S.E. Reichert's Blog, page 5

When Heroes Fall

I’d been trying to think of something writer-like to put on the blog this week. I am, after all, a writer and my blog is about more than just book signings and the random outburst of poetry. It’s a space for aspiring and seasoned writers to not feel so damn alone. To know that we exist in a universe together, with other weird little writers. We inspire and uplift each other. Sometimes we are cautionary tales, or serve as examples good and bad to one another. We critique and offer hands up, teach and learn, all together, knowing that the heart of an artist is surrounded in a soul more sensitive than most.

We see the world differently. We hear it and smell it, and absorb it. We make connections and notice the little things that many don’t. Its often why we suffer so much more greatly. But this week. This week I watched and read as whispers of misconduct became horrible, horrific truths. About someone I used to admire very deeply. I read his books. I read my children his books. I bought his graphic novels, I enjoyed his writing advice. He was incredible and creating characters and monsters.

Then the truth came out that he was one. A true-to-life monster.

For years, and in very dark and disgusting ways, he committed monstrosities. Ways that I cannot as a feminist, as a human, as an artist, or as a soul made of stardust reconcile with. It took every one of his books off my shelf, and put it in the recycling bin.

But you can hate the artist but love the art, right? All of those terrible acts don’t negate that he’s a good writer… Here’s where I brush aside that morally gray line.

NO. I can’t love the art of someone who’s soul is so rotten and sick that he’d do that to another person.. Yes, those terrible things DO negate that he’s a good writer. Because the brain that created those words, also created and excised pain and terror on actual human beings.

Here’s the bottom line. I’m fed up with a world offering excuses to people who behave this way. Weighing a ledger between talent and atrocity. Where its ‘kinda okay’ because I don’t want to give up my special editions? No. It matters. It matters who we support and what we allow, and I’m done allowing it.

I took his books off my shelf, for those girls and women. For my daughters, for anyone who’s ever fallen victim to a hero, and every hero who’s ever taken advantage. That’s not heroism.

He’s not allowed in my house anymore. I’ll never willingly read his words again or buy any more of his books. I hope he turns the monstrosities and horrors he put out into the world, back in on himself where they belong.

The Beautiful Writers Workshop: Welcome!

Good morning writers, authors, editors or accidental guests.

I’m trying to find more efficient ways to work this year and I found this old series in my back catalog. Now, I teach writing and support writers for a living but I think these little nuggets of advice (free) are actually still pretty good and relevant. So starting today, and for every Second Thursday on my Blog, I’ll be offering a little writing advice.

I call it the The Beautiful Writers Workshop, based on the quote from Ray Bradbury about filling your cup and letting all of the beautiful stuff pour out. This year-long journey is about developing your craft through exercises in creativity, editing techniques, inspirational prompts, and building the framework for your writing career.

Some of the blogs will inspire. Some blogs will lean more to the technical side of writing. But whatever the monthly topic, you can be assured of two things:

You’ll have a prompt or exercise to help develop your writing (and the opportunity to share it)I’ll try to keep it spicy enough to be enjoyable.

So let’s get rolling! I searched through nearly all of my favorite books on writing for a perfect topic for our first lesson together but the truth is, there are just too many (good and bad) ideas out there.

So I’m going to start simple and ease you in gently to this process.

If you’re here you are either interested in writing, or are already doing it and are looking for something to add to your tool box. In order to appeal to all levels today’s workshop is centered on the basic purpose of your writing.

Below are a few questions that I’d like you to read, think about, and journal down your answers to. You can share them, you can keep them secret, but DO WRITE THEM DOWN.

Something amazing happens when we write down goals and steps to reaching them. The process becomes manageable; the goals become real. It’s one of the many beautiful and powerful attributes of writing.

Without judgement or discouragement, and being as direct as possible: what is the ultimate, lifetime goal you have for your writing?What can you do to kick start this goal in the next 12 months? (hint: where do you need to start, where do you need to grow most for the big picture)Is this yearly goal attainable? WHY OR WHY NOT?Of your reasons from #3, think about the fears, limitations or concerns that formed these reasons. Name them. What do you foresee keeping you from moving forward on this yearly goal?Of the fears, limitations and concerns, what are the possible solutions or actions you can take to eliminate them? (hint: each limitation/fear/concern gets its at least one action you can take to overcome it)If you have a planner or calendar, write down one weekly goal (eliminating distractions, word count requirement, number of submissions out, editing, classes etc) that will help overcome the hurdles you have to your writing.Looking at these weekly goals, find specific and measured times you have to dedicate to their success and write them down.

