Influenza, A Conversation

Posted on by sereichert

I caught the flu. I was vaccinated last November but, I also know those things don’t always last. Also, I’ve been a little worn down so it should come as no surprise that my immune system let one slip through. I could get political about this. What with RFK in office and the refusal to allow the yearly meeting of flu vaccine doctors/experts to determine next year’s best guess at protecting the herd that is the United States population… but right now my little electric meatloaf is a little fried. So fried that I wrote a post about it. The only thing I’ve accomplished today, actually. Besides sleep and pumping in a lot of fluids. Enjoy?

(Please be aware, all of this was written mid 103 temperature. What seemed really funny to me at the time, probably doesn’t translate the same)

Am I struggling with the words and the thinking? As my Minnesotan conclave would say, “oh yea, sure, you betcha”. So I thought I might document the exchange inside my overheated brain while I was living it. For posterity. And a laugh. I mean, I think it’s funny as hell. But it’s also…not. Is this how schizophrenia starts?

Me: Okay brain, Listen. I know you’re having a rough time of it right now. Lot of pain, lot of general unpleasantness. The thing is, I really need you to work on this presentation and speech we have to give next week.

Brain: No prob, my main man. I got this. You just point me in the direction of…

Me: Brain?

Brain: Hmm? Sorry, why does my left big toe hurt, like really bad?

Me: It’s the flu. Its normal. You’re not going to die.

Brain: Oh, really? Tell that to my phalange! Fuck should I try to pop it?

Me: No brain, just…hang in there, it will go away.

Brain: Oh—oh you’re right. Huh. Whew, that’s so much—Sweet baby Jesus, my back!

Me: Brain! Can you try to focus, Here. Here’s a heating pad and your favorite jammies and lots of pillows. Let’s just bang out a quick…

Brain: Jammmmmmiiiiieeessss…nap time we must.

Me: No! Brain—Come on man, focus. Just the outline. Let’s just get the outline written.

Brain: Right, right. Work, big talk. Lots of people. We hate lots of people though, right? Staring at us?

Me: They asked us to be there. We submitted the proposal, they accepted it.

Brain: jammmmmiiiieesss.

Me: Brain!

Brain: Why can’t I keep my right eye open? Oh look, I can switch them off. But I don’t get the two at once.

Me: *sigh* Can we just focus? Ten minutes.

Brain: Yes. Absolutely.

Me: Wait, is that Instagram? Are you opening Instagram?

Brain: I just need a little treat, thinking about work and being berated is so stressful.

Me: I didn’t—

Brain: Look at the miniature donkeys!

Me: Yes, yes, very cute. They will be there after you finish the outline.

Brain: Oh the outline, that’s right…we have work to do…So I shouldn’t…swiiiiippe!?

Me: Goddamn it, Brain,

Brain: What is it about Scottish toddlers cursing that makes my whole heart believe in the goodness of humanity.

Me: No—no don’t laugh!

*coughing fit ensues, pain shoots everywhere, gunk comes out of my mouth. Me and my brain stare at it in fascination and horror*

Brain: I don’t like this. This is dumb. I’m tired now.

Me: How about just three bullet points.

Brain: Fuck you, do you know how hot it is in here? Can’t you open a window or something? I’m baking.

Me: Open a—what like trepanation?

Brain: pfff! HA, that’s not a word.

Me: Look it up, hot stuff.

Brain: *types several renditions of trepanation until spell check has mercy on us* Jesus christ you want to cut a hole into me? What are you a barbarian? Fucking anthropologist. Why do you remember that of all the things? Of all the classes?

Me: It’s supposed to ease the pressure!

Brain: Ever heard of a decongestant you fucking savage?

Me: *Quietly sobs from couch* Can we please just get a little work done?

Brain: *gives haughty look over the phone at me* No. You wanted to perform ancient brain surgery on us. Look at this.

Me: *sighs* what?

We stare at the screen together at a poem by Mary Oliver

I do know how to pay attention,
how to fall down, into the grass, how to kneel down in the grass.
How to be idle and blessed.
How to stroll through the fields which is what I have been doing all day.
Tell me what else I should have done?
Doesn’t everything die at last and too soon?
Tell me what it is you plan to do with your one wild and precious life.

pause

We look into the screen that’s gone blank and dark. Into our flushed complexion and glassy eyes. Begging for rest. To kneel down in the grass. To pray to this body that is, right now, fighting battles we cannot know the extent of. While I stand on the sidelines of the fray and shout… ‘but my outline!’

