Poetry: The Truth of Elliana Byrne

Posted on by sereichert

Good morning. Wednesdays are what I affectionately call “Therapy Thunder Dome” (would have a better ring if it were “Therapy Thunder Dome Thursdays” but we work with what we have). So since my little peabrain will be too tired to blog well (as if my rested brain does it ‘well’) I’m recycling an old poem from a supposed former contributor. Here’s what I what once wrote:

“Today’s poetry comes to us from a former and continuing contributor to The Beautiful Stuff’s Poetry Anthology. Ms. Byrne has a knack for gripping the guts with her poetry and, as an almost graduated student at the University of Boulder, she is finding her way with a powerful voice in the world.

Elliana spends her days reading (sometimes for fun…most times for class), daydreaming, and writing. She studies English Lit and dabbles in short stories and poetry when possible. She enjoys life best curled up with a good book and her cat, Gil. You can read her work in last year’s anthology “No Small Things” (https://www.amazon.com/gp/product/1692331558/ref=ppx_yo_dt_b_asin_title_o00_s00?ie=UTF8&psc=1“

The truth is that I am Elliana Byrne. And I used the pen name because some of the poems I had written felt too visceral to put out into the world. But after having gone through this last year, I’ve realize life is nothing but visceral and I don’t have a problem trying to hide the gory truth of what it sometimes means to be human in all of our messy failings. So…please enjoy, and think about what masks you’ve worn, and if maybe, in light of these lives of ours being unbelievably short, if it’s time to take them off, and just be unapologetically you.

And now this:

Clean Slate

I want to wipe away 
the grievances of your skin
and its heated strokes against mine
and darken the unforgiving universes 
of your eyes
that know and
do not know me

But the treasonous mind
casts wayward glances,
over shoulders turned cold
and the love and ache of wounds
that should be healed over
still echo in weakening heart beats

this disloyal heart
casting out lines 
into currents that have battered the boards 
of my ship
and sunk it deep, 
where it now lies 
desolate and quiet a tomb
on the ocean floor
waiting, in vain,
for a tug of interest

treacherous
and dissonant soul 
vibrating in time
to the sound of yours
even when the harmonic waves
shake my teeth and
dislodge my brain
and seize my nerve endings

I will sit in this heavy deep
and wait
for reason or worse
divinity
to tell me how
to clean you off
by needle or by blade
I will close my eyes,
turn my back
and huddle in
to the shipwreck of me
and cut lines
until
i bleed clean
again


Life and a Bit of Poetry

Posted on by sereichert

I have to be honest. I didn’t get a post written this week. I’m actually surprised I’m even getting it done the day of. But if nothing else, I believe it’s consistency that builds skill, trust, and a life in total. So here’s a slap-dash post.

First, I’ve been truly busy this week working on a labor of love: The 2024 Writing Heights Youth Anthology (Name to be revealed soon!) I’m the Youth Coordinator and every month I plan out a lesson and writing prompts and load my heart up with lots of joy and compassion to teach a free class to teenagers about writing. We have about 15 in person and virtual students and the class varies in size depending on the stresses of school and life and other activities. But the work and I are always there (see above about consistency)

So far, the group has put together nearly a hundred pages of poetry, prose, fiction and non fiction pieces about life from their perspectives and stories from their imaginations. And its pretty damn good, if I do say so. Along the way, they’ve learned how to explore different modes of writing, critiquing and editing and what it means to communicate with each other and the world. This anthology is about more than just their first publishing credit, and getting paid for words. It’s about trusting in their voices, and learning that speaking up and speaking out is one of the greatest tools they will ever have to change their world and lead their own unique and beautiful lives.

That being said, I struggle with formatting and arrangement so… the majority of my time has been in trying to get each font just right, within the proper margins, and editing those pesky lines a few more times. The book should be out in July and I’ll let you know when the big release date is. Until then, if you’re interested in donating anything to the organization, you can contact Amy or Jess at director@writingheights.com . It’ll help us offset the costs of publishing, make sure the kids are paid for their hard work, and get the good word out about the program.

Now, I’ve gotta go try to make a table of contents *shudder*. Here’s some poetry.