Okay, that’s it! I know, it’s a little dry but when building a house you have to have a solid foundation first or none of the pretty architecture above it will survive. So build your foundation, know where you’re coming from and next week we’re going to talk about:

Mission Possible: Drafting your Writing Mission Statement

(that sounds super boring but it will help writer’s across the spectrum. I promise!)

What Do We Do Now?

It’s that time of year again, when we reset our calendars, back to a clean slate and make a lot of promises to ourselves that this year will be better. That we will be better. Only its a harder world this time around. You’d have to be pretty clueless to not see the deterioration of our society and our environment happening on the daily. Forces beyond our immediate control, who are so much more powerful than they should be. The inequality and stark difference between the few that have and the masses that have not. The magnitude of our environmental mistakes, snowballing into catastrophe… ugh, makes you want to just go back to bed, yeah?

Only what if we don’t? What if instead of accepting our broken and unjust system, we did something about it? Do you realize how many we are? Do you have any idea how revolutions work? It isn’t only the richest, brightest, and most powerful 1%. It is is the rest of us, standing up to say ‘no more’. Stopping our cog in the machine, putting to halt the system that works for only a few, and wears the rest of us out. Not giving in to hate and lies, not allowing our rational brains to get whipped into a frenzy by sensationalized and one sided news sources. Knowing that the truth of humanity, our shared existence and our common bonds is what those in power fear most. Because if we ever organized against them, the ‘let them eat cake’ knows they would not survive.

Am I calling for revolution? I dunno.

Are people dying of hunger? Are people being denied basic human rights? Are people dying because they’re can’t afford medical care? Are we imprisoning the poor for profit? Are we being refused a living wage? Are we having our energy and our art stolen by the heartless, greedy and belching machine that is AI? Is our environment being destroyed on the daily to pad the portfolios of people already too rich to spend it all? Short answer, yes.

But revolutions can be more than just war on the streets. They can come with lifting up communities, speaking out against injustice, refusing to work in unsafe conditions, turning off the noise of all the talking heads, reading books, speaking out, helping others. Revolutions can happen in our daily lives by refusing to live in the way we’re told we must.

I put together a yearly list, as usual, but this year I did something different. Instead of pushing through to commercially gained goals or pant sizes, I looked at what would help make me a better, stronger, more compassionate and purpose driven person.

You see, when we’re all worried about wrinkles and thigh size, we’re not dismantling the systems of injustice. If we’re worried about our 401K, we’re not thinking of our fellow human beings. Sometimes, just being content with your soul, resting in a hustle culture, and pursuing art and clarity is a radical act of rebellion.

When you sit down to think about your year, I hope you think about how you will defy the ignorance, hurt, and anger that’s permeating society currently. How will you choose to treat your fellow human beings, what work will you do, what purpose will you serve. I urge you to do something beautiful this year. I’m asking you to set your sites on being unswayable when it comes to justice and peace. I’m asking you to take to the streets when the time comes, and to stand up for your fellow human beings. I’m asking you to pursue a higher purpose, not in some deity, but in the pursuit of a better world for all of us. You’ve already got skills, find a way to use them to uplift. You’ve got talents and two hands. Use them for something that dismantles the systems that keep us all down.

Care for yourself, and others. In a world of mass production and garnering likes for self worth, shut off your social media and live in your skin. Rest when you need rest, push when you feel driven, and above all, do not lose hope.

Poetry 12-26-2024

This is my last post of 2024. I’m not sure what this new year will bring, or how much strife and struggle will be faced. I am reminding myself to find hope. In the kindness of my own heart as well as the goodness of other people I know. I hope you are getting some reflective time this week, to think about the year ahead, the things you need to prioritize and the things you are ready to let go of. I hope you are resting up for the fight to come.

Here’s a poem that was inspired by one of my favorite humans. Thank you Mary Oliver, for all the gracious insight into this wild and weird ride of life.

Built to Survive

And oh how it pains me,
this disastrous cause
so far removed from the fresh, cold fields
and the dying gray-pink
of November dusk

I am caught in the trappings
of an ever-present demand
create, create, create
sell, and buy, and break the book's spine
over the truncated timeline,
more concerned for a deadline
than the beautiful present view
before my own dead line

We do not see the muskrat
in this way go
He does not build with wet, cold reeds
and fallen branches
to impress the critic

He builds to survive
He creates to have warm shelter
from the uncertain storms of life
He does what he does, because he knows
no other way

How it pains me
this rushing through my words
and upheaval of capricious page numbers
flipping and fighting and settling
for the shallow pond,
when my heart is an ocean
and this art is my shelter
its honesty, my survival
the only trueness left
in the short and tiresome struggle
of this one wild life.

