Newsletter May-June 2026

The moors that inspired “Wuthering Heights” Haworth, UK

Hey y’all.

May has been an infamous time for busy lives, end-of-school nonsense, the ramping up of summer plans and trying to get out of the house before the weather is unbearable. This year is no different and here at the house we’re in the midst of a new transition while our oldest kiddo is moving back in to attend Colorado State. After a quick trip over the pond to retrieve her and the 7 checked bags of her life, we’re back and trying to settle into the space in the gentlest way possible. I feel like living with one another is always a delicate balance of feeling safe and supported while also having your own space and independence enough to not drive each other insane.

I’m not sure if we’ll achieve that, but it’s a goal.

Random Shit:

In, non-writing related news, I did pretty damn good on my 10K in the first weekend of May. Even coming in 4th in my mature-lady category. It was a beautiful day and a beautiful race. I’ll probably do it again next year. I had a quick trip to the UK, as I mentioned before, but we packed it full of visiting some fun sites (the above picture is from a 7 mile hike we took from the Brontë Museum in Haworth), including a canal boat book store (more on that later)

We also took a full day to tour the home of the Bronte sisters (and their damndable brother Branwell). It was a morose but interesting trip through a family’s history that contained both flights of genius and trips into madness. Sickness, early death, and the end of a line of some of the world’s most interesting writers were some of the more sad themes of the day. My kiddo and I took the long hike out to the ruins that inspired Emily’s Wuthering Heights and sat beside the same waterfall she may have penned some of her works. It was fantastical and eerie in all the right ways and it gave my mind a lot of space in those wide-open fields of heather and wind, to think of everything and nothing at once.

What else? Hmm…We’re STILL having our bathroom remodeled. Sort of. We’re now into the sixth week. I’m beginning to lose hope of ever having my own toilet. Sometimes you have luck with a contractor, sometimes you have a Hailey’s contractor…who appears only once every seven years, after tearing up your space to unusable. Given another week, I shall start remodeling it myself at night and lend to the whimsical idea that fairies are doing his work for him.

The grass in our yard is gone and…all the rock is scraped away. The dead and dying bushes have been pulled up and the abhorrent pompous grasses are no more. I love the smell of fresh upturned earth out there and I’m looking forward to the English garden that’s on it’s way and the vegetable boxes being put in. I’m saving as many of the established plants as I can, along with my rhubarb and iris. I have every faith that it’ll get done before my fancy new shitter.

So…all in all…it’s still just fucking chaos. But, I feel like this is the way we progress and survive, by tearing down and building back up again.

Reading:

In reading news, I finished “How We Learn to Be Brave” by Mariann Edgar Budde. I’m still reading “Night Vision: Seeing Ourselves Through Dark Moods” by Mariana Alessandri, and enjoying it. I’ve also started (and nearly finished because I can’t put his shit down) Chuck Wendig’s “The Book of Accidents”. It’s creepy and mysterious and gruesome in all the right ways.

Also, while I was in the UK we visited this book shop: Hold Fast Book Shop,

and I did my part to keep it afloat by buying enough books that I had to leave some clothes and an old pair of running shoes behind to haul them back. Here’s some new things I’ll be (or have started) reading:

“Walking the Invisible: Following in the Brontës’ Footsteps” by Michael Stewart. His writing is impeccable and soft. It’s like a beautiful and slow flowing creek to follow his loving descriptions of the lands and moors near Haworth. It’s also a stunning and in depth tribute to the sisters (and fucking Bramwell).

“Why Doing Nothing Can Change Your Life: The Brain at Rest” by Dr. Joseph Jebelli. Once I start reading this one, expect me to start dropping out of my life obligations with wild abandon. Enjoy this newsletter, it could be the last.

“When Women Were Dragons” by Kelly Barnhill. I actually had this one recommended to me a few weeks ago by a dear friend and when I saw it on the shelves, the only copy in that beautiful little boat of books, I took it as a sign that I should bring it home. It looks whimsical with just the right amount of social commentary.

And finally “Rooted: Life at the Crossroads of Science, Nature, and Spirit” by Lyanda Lynn Haupt. I’ve been wanting this book for years. I’m really excited to get started on it soon.

