Happy and Safe Pride

Posted on by sereichert

In honor of Pride Month and celebrating all of the amazing human beings, in their struggled to be themselves, live fully, and be safe from violence and oppression, I’m doing all I can to support LGBTQ+ writers and poets. Listed below are a group of wonderful authors and their work that you should check out. If you can buy from them directly do, and leave positive reviews if you have some to give. Each one is an opportunity to learn, to grow, to understand and to find connection. Not just this month, but every month. Enjoy and be the loving force for change you want to see in the world.

  • One Day I Will Write About This Place: A Memoir by Binyavanga Wainaina
  • As Beautiful as Any Other: A Memoir of My Body by Kaya Wilson
  • La Bâtarde by Violette Leduc, translated by Derek Coltman
  • The Truth About Me: a Hijra Life Story by A. Revathi, translated by V Geetha
  • The Sex Lives of African Women: Self-Discovery, Freedom, and Healing by Nana Darkoa Sekyiamah
  • The Pink Line: Journeys Across the World’s Queer Frontiers by Mark Gevisser
  • Modern Nature by Derek Jarman
  • My Lesbian Experience with Loneliness by Nagata Kabi, translated by Jocelyne Allen
  • People Change by Vivek Shraya
  • Asylum: A Memoir & Manifesto by Edafe Okporo
  • Welcome to St. Hell: My Trans Teen Misadventure by Lewis Hancox
  • We Have Always Been Here: A Queer Muslim Memoir by Samra Habib
  • Dear Senthuran: A Black Spirit Memoir by Akwaeke Emezi
  • The Other Side of Paradise by Staceyann Chin
  • Red Azalea by Anchee Min
  • Me Hijra, Me Laxmi by Laxminarayan Tripathi, translated by PG Joshi and R. Raj Rao
  • They Called Me Queer compiled by Kim Windvogel and Kelly-Eve Koopman
  • Unicorn: The Memoir of a Muslim Drag Queen by Amrou Al-Kadhi
  • Angry Queer Somali Boy: A Complicated Memoir by Mohamed Abdulkarim Ali
  • Thérèse and Isabelle by Violette Leduc, translated by Sophie Lewis (1966)
  • Maurice by EM Forster (1971)
  • Orlando: A Biography by Virginia Woolf (1928)
  • America is Not the Heart by Elaine Castillo
  • Hotel World by Ali Smith
  • Less by Sean Andrew Greer
  • The Price of Salt aka Carol by Patricia Highsmith
  • Valencia by Michelle Tea
  • Under the Udala Trees by Chinelo Okparanta
  • Paper is White by Hilary Zaid
  • Stone Butch Blues by Leslie Feinberg.
  • Orlando by Virginia Woolf
  • Giovanni’s Room by James Baldwin
  • Sodom Road Exit by Amber Dawn
  • Angels in America: A Gay Fantasia on National Themes by Tony Kushner
  • Fried Green Tomatoes at the Whistle Stop Cafe by Fannie Flagg
  • The Book of Salt by Monique Truong
  • Tea by Stacey D’Erasmo
  • Tipping the Velvet by Sarah Waters
  • Alice Isn’t Dead by Joseph Fink
  • Oranges Are Not The Only Fruit by Jeanette Winterson
  • Marriage of A Thousand Lies by SJ Sindu
  • Nightwood by Djuna Barnes
  • Tales of the City by Armistead Maupin
  • Close to Spider Man by Ivan E. Coyote
  • Jack Holmes and His Friend by Edmund White
  • A Single Man by Christopher Isherwood
  • Fruit by Brian Francis
  • Salt Fish Girl by Larissa Lai
  • Morrow Island by Alexis M. Smith
  • Pages for You by Sylvia Brownrigg
  • Confucius Jane by Katie Lynch
  • Little Fish by Casey Plett
  • Such a Lonely, Lovely Road by Kagiso Lesego Molope
  • She of the Mountains by Vivek Shraya
  • For Today I Am A Boy by Kim Fu
  • The Color Purple by Alice Walker
  • Rubyfruit Jungle by Rita Mae Brown
  • Disoriental by Négar Djavadi
  • Speak No Evil by Uzodinma Iweala
  • The Life and Death of Sophie Stark by Anna North
  • Never Anyone But You by Rupert Thomson
  • Hood by Emma Donoghue
  • Blue Boy By Rakesh Satyal
  • My Education by Susan Choi
  • Here Comes The Sun by Nicole Dennis-Benn
  • Aristotle and Dante Discover the Secrets of the Universe by Benjamin Alire Sáenz
  • We Are Okay by Nina LaCour
  • Summer of Salt by Katrina Leno
  • 48 Shades Of Brown by Nick Earls
  • Call Me by Your Name by André Aciman (2007)
  • The Language We Were Never Taught to Speak by Grace Lau
  • Butcher by Natasha T. Miller
  • Water I Won’t Touch by Kayleb Rae Candrilli
  • The Renunciations by Donika Kelly
  • Bestiary by Donika Kelly
  • Paul Takes the Form of a Mortal Girl by Andrea Lawlor
  • You Better Be Lightning by Andrea Gibson
  • Lord of the Butterflies by Andrea Gibson
  • Black Girl, Call Home by Jasmine Mans
  • Black Queer Hoe by Britteney Black Rose Kapri
  • If They Come for Us by Fatimah Asghar
  • Nothing is Okay by Rachel Wiley
  • Cenzontle by Marcelo Hernández Castillo
  • The Tradition by Jericho Brown
  • Soft Science by Franny Choi
  • Bodymap by Leah Lakshmi Piepzna-Samarasinha
  • Night Sky With Exit Wounds by Ocean Vuong
  • When the Chant Comes by Kay Ulanday Barrett
  • More Than Organs by Kay Ulanday Barrett
  • Don’t Call Us Dead by Danez Smith
  • Things You Left Behind by Keondra Bills Freemyn
  • Femme in Public by Alok Vaid-Menon
  • Wild Embers by Nikita Gill
  • Chelsea Girls by Eileen Myles (1994)