Santa, Hippy Jesus, and The Importance of Choosing Joy

It’s that time of year when we are faced with a choice that defines our humanity. The choice to either believe in the light of the season in all the forms it takes and spread our own joy to illuminate the shortened days, or the choice to be a petty and divisive jerk and shit on other people’s beliefs.

Don’t be petty and shitty, not any time, but especially not this time of year.

The world is dark enough as it is.

Be good to each other.

Psst… if you’re looking for a way to be good, especially after you read this tear-jerking post then click on this link and spread some joy:

For the regular Citizens (and children) in Gaza (regardless of sides/religions/divides) check this link out.

For something closer to home: This is a great place to start.

And now, grab a tissue and enjoy…

Dear Madelyn and Delaney…

I hear there have been some questions at school and amongst your friends, about if Santa Claus is real.

There comes a time, in most kids lives, when they are taught to grow up and out of what some adults call “silly, fanciful, daydreams.” And so adults and peers will go about destroying everything that even whiffs of magic, and work hard to wipe away every ounce of stardust from the eyes of children who believe.

To this I say…Shut your mean-hearted pieholes, you wankers. (And anyone who hasn’t, at some point in their existence, called a middle schooler a wanker is probably lying. Let’s face it, middle school is not our finest hour as humans.)

These are the people who will say it’s obviously impossible for a generous old guy to deliver presents to kids one night of the year, while simultaneously cherishing and accepting the “fact” that a deity impregnated a virgin and their child wiped away the entirety of sin in the world…

…uh…

If they can suspend reality and base their lives around the idea of (albeit a cool), hippy/demigod, is it such a stretch to believe in a jolly old elf that spreads the ideals of generosity and selfless giving for just one day?

I won’t touch your demigod hippy if you don’t touch my fat guy in a red suit.

I bet Jesus calls him St. Bro-cholas.

I refuse to lose my stardust. (As Anne Shirley would say; I refuse to be poisoned by their bitterness.)

You want to know if there is magic? If Santa is real?

Here’s what I know…

Santa is real and magic exists.

How can I be sure?

I’m here aren’t I? You’re here, yes? We’re all here.

We were sprung from the unlikely combination of a chemical lottery and dumb, cosmic luck. Our bodies’ chemical and mineral components are the same as stardust floating around and comprising distant galaxies. We are made of the Universe and the Universe is in us. We’re naked, funny walking apes, and we’ve survived hundreds of thousands of years of evolutionary death traps.

If all of that’s not magical, what is?

Here’s what I also know.

There are two types of people in the world.

Those that destroy joy, and those that spread it.

I KNOW that it does no harm to believe in something better, more beautiful, and magical in our lives (Hippy Demigod or Santa Claus).

I KNOW, it does no harm to fill our eyes with wonder and joy in the midst of the darkest day of the year.

I KNOW, it does no harm to hope and anticipate.

I KNOW, it does no harm to walk into these short cold days with elation in our hearts.

And I KNOW this:

what a horrible, dark and sad world it must be for those that seek to take away such light; those who disbelieve and ridicule others who hold magic in their heart.

It does harm, to take someone’s joy.

It does harm, to smother the fire of giving and generosity.

It does harm, when we seek to oppress the light of selflessness in a world so dark.

I also know this; each one of us chooses what we believe.

We choose what we fill our hearts with and in a world that can be so gloomy and wretched, why would you want to fill your heart with anything that would make it even more so?

I choose to believe.

I believe in Santa Claus and I believe in magic.

I believe that there is light in the darkest of times. And I believe that the joy that radiates from hearts that hope, and love, and give, is more real than any hot air getting blown around by a bunch of self-conscious, hormonal, dying-to-fit-in high schoolers.

Now listen: I can’t decide for you what you believe, but neither can they.

So you choose.

Embrace the joy, be the magic, and light up the dark… or reject the lot of it and wipe the stardust from your eyes.

As for me and my heart; I choose joy.

I choose to believe.

Photo by Ylanite Koppens on Pexels.com

Poetry 12-12-24

In Quiet

Snow buries the sound
of footsteps and breath
all softness of touch
and heavy with forgiveness.

A blanket of repose,
to cover the spoiled ground,
wiping clean this slate,
to a world of potential and rest

Waiting.
Patient.

Not asking to be changed,
a pristine shroud to remind us
that some things are best left,
untouched.

What’s going on?

Hey there, consider this a ‘newsletter’ of sorts. I’m sure you’re all DYING to know what’s going on in my life, and have nothing between Thanksgiving and the Winter Holidays to keep you busy, so here’s a short run down of what I’m doing.

