New Horizons and Old Loves

Posted on by sereichert

Life, man… It is a perpetual state of change. In fact, one of the only certainties about life is that it will change. And humans are no different than any other oxygen breathing, carbon-based sack of stardust. The world changes. We change with it, whether consciously or not. We discover things we didn’t know (I hope) we learn and make different choices (also—I hope and that they are in positive directions). We take hurt and either learn to heal or use it as a weapon on the other stardust sacks near us. We find excuses to fall back into bad habits, or reasons to springboard into better ways of living. We are a constant swirl of contradictions and brilliance.

As a beginning writer, I always thought I’d write the same kind of book for my whole life. Because I loved love. And I loved romance. And I enjoyed participating in the happily ever after of a good swoon-worthy book. But as the world evolves so do we, and I am no different. This is not to say that romance is some basic-bitch level writing, it absolutely is not. Romance is hard to pull off (sexual pun completely intended) in a way that is both believable and reaches for something we all wish we had. Its maddening and beautiful and some of my favorite books are still romances.

Back to my evolution.

It didn’t take me long to realize that while I love romance…it wasn’t the genre that fascinated me. The trouble began (I feel like this is one of those old 1960’s “don’t let this happen to you” videos in health class) probably when I started genre hopping like a vagabond onto railway cars in whatever direction the tracks were going. Just anywhere but here. I was thinking about how and why I seemed easily distracted into forays of genre crossing, experimental writing, and odd formats…And I just figured it out.

I’m a character follower. I can’t stick to a genre because my storytelling is like a puppy out on a walk that wants to jump on and follow every new person home. I want to stick my noses in their crotches and find out where they’ve been. Ok. That—that analogy went too far.

The point is… People interest me. Characters interest me. Whether I’m watching them pirate a space ship, imagining them breaking up the scar tissue of a thoroughbred horse, or fear for them as they get possessed by the spirit they’re hot for. I’m curious about people. How they live, how they deal, how they fail. How they love… what they love. How they keep on keeping on and manage to use their big old squishy hearts towards better ends. Or bitter ends.

So I guess I don’t stray too far from love. But I like the depth of how love incorporates itself into our lives, whether its romantic or not. Knowing this about me feels like untying a corset, a big breath in, a cutting of old ideas binding me into “what kind” of writer I am.

I’m a character writer.

Which means I can write poetry, or gay romance. I can write socially conscious plays, or epic space farmer odysseys. I can write song lyrics or philosophical observations on love and meaning (but I repeat myself). I can write about characters because I love and respect each of them. I care about them. I am curious about them. I am compassionate for them. I can be the journalistic eye that follows character and changes the world and myself through their experiences.

This year I’m wrapping up some older projects (urban fantasy-erotic-trilogy based on the legends of Norse and Scottish mythology? Yes please…Genetic killing machine learns she has a conscious? Don’t mind if I do… A time traveling, hot as hell gay romance between two of my new favorite characters? My heart is all a-twitter… A literary first person POV exploration of grief, loss, and how we let go without losing our hearts? My soul didn’t know my brain could write like that…)

But I’m also hopping on new rail cars. Tentatively, 2 plays covering everything from the cost of pro-life legislation on a micro level and the oft-ignored life ruination of the high school to prison pipeline for black youth, a book of erotic poetry, and exploring my horror side with short fiction. It’s all a little ethereal and unsettled yet, but I see the stardust of potential, tossed out in the frozen dark of space, lying in wait for a gravitational pull to gather it into new universes.

Oh, and signed up for another fucking marathon so…that was stupid. That stardust seed is a cackling massive black hole I should have clicked away from instead of looking at the price and going… “Hey! That’s a cheap way to suffer immensely.” I bet I could have paid somebody less to take a bat to my knees, with the same outcome…but here we are. Eternally hopeful and stubborn.

So here’s to new endeavors, in your writing and your life. Open up that perspective a little wider and let some of the stardust in. But keep love…at the heart of your universe.

Ode To The Trail

Posted on by sereichert

In the spirit of this monumental week (bookending the days with a mountain writing retreat and probably the death of me by trail marathon on Saturday) I give you a short and sweet look at what trail running will do for a soul and what we can learn from a steady state of being present. Enjoy.

Nothing about trail running is easy.  I mean, sure for some skinny running-all-his-life-young-mountain-goat type it’s probably a walk in the park.   But for me, aging-used-to-flat streets-and-shady-neighborhoods, its one of the most challenging things I’ve done.  I like running.  I like hiking.  I hate combining the two.  Not just because it is difficult but it takes the worst parts of both and combines them. 