BOOKS: POETRY

Poetry 5-22-25

Posted on by sereichert

I’m in a weird mood today. This is the season of transitions, of pressures and demands, and I feel like I’m shutting down in the face of so much of it. Here’s a weird poem to align the inner workings of my mind to the outer life, relentlessly attacking. 

Sweater

I put your memory on
like an old sweater
in all the little winters
of my despair

Here the arms pull through
to hide the stinging cuts
Here, ribbed neck fraying
to protect from the noose of loss

Here the cabled warmth
falling over my eviscerated belly
Here your memory tucks my vital pieces 
back together, safe and warm

The woolen comfort of words
I will never hear again
from nights you probably don't remember
a softness in the dark, held briefly

I am a lint fuzz on your shoulder
but you are my favorite sweater
the one I cannot sleep without
the only thing that offers relief

Purpose and hope exist
in the scratchy bulk
of a garment I once borrowed
but was never mine to wear

I put your memory on
like my favorite sweater
in all these winters
of self-imposed despair.

I saved an earthworm…

Posted on by sereichert

To be exact, they were what I would deem a “nightcrawler”. On my rainy walk, with my rescue dog River, and her distaste for the wet (I think it’s the pit bull in her mix) we encountered the large under-dweller, struggling against the asphalt. I watched for a moment. Remembering, that as a child growing up in a dry state (Wyoming), we rarely saw worms that size. If ever you did, was a good omen to gardeners and those were the ones you never took fishing. I bent down lower than my 45 year old knees liked and gently picked up its twisting body, and placed them gently in my palm where it squirmed for freedom, even from a small safety. The rain poured down around us and I let myself feel all of the tickling, wriggling, slightly slimy motion of a life in peril. I took them tenderly towards the grass and out of the space where tomorrow’s sun on the blacktop would bake them, and set them down.

“There you go buddy, good luck.” I said and a woman walking her dog on the sidewalk, moved carefully away from me.

Why don’t we care for things anymore? When did we become so crass? How is it we have become too busy to save even the smallest of consciousnesses? I’ve been thinking a great deal about ‘modern’ life these days, and how less like actual life it feels. “Life” is suddenly something we are fed, by those who control the information. Life is on screens, and filtered to be pretty, it’s reductive, or ridiculous. Competitive and unrealistic. It’s shallow and degrading. When was the last time you held something in your hand that was real? A worm? Your child’s hand? Dirt from your garden? A pen? An apple? Someone you loved (known or in secret) arms wrapped tight and trying to stop time, just for a minute? When did you notice last, a being in struggle? Did you stop? Did you help?

I no longer want to be part of an unreal world. I don’t have years to waste on anything not authentic. What is the point? If I only have so many days, why would I spend them sucked into an algorithm? I want to hear my friend’s voices. I want to read their handwriting. I want to see them across a table or next to me on a walk. I don’t want to be force fed advertising, and told that I need wrinkle cream. As though the natural progression of my body is not something to rejoice in and enjoy. I don’t want to be told in spiraling doom scroll what this world amounts to in the number of likes or angry faces it has. Watch the volley of hatred and hurtful ignorance between neighbors be slung around like poisoned arrows. See artists reduced to fodder for machines, and the brainwashing of it all being NECESSARY, take us over, as though we have no choice in the matter. How can we really justify, as artists, “needing” a platform that abuses and misuses our hard work? I can’t. I never had any big hopes of making it in the industry anyway, so I’m not going to keep buying into a system of false promises, while it robs me of my creativity and passion.

We haven’t always been this way. Don’t you remember?