First, there’s going to be a little party, the last in the physical office of Writing Heights Writers Association, December 7th from 1-5. There will be food, books, good conversation and a teary (probably, I know I’ll be crying) send-off to our amazing director, Amy Rivers. She’s had a lot of battles this year and her bravery and fortitude has been inspiring. With so much weight to carry, it hasn’t been easy. But, in doing only a small part, I’ll be taking over for her as the director. And though we’re unfortunately losing her as the leader and our office (I wish I had the funds to keep it but rents are high) we will still be providing support, inspiration and services to writers in the community and beyond. In January I’ll be announcing some exciting opportunities and some return to activities that COVID had put a pause on.

Second, If there are classes or topics you’d like to see more of through WHWA, please let me know. If you’re struggling with a certain skill or marketing aspect, I want to know so even if I don’t know the best answers, I can find a super smart person to help you with it. Also, we’ll be bringing some longer, more in depth workshops for our members so if there’s something you want to deep dive into (memoir, screenwriting, character development, book launching) let me know and I’ll try to get it put on the schedule this year.

Third, I have a new book coming out with 5 Prince Publishing! It’ll hopefully be released around January or February, and y’all, this is my favorite yet. I know we’re not supposed to have favorites, but…No Words After I Love You is an expansive and beautiful trek through grief, creativity, loss, acceptance and love. Its funny and poetic and…there isn’t a steamy sex scene but it’s one of the best kisses I’ve ever written so…I hope it does well. More details to come.

Finally, my sweet kiddo will be going in for surgery mid month. A pretty scary, big surgery and I hope you’ll excuse me from being absent from the world for a few weeks. Wish us luck, send us all your good thoughts, and hug your babies tight (even if they’re teenagers and hate it). So much of our lives are wrapped up in their survival, thriving, and living a loved life, so I know you’ll extend me grace if I can’t get to emails and requests as quickly.

That’s about all the news that’s news. I know I’m supposed to include some links to my books or something? So…here’s where you can buy my stuff. Also, I appreciate it if you do, I don’t make much as a writer but there will be some hefty bills coming up and every bit helps.

LINKS TO MY BOOKS

Take care out there, pause in the busy season and remember to breathe, and I’ll catch up with you soon!

Giving Thanks

This is a little piece I wrote many moons ago for my gig at the NCW Writing Bug (back when it wasn’t WHWA). I’ve elaborated because (well–it’s my blog here and I can write beyond 400 words if I damn well want)

My parents are pretty amazing people, and having a third and unexpected mouth to feed didn’t make their life any easier. But I am eternally beholden to them for the sacrifices they made to raise my siblings and me. I’m thankful for the love and laughter they built our home around, and for constantly working towards a better life for all of us through perseverance, patience, and honesty. Even when it meant welcoming their unexpected third (ahem–that’s me) into the world with open arms.

So today, whether you are thankful for your family, your friends, or for the simple fact you have a roof over your head, don’t be afraid to send those feelings of gratitude out into the universe. Thank the health care workers and essential medical personnel who are working against terrible corporate systems. Thank your veterans and firefighters, hell–thank your postal worker because–fucking elections right before the craziest season of the year am I right?

Thank the grocery store and retail staff who spend hours and days on their feet with the public, to try and make their own living, thank the countless other souls who’ve made do through insurmountable odds to keep us fed, and with power, who take our trash and keep our water clean, those that educate our kids with a host of new and difficult challenges. Thank your neighbor for raking your leaves or rake theirs as an act of good will. Thank the food bank for taking care of people who, despite working as hard as they can, still need help, by donating your time, your food, or your money. Showing gratitude goes a long way in a time when we are doing so many ‘thankless’ jobs.

Even if we cannot be together today, our hearts are never far apart.

And for that, I am grateful.

Making Do and Giving Thanks

One of my earliest memories was of waiting in a dark and crowded hall while my mother picked out ‘groceries’ from piles of white and black generic boxes. I didn’t understand at the time that the blocks of Velveeta-like cheese, powdered milk, and bags of rice were part of assistance programs that kept us from going hungry when the insecurity of the uranium mine had left us teetering on the edge of destitution.

My father is, and always has been, a hard worker. He took whatever job he could to support us, but in the unstable energy economy of 1980’s Wyoming there was always a fear behind my parent’s eyes. Their amazing resilience makes me tearful with pride now, as a parent myself. 

Because, back then, I never knew we lacked for anything. 