Reluctant Hope

Every morning I wake 
with a shuddering light of hope
in my chest

Weary from the day before
denied sustenance and light in kind
Yet, somehow...
I still wake with it

It strikes me as foolish
to hold on to this frail bird of a thing
in the dark cavern of my chest 
neighbor to the empty heartbeats 
that pump sanguine rivers
to heavy limbs

Still, she settles there
a stray who found warmth
on an otherwise rough
and dirty-guttered street

And when my eyes open
she blinks too
pulls my granite limbs up
like stringed fingers to a puppet
and whispers
a wind through grasses
from far away shores
of better days
That today
today 
this day
will be better

Shuddering, flickering,
a loose bulb swinging in a dark room
making an arched smile as she dances
we'll make today better

Poetry 6-13-2024

Posted on by sereichert 
Her List

let’s make a list
of all the things
I didn’t do
of all the tasks
still uncrossed
the boxes
unchecked
and measure my worth by them.

How it had been months
since I last dusted well
and when some fog of
depression lifted
and I stared in disgust
he breathed a sigh 
of ‘finally’ relief
and happily let me scrub them down
even seeing my obvious self-loathing

what did you do with your day?
I erased months of my skin cells
erased months of myself
with disgust at the oily build up
of what I’ve become…

but no matter how much grey brown filth
I rinse down the drain
I’m still here

were that my cells finite,
and every time I shed
I just became smaller
and smaller
and smaller
until one day
I would blink out of existence.

a last checked box
disappear, 
check.

Poetry 6-29-2023

Posted on by sereichert 
Distance

There is a particle of smoke in the air
a memory of a tragedy
carried from miles away
from a place where someone's world
was lit on fire
and nothing but the traveling ash
remains
now an infinite shudder
rippling across the world
of their universe, destroyed
muted with the distance
into one particle

and I wonder
who is tasting my tragedy?

on some distant shore
does someone lift their nose to the breeze, 
close their eyes inhale and think

There's a bit of heartache in the air
I wonder who's world burned down
I hope they're okay.

I hope I'm okay
Guilt

Someone said to me today,

not all guilt is bad

she said, 
you feel guilt
because you stood up 
for yourself

because you showed someone
that you matter too

that this guilt is learned
when we constantly put others' happiness 
in front of our own
we feel guilty 
for not giving away our light
to help them shine
we feel guilty
for not allowing them
to dictate our actions 
out of fear for their feelings

but this guilt
should be unlearned

and maybe the true source of the guilt 
should be reimagined

that we feel guilty 
because it took us so long
to stand up for our own heart

Poetry 5-1-2023

Posted on by sereichert
Photo by James Frid on Pexels.com
Full Stop

Have you ever fallen
tumbled so terribly hard
that when the ground comes up
to meet you
it knocks your soul out
so you lay 
dead for a full moment
without air in lungs and 
blood stopped
staring into the thin blades of grass 
and the tiny loose pebbles of concrete
the smallest of worlds
in sharpest of view

full stop

world stopped
no more spinning
in dizzy laughing love
an idiot comprised of chemicals 
and false hope

and the ground beneath 
certainly has broken 
your kneecaps 
and cracked your sternum
into your faulty heart 
and bruised your hip bones
in ways he never did
and the bleeding of your palms
is communion to the earth
paid in full 
for the first reality you’ve known
since the daydreamy excursion
that robbed you of self

I have fallen
and I see the ground for what it is
and the weightless joy of you
is nothing more than
the precursor of pain
one more round on a faulty
merry-go-round
with rusty handles pulling free 
and rattling with 
uncertainty
until it tosses me off 
into the grave of ground

full stop

I stare at the grass
the small pebbles
and make myself soak in the shock 
as it rides over my body 
like waves
and I open my arms wide
to each salt spray of pain
until they pull back

full back

into the sea

and I remember

to

breathe
in full

don't stop.

Poetry 5-11-2023

Posted on by sereichert

Hey kids, I’m getting things ready to format the upcoming (and much delayed) “Beautiful Twist” Anthology. A big thank you to the contributors who’ve been so patient and understanding as I navigated through the complexities of compiling all of the different works coming in. I’ve been fortunate this year but also very busy. Preemptive release date for the anthology will be July 2023. Here’s a little smackerel of poetry.