Running down a sidewalk in the cool and quiet morning is a practice in meditation for me.  My mind can wander; it can go over plot lines or character traits, dialogues and settings.  It can breeze over life’s complicated spider webs of responsibilities and desires.  Hiking up a rocky and single-tract trail, in the middle of the beautiful and chaotic dance of nature, stopping to smell the sun soaked dirt and hear the clicking of bugs as they dodge past your ear is good for the primal soul within.

But when you combine the two, your mind cannot wander.  It must remain focused, because the speed of your journey is encumbered and dangerous, riddled with rocks and snakes and jagged-reaching branches.  You cannot look around beyond the future path of your feet because you will surely falter. Your feet are twisted and tripped and if you aren’t living solely in that specific moment of forward motion, you could end up rolling down a yucca spiked hill and planting face-first in the delicate sharp tear-drops of cactus.

Trail running is hard, not just because of the altitude, or the climbing, or the sheer terror of descending down rocky terrain at a speed that threatens my control.  It’s hard because it forces me to live in a specific moment.  I can only look ahead briefly, I cannot plan the next mile, only the next footfall.  It is hard.  But it’s also a brilliant lesson in staying focused in the moment you are in. 

Very often I get ahead of myself, even more so, I falter back into the past.  It’s comforting to go back in my mind to the places I’ve been and the people I knew.  Its exciting to imagine where I will go in the future, and easy to build it into much bigger dream than attainable.  But to live in the now, with what I have to work with and what lies directly on my path makes me get out of my head and truly live.  And that, my friends, is hard.

Cross-Writing

Posted on by sereichert

Today was my official first run on an abbreviated 10-week marathon training plan. Okay, that’s a little fictitious. I’ve been running. I trained for and completed a 200-mile relay race last weekend, surpassing my hopes to not die by not only surviving but actually enjoying the whole thing. But this morning I dusted off the old chart and began to slowly start building the mileage I’d need to not die again in October for the Blue Sky Trail Marathon.

runnerIt got me to thinking about different types of runners. Some would have started training much sooner than this. Some are going to show up on race day with minimal miles and legs full of ego. Some have calculated calories to the numbers, selected precise nutrients per ingestion, and are weighing their shoe laces. Some are probably going to drink the night before and show up with four-year old sneakers and a day-old bagel with green chili cream cheese for fuel. The rest of us will fall along the spectrum between.

We’re all in the race, we’ve all got different reasons why, and different motivations to pursue that finish line.

In the same way, there are many types of writers in the world.

Those that dabble only when the muse traipses through their line of sight. Those that succumb completely to the words, to the exclusion of all else in their lives. The researching non-fiction gurus and the world-building sci-fi pros. The haiku aficionados and epic scribblers. The plotters and pantsers. The pious and the pornographic.

We cover all the bases.

penThe one thing we shouldn’t be as writers, no matter if we’re outlining or winging it, is stagnant. Yes, we need periods of repose  where we can recoup our mental losses and rest the neurons. Just like runners need a resting season, writers should take breaks as needed. This doesn’t mean we sit still. We are always, in some way, in training. And sometimes, the best way to train is to diversify the hours we spend at our art.

My suggestion for today’s post is to make a plan with your writing.

HEY! Come back! Hear me out…sheesh…pantsers!

When I say plan, I’m not suggesting you go investing your hours in spreadsheets and calendars. I’m saying expand your repertoire. It’s one of the best ways to grow as a writer.

If all a runner does are long, slow-paced runs, they will only develop a certain set of muscles. If all a runner trains at, are speed drills around a track, the same thing occurs. Unless you’re an olympian in a specific event this is a waste of your potential and a recipe for injury.

Balance, writer. That’s what I’m talking about.

If you are a novelist, take a break and work on a short story (you can even make it about a side character or your main character thrown into an alternate universe). If you’re a flash fiction genius, take a couple minutes to start plot building a novella or research a topic for a non-fiction essay.

If you spend your writing hours researching and plugging away at your non-fiction novel about the long line of Fredricks ruling the Kingdom of Prussia in the eighteenth century, try giving your brain a break and write a noir short story set in 1920’s Chicago. Or, *gasp*, try your hand at a little poetry.

writingStretching your brain is just as important as stretching your training plan to incorporate different activities.

Just like miles for runners, words for writers are not a waste. It doesn’t matter if they’re on paved or dirt roads, up hellacious hills, or on even city streets…the miles are the work and the work makes you stronger for the bigger tests ahead. Your words, your writing, grows stronger and better with every method you use to stretch it.

So get to it.

Go out and do ten fartleks of sonnets and a long-day of article submissions to Knitter’s Weekly.

Get uncomfortable.

Get better.