Writing and Editing:

I’m done with the cover request for “Heir to Time” and am just waiting for the options to get back from the publisher. When they do I’ll get you a sneak peek. I hope it will be out in June or July. My publisher has a lot on her plate right now, so we’ll see. When I have that pub date, I’ll start getting some book signings on the calendar and you’ll be the first to know (unless of course, I decide to do nothing and change my life).

I’ve finished the 5 Prince Publishing’s first shared-town anthology novella. My little derelict of a Hallmark failure is currently sitting around 56,700 words so I’m over, but even after two rounds of edits, I’m finding it hard to cut much else. This “sweet” romance is wavering over the line to “spicy”. Because of the parameters of the project, I will have to cut some of the more ‘intimate’ scenes. But, because I don’t want a good sex scene to go to waste, I’ll be offering those annexed chapters on my Substack. Follow me for more details on that. AND if you want to check out my idea board for Eight Nights, you can find it here: 8 Nights in Everpine

After this project is complete, I’ll be taking a little time to get my next series prepped and ready for publication. In a complete 180 of historical fiction (why can’t I find a subgenre and just stick to it? Same reason I have multiple degrees and certifications in different fields, because I don’t think life should be about doing the same thing over and over again) this will be a mythology based urban fantasy, set in the Ornkey Islands north of Scotland and south of Scandinavia. If you like demons and fairies, Valkyries and björns, witches and merfolk… you’re gonna love this one. I already do.

In addition, I’m playing around with a little apocalyptic satire that sprung up whilst I was sitting in a green park near Leeds Beckett, thinking about the formidable knowledge of birds and the equally crippling idiocy of humans. I’m not sure it will go anywhere, but it sure is fun to write in a different genre and style.

I’m keeping up with my submissions (but missed one last week due to…life). Currently I’m at 22. Which has resulted in 18 rejections or no responses, but here we are. I also got a short story accepted with Beyond Words. More on that later.

Events

Wyoming Writers Conference:

I’m still helping out the Wyoming Writers Inc, as a board member. Listen, if you’re in the area, this conference is gonna be pretty damn good. It includes a craft day, and a youth writing event with Todd Fahnestock, that’s super affordable. The rest of the weekend is chocked full of lots of classes, pitches, and workshops. Writing Heights will have a booth with some fun swag and you’ll get to meet a quirky, and welcoming community of writers. I’m telling you it’s worth going. You will get your money’s worth and Casper is a fun little place to visit. Check it out here: Wyoming Writers Inc. Conference.

WHWA Classes: Parent Panel

In May I’m on a panel for writers who are parents. We’ll be talking about what it means to be a creative with limited time and energy and how to survive parenting while still taking care of your creative spirit. We have a dynamite panel with award winning and best-selling authors who have had to deal with toddlerhood, special needs, multiple sons in hockey, and more. Bring your questions and concerns and we’ll bring our honesty. Register here: Parent Panel

Write Ins: I’m hosting a Write-in at Grimm Brothers Brewery in Loveland on May from 5-7pm. It’s a fun little spot with some killer food and drinks. Bring your work and a couple of bucks to throw at a local business.

Quid Novi: In June (30th at 5:30pm), I’ll be presenting for Quid Novi and Writing Heights on the best ways to utilize a writing community, how to find them, what to expect, and how to get the most out of them. We’ll discuss how they can help not just network as a little-known writer, but also give you valuable insights to every part of the process. It takes place in Loveland at the Forge (next to Grimm Brothers Brewery) and there will be authors there selling their books as well. You can register for that here. Quid Novi

WHWA Class: Writing Series

In June, in case I don’t send out another newsletter (because I’ve committed to doing nothing–in which case, will there even be a class? Let’s assume yes), I’ll also be teaching a class on how to write an engaging, consistent series, including how to make each book unique and special and how to tie them all together with a larger over-arching theme. We’ll talk about tools to help with consistency and the dreaded running out of steam half way through. Lots of good stuff. I don’t have the registration yet, but you can visit www.writingheights.com for more info.