When Last Did You Sit In Silence?

When last did you sit in silence
only the oceanic rush 
of your own breath
filling the tide pools of your lungs
drawing back out 
into the world

When last did you sit in silence 
and feel the crushing weight 
of a world decimated
in human destruction 
and did you wonder
how much better it could be
without your clumsy footfalls
your grunting breaths
 and dripping sweat
as you toil to leave behind the reckless
hurtful fire of man behind

Didn't you feel so small?

When last did you sit in silence
a speck below a billion stars
and feel the 
unbearable lightness of being
insignificant
the silence a reassured shush
of our mother
reminding you that
you are just a moment
 a stardust burst
in a vastness that will
soon forget you
if it ever knew you at all

Doesn't it make you feel 
so small?

When last did you sit in silence
and feel this freedom?

Don’t forget to check out The Writing Heights Writing Conference this May (tomorrow is the LAST DAY to register for in person sessions so get on it!!) The link is here: Conference Registration.

Also, for more of my poetry or my novels, visit this site: S.E. Reichert Novelist

Poetry 4-20-23

Posted on by sereichert

Today I’m going in for a root canal, after a rough week both personally and professionally. So…while I’m ‘enjoying’ all of my experiences, please enjoy this.

Let it seep beneath your clothes, let it draw out memories, a needle to the dark blood, and wash you clean again. Let it remind you that you are still here. A breath at a time. Through all the pain, the rough days, the personal and professional losses and gains. You’re still here.

So this isn’t a poem for the broken hearted
it is not for those who were left behind
or ghosted
or dumped
or abused
or disregarded

This is a poem for those who watched
as another soul walked away
or preferred their silence to truth
or was released from another person’s life
faced pain at their hands
or were simply ignored
into nothingness…

You are the warriors of time
you, who have felt the sting
of heartbreak 
and disappointments
revealed as new skin 
while hope lay, a the shed skeleton
in the dirt

you are the carriers of grief
and the bodies made of scars
and you have lived through
every burning cut
and every lonely night

This is not for the soul they thought 
they broke,
this is for the you that survived

I will not preach from some high tower
that you are stronger for it
that you are braver because of it
that you are a better person
a heart bigger, with cracks to let the light in

But I will tell you what I know

You survived.

You packed up your heart and your mind
and you moved on
You accepted their silence
you treated your wounds and closed the door
you started paying attention to yourself 
when they no longer did

and that carries weight
self determination
and the ability to move past
the fickle and soft-seated lies,
of a love always perched to flee 
the very second things got hard

Your feet remain grounded
and you endured

You heart is a seasoned warrior
and it may never let another in

but it doesn’t need to...

It might not even have the space

because in their absence
 
beyond the echoes of their abuse
the pain of their mistreatment,
you’ve filled your heart,
with the unfaltering love
of yourself

they can’t ever move back in

there isn’t room any more.

Letters To Ourselves

Posted on by sereichert

Of few things I am certain.

Change is inevitable.

Babies and puppies will always cause some kind of visceral, deep rooted reaction.

You need a night sky, devoid of city lights and full of stars to feel your appropriate size.

Fewer sounds are more calming than a river flowing, rain hitting your rooftop, or a dog snoring nearby.

Nothing tastes as good as when your grandmother made it.

Nothing comforts like the right pair of pajama pants, and

procrastinating cleaning the bathroom always takes longer than actually cleaning it.

Time is finite and infinite. It’s a construct without construction and we know so little in our tiny human brains about what happens, how the universes expand, and where our consciousness ends up in the grand scheme of things that we are little more than specs of stardust in a grand swirling ocean of time and space.

You always discover these things too late: that you’ve loved, that you’ve lost, and that you wished you would have tried harder.

We will always blame ourselves for things we cannot control,

We will always forgive others more often than they probably deserve.

Every love song written is written about you and how you deserve love.

I know that when you start loving yourself, truly, you start asking for what you deserve and

this is how we learn our worth, internally, not externally.

