolutely no truth to any of this. While, you do have to write (to be a writer) how and when are defined by your life, your energy, your day, and your ability. And ALL of those factors continually change (especially if you’re a parent or care giver, work multiple jobs, have learning challenges or are facing mental health crises). SO–your process is your process and it might look like 15 minutes in the morning and 20 minutes at lunch, and note taking during your kid’s practice, and daydreaming in the bath. Which leads me to the next absolute.NOT ALL WRITING IS WRITING: WTF does that mean? Well, daydreaming, is writing, downtime with a movie that inspires you, is part of writing. Getting a good night’s sleep and going for a walk are all parts of the writing process. The human brain is not meant to be stimulated the same way for hours on end. It’s complex, it needs variety. It needs challenge, it needs downtime. Nearly every writer I know has said…”It wasn’t until I took a break, and a walk that I got through that problem.” You can’t bash your brains against a plotline and hope the hole gets fixed. Being a writer is in large part being a shiftless daydreamer. So don’t discount the times you’re not in the chair clacking away.ONLY YOU SET YOUR LIMITS: This is both to the advancement and detriment of your craft. Someone says you should write 2000 words every day, but you are struggling to get 700, or maybe you’re throwing down 5000 words in one afternoon and don’t write for a few days…You are responsible for the ‘rules’ you make about writing and only you know the best possible route. I have a lovely friend, brilliant, funny and talented, who struggled with her first book, until she realized that she didn’t need to write every day. And that night writing wasn’t her thing and that she had to ‘let’ herself be okay with what her brain and her heart needed on whatever day the universe was giving her. Brav-Fucking-O I say to that. How many of us ascribe to preordained writing gospel only to be disappointed that we are failing that particular process? And what happens when we get discouraged? We stop writing. We fall into self-blame, and defeatism, and a general giving-up on ourselves and our work because we’re not a ‘real writer’. KNOW YOURSELF, TRUST YOURSELF. GIVE YOURSELF THE TOOLS, SPACE, and PROCESS YOU NEED.

Well, that’s all I have for today. Get out there, or go inside, sit down or walk around and take voice notes. Take a bath, take a walk, spend three hours at a desk, or fifteen minutes at a coffee shop. Just write. In the best way you know how.

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Published on August 03, 2023 05:00