ME: Hey, Brain. Wanna take a nap?

Brain: Fuck yes I do….jammmmiiieesss…

Poetry 2-20-25

Posted on by sereichert

I’ve been participating in my own little poetry month challenge in an effort to get back into the swing of the art. For one, it’s a managable way for me to be able to write something every day, even in the chaos of my to do list. For two, I think it’s been very cathartic in helping me work through some of the things landing in my life (and all of our lives right now). The rage inside me finds a place on the page so I can clear a more rational path. The sadness gets to have its moment too, so I can move past the emotion and focus on how best to use my empathy. You don’t have to be good at it to write poetry. You just have to write it.

Photo by aj povey on Pexels.com
Daylight

Poems written by daylight
are hopeful, funny creatures
not yet domesticated by the world
shackled by the weight of 
unbearable odds

Poems written in the high-sun hours
are words through clear eyes
not yet burning with the fire of 
thousands of thoughts, words read,
millions of stitches placed across the
wound of our burning, tumultuous world

Poems written when I've still got time in the day
are different
I haven't properly fucked anything up
yet
there is still hope that I may not
I'm a glowing human goddess
for whom possibilities still exist

Poems written by daylight
seem hopeful and clear
unweighted and resilient
but they are 
not me
not in total
It is the reticent dark, the weary and
mistake-riddled soul
sitting in the deep weighted night,
still choosing to pick up the pen 
who is truly
the poet.

The Trouble with Love

Posted on by sereichert

Well, well, well, if it isn’t a day away from that ridiculous, capitalist exchange day. You know, the one where we exchange affection for $8 cards and a box of (probably last year’s) chocolates to prove we are enamored with one another. Valentine’s Day has become a symbol for showy displays and, in some part, single shaming. I’m always heartened when I hear of people celebrating in counter culture ways, because if anyone needs a big middle finger to the face, it’s capitalism and ‘traditional’ heterosexual misogyny.

So, I’m against love, right? Not in the slightest. Hell most of my writing career exists because I believe in and ache for, and get excited by love. But that doesn’t have anything to do with fancy jewelry or a hearty case of diabetes in a heart shaped box. Love is about connection. It’s about support and reliability. It’s about physical affection (not necessarily sex) and putting forth the effort to remember what they take in their coffee. It’s about hearing the exhaustion in their voice and ordering dinner in. It’s about sending silly memes that remind them of you. It’s a million different things that don’t necessarily have to put money into the corporate cesspool. If you’ve never read one of my books, the ongoing theme of them is that Love is something to be worked on and perfected. Love makes you want to be a better person. Love carries you past the hardships and centers you in the storm.

I’m not against love. I’m against my feelings being taken hostage and only released if I pay their fee. I’m against having to ‘prove’ affection with overpriced flowers or the anxiety of ‘choosing’ the right gift. Let me sleep in on a Saturday and bring me coffee in bed…that’s love. When I’m cranky and raging, kiss my forehead, tell me I’m right and the world is a fucking mess, and go take a warm bath, that you’ll clean up dinner. Be open and honest about your emotions and trust me enough to love you no matter what.

I urge you on the upcoming holiday to think differently about how you express your love. Write a poem, or if you’re not a poet-y type, find a poem and send it. Pick them up a coffee or tea on your way. Support a local book store and take them there for a date. Put on their favorite movie and sling a frozen pizza in the oven. Hold them when they cry. Turn off their light for them when they fall asleep reading. Give them the first cookie out of the oven. Clean up the cat vomit so they don’t have to…these are the things that make up love.

On a larger scale, I urge you to think more expansively about love. Stand up for others. Use your privilege and any means necessary to protect human rights, and the constitution. Protect science, and education. Fight for living wage, and lower cost medical services, adopt a rescue pet, donate to the food bank, donate blood, hell-donate a kidney, don’t allow disadvantaged voices to be silenced in any room you’re in. Fight for equal pay and stand between bullies without warrants and people just trying to live a better life. Join the resistance, support the National Park Service, and keep reminding Google that it’s “The Gulf of Mexico”. There are a million ways to show your love, that don’t need to put money into the pockets of corporations who’ve sided with a traitor to democracy. That makes up the larger love that we all need so desperately right now.

Happy V-Day.