And letters that I write to myself, in the darkest nights of my soul are always the messiest, truest words I ever speak. True for the moment. Even if it is hard and ugly truth.

Writing, from pen to paper, is a line of truth between that infinite, unaware conscious and the swirling cosmos of existence.

So my exercise for you today, dear writer, is not to journal.

It is not to blog, or pound out letters aiming for a word count.

Sit with your breath for a solid five minutes,

just your breath,

let the chaos that you’ve been pushing to the back of your mind with endless tasks, fill the silent spaces between inhalation and exhalation.

When all that’s left, is the ocean pulling in and rushing out

and your weight is heavy against the solid seat of the earth

…write

Write about what is running torrents in your mind.

Write your worries, your fears, your wins and losses.

Write down the set backs and jump starts and the hopes.

Write a love letter to yourself.

Show patience, understanding and care as you would if you were writing to your child or someone you love beyond bounds.

Be kind.

Be honest.

Be true.

Call yourself sweet things, like Love and Darling and Starshine.

Be hopeful.

Then, tuck it away.

Get on with your work, see if the chaos has settled just a bit.

Plough ahead, and check off that to-do list…

Until one day you stumble upon that letter.

And remember…that there is truth in you.

There are words and brilliant ideas, and hope.

And you belong in the world,

That you are loved.

Remember.

Submission Time! (and some poetry)

Posted on by sereichert

Hey writer… have you taken my suggestion and thought of the 100-Rejection Year? You should. And to that end I want to give you another place to submit (but not necessarily be rejected by).

Below are the guidelines for this year’s upcoming anthology “A Beautiful Twist”. I’ll be accepting submissions up until May so you have plenty of time. The Beautiful Stuff is accepting submissions for its June 2023 Anthology “A Beautiful Twist”.

SUBMISSION GUIDELINES:

Open: January 1, 2023

Closes: May 30, 2023

submissions to: sereichert@comcast.net

Please send in your short stories (2000-5000 words), Flash Fiction (200-1000 words), Poetry (up to 5 poems allowed per submission), novel excerpts (up to 3000 words), and Personal Essays (up to 2000 words).

Genres include: non-fiction, fiction, speculative fic, western, sci-fi, fantasy, romance, erotica, historical, hysterical, time jumping primates, talking frogs, brains in jars, and ANY combination thereof. Submissions translated to English are preferred. All humans are encouraged to send in their work.

Contest is open to domestic and international writers but awards will be paid in US dollars. Please submit your work as an attachment to your email, including a cover letter about you.

Email subject line should read “BEAUTIFUL TWIST SUBMISSION_Title_Name”. The submission file (please use .doc, .docx, or another Word friendly format) should titled as such:

“BT SUBMISSION_Merry Krampus_Reichert”

Top 3 submissions will earn prizes. Runners up will be published in the anthology with a chance to compete in the Colorado Book Awards.

You may submit in multiple formats and multiple times but each submission must be in a separate email. You can copy and paste your cover letter…I’m not going to make you rewrite that thing, they’re a pain in the ass.

PLEASE DO NOT submit anything that has been previously published or that you no longer own the rights to. Simultaneous submissions are absolutely fine but LET ME KNOW if your work gets accepted elsewhere as soon as possible.

Prohibited subject matter: overtly violent or gruesome content that does not further the story, non-consensual sexual acts, racist/homophobic/misogynistic/hate filled writing, violent or hurtful actions against children or animals, and anything that judges, stereotypes, or seeks to harm another human being based on their human being-ness. I’m cool with erotica done tastefully and along the lines of the theme. I’m also cool with expletives if they fit the character and scene.

And now–Poetry

Photo by Todd Trapani on Pexels.com
awakening

There is a calm dawning this morning
like my soul
had been buried
in a hard-packed patch
of dormant field

left to the winter
dry and cold
a seed
forgotten

safer there
than in the hostility
of storm and freeze
above

but dawn is awakening
stretching her slow fingers
in golden pink
across the craggy clumps 
of dead grass
and uneven dirt

an easy warmth
a gentle hand
mother's touch 
softly shaking your shoulder

it's time to get up

good morning,
how did you sleep?