Closing:

Every time I look back at the massive length of the newsletter I’m reminded to give myself grace for how tired and overwhelmed I sometimes feel. Yes, packing one’s life full of challenges and experiences is a beautiful way to honor the gift we’ve been given of just existing. But it’s also important to remember that expansion requires moments of cocooning, or contraction. My morning meditation gave me a vision of my heart as this battered, ragged, bandaged thing that still continues to beat, despite its wounds and scars, and how it’s my job to take better care of it, to let it heal, to protect it, so that it can continue to be the center of my capacity for love that affects the world around me.

I hope you’re taking time for yourself and your mental health. I will if you will.

Take care of yourselves. Take care of each other.

Poetry 4-18-24

Today is my daughter’s 14th birthday. She’s been through a lot. She’s still going through it. She’s one of the strongest, smartest, most thoughtful humans I know, and the world has put pressures on her she should have never had to carry. We can’t protect our kids from everything, but we can stand with them in the fire. This one’s for you kiddo.

Bigger

I’m taking you out on the trail today
to see if we both can heal
one step
one stitch
to close the gaping hole
the chasm between our beats

I’m taking you away
from the screams and screens
and all the voices
of a maddening world
always telling you
to be smaller

I’m bringing you into the bigger world
like I brought you in 11 years ago
back to the light and the breath
and the love and the truth
that you never have to lose
to gain

I’m taking you out on the trail
in the early morning hush
You and I
away from a million voices
Screaming we are not enough
whispers to pinch skin
and hollow out our souls
to lose the weight, to be
less, be
smaller, be gone.
disappear.

If we must disappear
then let’s do it together
let us lose ourselves in
dirt tracks
and aspen quakes
and forget the other world
exists

Let’s make it smaller.

I’m taking you out on the trail
to gain back what you have lost
to heal
one step
one stitch
at a time

Do not make yourself small
when the size of your soul
is my whole world.

S.E. Reichert

Poetry 8-24-2023

Discovery

I did not find myself
in the bottom of a glass
The burn to numb poison
and all the untethering promises
she made

I did not find myself in 
the narcissistic hearts
parading in poets' clothing
promising ideas of my self-worth
while making me kneel before them

I did not find myself
by losing pounds
or cutting hair
or searing the wrinkles of 
a thousand laughs away

I did not find myself
by giving my love and my years
away to those who only wanted
to own me
collect me, 
objectify and fantasize
who never gave credit to the soul within 
only loved
the pretty, fading paper

I found myself beneath
the starlit sky, high up
in a meadow between mountains
cold and alive
brave and scared
breathing deep as though
it was my first air taken

I found myself in tumbling footfalls
one after another, up and down
careening not controlled
alonside pain
pacing with anxiety
but listening to my own heart
beating out

you can
     you can
         you can

I found myself in the holy land
of pine needles 
and mocking bird cries
silent stage, calm in a chaotic world
and herons in silent coasting flight above me
communing with their soul's solitude
in search of quiet shores

I found myself between pages 
and tattooed in ink
words and ideas and truths 
unknown to any other heart but my own
learning that, 
without meeting requirements first

I am enough
     I am brave
         I deserve love

I found myself in the faces
of women I've raised
to listen to themselves in ways
I am still learning
I found myself in their beautiful complexity
knowing I would never allow them to be hurt
in the ways I have accepted hurt for myself

I am finding myself 
and it has taken a lifetime
I just hope
I can take my heart
and lead her away from the dark

I hope I can find myself 
in time.

Poetry 7-8-2021

Ladies and Gentleman, I give you an older work of mine for this week, refurbished and reworked. The process of poetry is one of constant motion. If you’re bored (as my children often claim they are in the hot months of summer) I encourage you to find an old work of your own and give it a refresh.

I will only be accepting submissions for a couple more months for The Beautiful Stuff’s 2021 Poetry Anthology. Send me your stuff and we’ll have an awesome little email chat.

Enjoy this little trip up a trail with a broken heart.

Photo by Valeriia Miller on Pexels.com
Exhale

Who knew? 
	(breathe in)
This sickening depth of damage you’d leave?
         (blow it out slow)
The hole so deep and wide
an ache so subtly gnawing
	(don’t forget to breathe again…)

Good riddance, I’d said
	(force air in)
Don’t let the fucking door hit you
        (fake bravado exhale)

I’m better off.