What’s Coming Up

Posted on by sereichert

Sort of hard to think about a future right now, to be honest. But resistance and rebellions were not built on giving up ground. So, I keep getting up. I keep supporting the people I love and the people who are in the most need, and I keep practicing my art. I’m writing representatives and flooding ICE hotlines with tips to look into the financial contributions of an illegal immigrant named Musk. I’m donating money to Planned Parenthood and frequenting the library. I’m making sure that my organization (Writing Heights Writers Association) will always honor Diversity, Equity And Inclusion. That I understand privilege poisons the well of our society and I am a part of that, so it’s my duty and my honor to use what little power I have to uplift everyone in my community, support them, listen to them, and advocate in ways that help them most, not my ego.

On top of that, here are some things I’ll be doing. If you’re in the area, or are interested in supporting my writing organization or my career, you can. For the record, WHWA is not a non-profit, but its not a money maker either. It’s a zero-sum game after I pay the bills and the teachers so, know that if you sign up for a class, or register as a member, your fees go to teaching and supporting writers. It is a labor of love and I hope I can do it for a very long time.

Here’s a Bullet List:

  • Starting in February, I’ll be looking for Beta readers and reviewers for my newest book, “No Words After I Love You” is a beautiful homage to love, grief, and how we, as humans cope with the shifting changes, losses, and heartaches in life while still being open to love and joy. It follows two older friends on a journey of rediscovering their fire and making peace with the past. I’d call it contemporary/literary fiction with a romantic/philosophical twist. Let me know and I’ll send you a copy.
  • WHWA is hosting classes at the end of the month in February and we’ll be talking about Plotting (Cristina Tripani-Scott) and How to Write Emotion in Fiction (me) You don’t have to be a member to attend and it’s all virtual so you can come in your pjs. Here’s the link to register: WHWA CLASSES
  • Registration is opening up in February for WHWA’s Spring Workshop and Retreat. This year we’ll have two tracks: Memoir and Creative Craft. There will be morning yoga, evening readings and socializing and plenty of time to write if that’s how the time serves you best. All up in beautiful Allenspark with views of Longs Peak and Rocky Mountain National Forest.
  • In March (the 12th) I’ll be giving a talk at Founded in Fort Collins, sort of a community organizer/entrepreneur conference, aimed to help small businesses, nonprofits, and aspiring hopefuls navigate the world. My talk will be about the importance of writing, and getting your voice heard. Here’s the dets:
  • I’m pitching two new novels to 5 Prince Publishing. Each is the first novel in a three-part series and I’m excited to get back into some fun, escapist romance. One is a time-traveling, historical romance, and the other is an odd hodgepodge of paranormal romance. Both have higher spice factors so…yum. I’m hopeful to get them out towards the end of the year, depending on how badly written they are and how much work my poor editor has to do.

Well, that’s all the news from my corner of the world. I hope you are doing good and just things from where you’re at. Be kind, work hard, don’t falter. Change happens with consistency and determination. We’ve got those things, so don’t lose hope.

Poetry 1-23-2025

Posted on by sereichert

It’s a tumultuous time. An era where its hard to trust information, its hard to have privacy, and its even harder to envision a world where we can be a functioning community again. These are the days that try good hearts. You are not alone. We are all in some phase of struggle. We are all clawing our way up. I love you. I see you. Do what you can, to be kind to yourself and others today. Don’t give up. 

Love Me Enough

I've tried to breathe it away
this constant ache 
a hunger, not satiated

I've tried to busy it away
with lists 
and checked boxes

I've tried running it away
until my knees were torn
and my vertebra grew together

I've tried laughing it away
your darkest friend
is always the most funny

I've tried writing it away
harsh words and compassionate pages
like arms to enfold, or choke

I've tried drinking it away,
until all I lost were words
and years with my children

I've tried cutting it away
sharp stings and
barely hidden red bracelets

hoping someone would notice
but even when they did
no one loved me enough to stop me

I'm trying to love me enough to stop me
I'm trying, this time
to love it away

And I'm learning
that means
feeding myself on breath
sitting through it in stillness
running headlong into the fire
allowing the storm to laugh through me
and writing only the truth
watering my brain like a garden
holding my body close like a child
Soothing the scars and 
loving the woman who survived long enough
to stand in love now

When Heroes Fall

Posted on by sereichert

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. Someone I thought understood and abhorred causing unnecessary suffering. 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.

What Do We Do Now?

Posted on by sereichert

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

Posted on by sereichert

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.

What’s going on?

Posted on by sereichert

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 1-4. 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 will be released May, 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 aren’t any steamy scenes but it’s one of the best kisses I’ve ever written so… Gosh, I really 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

Posted on by sereichert

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.