I know I will miss out. Your faces, your lives, the beauty of your progression in the world. I will not see you. I won’t get to laugh at your memes or comfort you in times of loss. But I will think of you. Just because I’m not there, posting weird writing shit, or poetry, or my bastard of a cat…I am here, thinking about you. Whether we’ve been friends since the fourth grade, or you just joined my writing group, or you read my books, or you gave birth to me…I love you. You don’t need the algorithm to tell you that. You don’t need Facebook as a go-between to keep us connected. I’m here. Loving you. Hoping good things for you. Wishing you a day better than you thought it would be, every day. Each one of you. No likes necessary.

I feel a bit like Neo. Taking the pill. To wake back up to what is real. And it’s scary. And I don’t know if I’ll just be forgotten. Maybe I will. But I suppose the hearts that forget me, I never really had residence in to begin with. Today’s the last day and I’m a little scared. The connection it offered was wonderful, the addiction it’s brought me to and the worry it sustains, is not healthy. For any of us. Here’s where you can find me:

  • BlueSky: @sereichertauthor
  • SubStack: @sarahreichertauthor
  • Website: https://www.sarahreichertauthor.com
  • email: director@writingheights.com
  • Address (I love letters and will send you one if you provide a return address): NCW, 4128 Main St, #144, Timnath, Colorado 80547

I hope I see you in the real life. I hope you find the balance you need. I hope you don’t give in to the idea that you’re data points and not a living, breathing, squirming, fighting, good-omen of humanity. I won’t be there anymore, but I’ll be around.

Photo by Grafixart_photo Samir BELHAMRA on Pexels.com

Poetry 4-10-2025

Posted on by sereichert 
The Other Half Lives

She breaks the silence
with the crack of a match strike
instant whirl of smoke
and snap
open jumps the flame

She’s Magic on dark nights
when I need reprieve
from myself
when I yearn
to slip into someone
else’s skin and be
the one my parents
warned me about

The kind who lives truth
through match strikes
and bared teeth and
hard, dirty alleys
rough brick scraping
backs of thighs
and halting breath
that never begs

Unleashed from boredom
She carries the burning ember of strife
at the end of her cigarette and
coaxes the glowing cinder with
deep inhalations
Blowing out sinuous tails
through lips
split by love

Back again for more?
Quirked eyebrow, pierced and dauntless

yes, again
pray unbroken lips
with underground currents
of tightly wound desire.

S.E. Reichert

What’s Coming Up This Month

Posted on by sereichert

Hey kids, it’s your monthly reminder of some cool stuff happening in my world and for writers everywhere.

First, this month on the 29th, Writing Heights Writers Association will be hosting its monthly classes. For the morning class, I’ll be teaching a super fun workshop on how to apply Gothic style and themes to every genre. We’ll be talking about the history of the style as well as how it applies to character, social commentary, and the prevailing themes that can enhance every genre. The afternoon class will be “Hiding the Bodies: Enliven Your Writing with Exquisite Corpse and Ekphrastic Poetry” with Chris Guppy and it should be a really fun and interesting day of class. I hope you are all able to come.

Remember, these are virtual so you can attend from anywhere (keep in mind its 10 and 12 MST). You don’t have to be a member to join and they’re inexpensive for quality classes. You can register here: MARCH CLASSES.

Remember, if you are a writer, of any level, and you have information to share with your writing community, send us in a proposal. It doesn’t have to be writing specific, and we’re always looking for ways to expand our knowledge and make cool connections with the arts and the business side of writing. You can send in your proposals HERE.

Next up…let’s see. I’ll be rearranging the Youth class this next month to accommodate Passover, more on that in my social feeds and on the website. I will also be looking for a new person to run the Youth Class for Writing Heights as I’m currently kicking my own ass with being over scheduled.

Speaking of that, I have a book coming out in May! And pre sales really matter. So if you wanted to get a copy, you can preorder it HERE. I’ll also be running a special pre-order package where I’ll send you the book, signed, and some goodies to go along with it, exclusive to those preorder packages only. I’ll keep you up to date on that as I have more details from my publisher.

I’m running a writing retreat in May (the 11th through the 14th) in Allenspark, Colorado. It will feature a flexible schedule of two different tracks. One for Memoir, one for Craft/Creativity. There will be time for critique as well as time to get some of your own writing done. Private rooms are a little expensive, but all prices include your food and room as well as the high-quality instruction, morning yoga, and some some of the coolest people I know.

I’ll be at the Mesa Verde Literary Festival (and writers conference) on July 9th-12th and also at Rocky Mountain Fiction Writers Conference in September. More on the classes I’ll be teaching and workshops I’ll be running later.

Other than that, I’m working on finishing up a Christmas-but-not-Hallmark holiday novel and hoping to start edits on my next series soon with 5 Prince Publishing.

My oldest is getting ready to graduate so May will be full with three major things happening all at once (I did it all to myself so there’s no real way to complain about it) If you have a hard time getting a hold of me, trust that I’m just trying to keep my head above water.

Hope to see you in some classes and some book signings soon!

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