I don’t 
	(Gasp)
Need
        (Pant)
You

I don’t need you…

Air bounces around 
frantically looks for an exit,
erupts from the empty cavern of my chest
bursting its way out of my lungs. 

I don’t need…you
	(ragged breath) 
		
Hold still now.

Listen.

To the sound of hollowness inside,
Was it like this before?

Was my heart always a black hole?
it beats with the scrape of metal on glass,
leaves dry water rings in the bottom of a heat-baked pot.

Where is the air?


Dizzy
     Trees
 	whirl

The rumble of thunder but no relief of rain
The one shoe drop.

Your end of the phone
dead, weighted silence.

Good
	(shiver)

Finally, you’re gone!
	(breathe, damn it)

Finally…
Tears trace down dusty length of my neck

you’re
(Gasp, Gulp, Cough)

Gone.

Darkness drops and nothing but space grows
 	in the garden of a heart once so carefully tended.

I don’t need you.

(exhale)


VerseDay 12-12-19

Here, in the middle of your busy holiday season, with the obligations and expectations closing in, take pause and have a little poetry break.

 

I am missing

Cried the mountain,

from your blood and from your breath

 

You are sticky in the pavements and

Choked in traffic

You are gut sick with expectation

 

And I am missing from your blood.

 

You are broken backed

And over ran,

Jazzercised and dieted

Into the pale haunting gaunt

That smiles back from checkout line shelves

 

And I am missing from your blood

 

You are sleepless and achy,

Eyes dry from small ideas

And false images, voices raised

Praising the ego unfaltering

 

And I am missing from your blood.

 

Come back and breathe me.

Come back to my silent path,

The truth of dirt.

Of pine needle crunch,

Rock fall tumbles,

beneath your feet which empty out the filth

and transfuse me back into your veins

 

I am missing

Cried the mountain.

Come and find yourself again

VerseDay 6-6-19

Good evening.

Here’s a little wanderlust inspired snippet to remind you to get outside and notice. There are no small things.

 

 

Fae
How the acrid hamlets of beneath-log worlds beckon

To faerie hordes seeking cheap rent. 

While the construction noise of flicker-rattle interrupts the raven’s sky rage rant,

And fae folk scowl with tinker noses scrunched.

Micha’s golden fish scales, peppering paths,

like midas scattered his trailing tears.

And though foolish told to low-lying men in suits,

Lie they glittering, priceless to me 

and the passing of my staggered step. 

I would wedge my heart beneath the logs, and gladly sublet.

VerseDay 4-25-19

Mornin’ kids. I hope your Thursday is starting off sweet and slow.

No matter what your plans are or how many ‘to-do’s’ you’ve packed into this day, carve out some time to get outside and find your quiet.

Haze

 

Gray cascades of fogged memory

Blanket the distance

And everything seems so much closer now

Kinetic in wait.

 

The world was never so quiet

Nor so still.

Even as rain needles pierce my neck

And trace frozen rivulets down the valley of my shoulder blades.

More pleasant a day I have not lived.

 

Here in the stillness.

The quiet and uncomfortable

The shivering slip of feet and

Icy hands

Scuffed against granite and lichen

In search for hold.

 

How we’ve come to fear being alone.

How we shy from homegrown reflections,

And shudder at the thought

Of being solitary amid the rain and rock.

 

We don’t even know to mourn

The tremendous loss

of keeping our own company.

 

Perhaps the gray residing in our hearts would be lessened,

The stormy mind;

Hurricane of worry and doubt, would dissipate

If we more often paroled our bodies to the rough beauty of nature

The purity of what is real might bring us back ’round.

Clarity borne from the muddled haze.

IMG_0008

VerseDay

Despite the urge to limerick you with inappropriate words that rhyme with Enis, I’ll attempt to reach for something more high brow… Enjoy!

 

The Heart

 

I spring up from the heart of a wooded path.

The smell of pine needles breaking down, and the crackle of acrid leaves

Feed my roots

The heat rising from Earth, through dirt and granite.

The brush of seeded grasses,

Passing along their generations to my body as I stride on.

The scratch of bark,

The quiet bending of grass

The warning cry of finch and chickadee,

Telling me in no uncertain terms

That I don’t belong.