We were always fed.  We were always clothed.  We had a roof over our heads and wild game in the freezer.  We made do.  When lay offs hit, they squeezed the most out of what we had and made do.  When dad went back to college for a second degree in teaching, we lived in a small house in Laramie and made do.  When Christmas came around and three kids rushed to the living room, there was always something there to be thankful for.

I didn’t have cable as a kid; I had books. I didn’t have a TV in my room; I had the library less than two blocks away. It didn’t matter that we couldn’t afford vacations to far off places because I could go there in my mind. Pages were like my wings, rocketing me towards new and fantastic horizons. My parents couldn’t give me designer clothes or name brand shoes. They gave me Jean M. Auel, Jack London, L.M. Montgomery, Louis L’Amour, Piers Anthony, and Jane Austen. They gave me hours and days of uninterrupted reading time. I still remember mom peeking in on me, sprawled out in bed, pouring over a book, completely lost to the world around me, asking if I needed anything. 

Looking back now, and knowing what I do about how much it costs to raise a child (nonetheless three), I really couldn’t have asked for more.

We made more than just meals from small staples. We made worlds out of our love and support of one another.  My parents gave us the belief in where our minds could take us. And we made do.

Poetry 11-21-24

October was a wonderful month and I’m actually working towards keeping up my ‘poem-a-day’ even when it turns into more of a journal entry. Sometimes writing is not just one thing, and the poetry of the everyday counts just the same. Sometimes its the way we work through past hurts, even when they aren’t really a part of our present anymore. Sometimes the lines of verse are tiny cuts to the lines that hold us to those things not meant for us. The heart is a wild and rampant beast sometimes and we all deal with the fallout of her decisions differently. Hopefully we learn something new, each time.

Untitled

I’ve written so many lines about you
tracked tears under every constellation
ached under the flowering trees
and sweated out remorse under July skies

I’ve worried for you,
rued you
let the storms of winter freeze
any embers I thought remained

Still they simmer past
all reason, reemerging in my heart
where not even a desire to live resides

You were the fall of my empire
and yet I still find you in the rubbled remains
the inconsistent wound
that does not ever, ever heal.

It is heart deep and tragic and
I never know what to do
when it opens
again, and again
and again...

Do I press fluttering hands to it
failure to staunch the bleeding in my own weakened state?
Numb the pain with earthly asides?
Embrace it and lick at the blood,
ravenous for even the slightest taste of your attention?

If I have changed in these many years
then I know you have too
So how can I still claim to burn
for a specter who is no longer
the same that haunts my mind's halls?

How can my same old heart
have not grown along with
this hardened shell
and deepening wrinkles?
How has my tough hide not
pushed out the sliver of you
buried in my irate skin?

How can you still pull at my insides?
It is an irrational and hungry storm
and I am weary of trying to tie my lines against it

I guess after millions of years
the moon still pulls the sea
and no one begs to wonder why.

Community and The Introvert Writer

So, I’m being ambitious and getting a few of my blogs written while at the Writing Heights Writers Association Fall Retreat, in beautiful Grand Lake, Colorado. (We’ll be updating soon for our Spring Retreat) And I’m reminded…that I actually like being around people. Not all people mind you. But writer’s are a special sect and I want to talk about them.

I’ve been a part of a lot of different groups. Martial artists, anthropologists, archaeologists, massage therapists, pilots, refinery workers, landscape crews, teachers…and they all have their own little micro cultures and ways of communicating, but being around other writers is something kind of special.

For one, and this is something I never knew I needed…no one bats an eye if you wander off from a conversation to sit down and write. AND while you’re writing, no one comes up behind you to ask a question, interrupt or disrupt you. There’s a solemn air about someone sunken into the process and not only do you find the peace to pursue it in these moments, but you can actually feel a beautiful, uplifting energy of minds at work. That’s one of the biggest reasons retreats have always worked for me. Even as the facilitator of this particular one, I’m given grace to work on my projects and supported in doing so.

Secondly, no one coming to these retreats is a stranger to the biggest issues that plague us all. Fears, imposter syndrome, frustrations, the bane of feeling blocked and the uncertainty of where to go when we do finish. The feelings that someone is always more successful, someone is always writing more… We are all in the battle, and see each other. That level of understanding and grace gives you a blanket of comfort so that those lows don’t feel insurmountable.

So, this is a friendly reminder, no matter what you write, no matter where you are in the process or the struggle, get yourself a group of writers. You don’t have to meet every week, you don’t have to always talk writing (some of the best conversations we’ve had here were on the complexities of life, of parenting, of ecology and wildfires, and…the anatomical measure of a moose) and you don’t have to share your work. But you will know you’re not alone, and that someone is rooting for you and your words. And that, my friend, is priceless.