Writing Frequently Asked Questions

Posted on by sereichert

Given how heavy last week’s blog was, I thought I might lighten it up a bit. In the course of my career, as soon as people know I’m a writer, I’ve gotten a lot of questions, ranging from the concerned “What did your parents do to you?” to the outright rude, “Oh, so what restaurant do you bus tables at?” But some are genuine and interested.

I’ve picked out a few questions not just to give you my personal answers but as a way to think about your own journey as a writer and why having the answers to some of them is important, whether you get asked or not.

Writers Frequently Asked Questions:

How do you come up with your ideas?

I dunno man. It’s part magic and part just paying attention. Sometimes it’s a character from my childhood that I want to reformulate and expand upon. Sometimes I’m watching a nature show on octopods and flip the station to an expo on genetic research. I will say this for the good writers I know. Ideas are everywhere, and it’s all about paying attention to why each story, article, factoid, or fungi is interesting and how they could be moreso. Even though tropes and genres rarely change, the situations, characters, and actions are an endless pool of inspiration.

I’ve written about space captains and cowboys, Krampus’ nephew and Bacchus as a modern-day AA member. I’ve written about a nurse with OCD and a child who was the reincarnation of Peter Pan… Ideas are everywhere. Go on line, find prompts. Read the newspaper. Watch people. Read. Think about what makes a good story—a character you care about, an impossible situation, high stakes, dynamic growth. And give your brain down time to think and daydream (walking the dog, in the shower, at your kid’s soccer game—don’t look at me like that it’s okay to zone out for those once in a while too). Play with the What-If and don’t self limit.

Also—buy a small notebook and a pen (or you could use your phone, ugh) and write down things you notice, articles that were interesting, conversations you overhear, even the strangest ideas from out of nowhere. You never know…

How many hours do you write a day?

Pshhh… Listen, if all I needed to do in a day is write, I’d probably say at least 4 to 5 hours or more. But I don’t know any of us who don’t have some other job, a family, or otherwise adultish tasks to complete. So, I’m going to be completely honest and watch die-hard writing theorists gasp in shock.

Somedays I don’t write at all.

*gasp! How does she even call herself a writer!?*

Somedays I’m so plagued with class planning and familial obligations and oh-my-god-whats-growing-in-the-bathroom-sink, and teaching, and making dental appointments that I don’t get to sit down at my computer until late in the evening when my brain is effectively mush.

But it’s not always about the quantity.

Because sometimes on those nights, in the span of twenty minutes before bed, I can bang out three or four solid pages. Sometimes I only stare bleary eyed at what I wrote earlier in the week. The point is, it isn’t about the hours and hours of singularly devoted time you put in. It’s about concentrating and working with focus for every minute you do get and making it impactful over time.

So—on average in a week, I maybe write 1-2 hours a day. If you factor in editing and rewrites and marketing and advertising my stuff, that probably gets bumped up to about 3. It’s not as much as some…but for now, it’s what I have to work with and I capitalize on all the moments I can.

What are you working on now?

I’m not like other writers. I’m a goddamn, flighty scatterbrain. So my answer is…complicated *wheels out an old chalkboard packed full of a complex theory, diagrams, and stick figures*.

At any given moment I’ve got multiple projects and I’ll tell you why.

Because I get bored. And sometimes I’m tired. (hahahahaha—ah…that’s funny because I’m ALWAYS tired)

I’m not saying I can’t sit down, focus, and write a novel, end to end in about a month. I can. I have. I usually reserve all of November to do that. Or on projects with co-authors as there are expectations and deadlines to meet.

For me, having multiple projects that I enjoy helps to keep me engaged and inspired and lets me cater my writing to the state of my life that day.

Maybe I only have twenty minutes. So I write a poem, or submit a poem. Or both

Maybe I have an hour, but I’m not feeling very fictional—I work on my weekly blog or catch up on emails from other writing projects. Or get a solid chunk of editing done.

Maybe I have an uninterrupted afternoon, I’ve been daydreaming about my characters and what I can do to torture them…I’ll bust out a few chapters on my novel.

Being a writer is a career best done when diversified.

One, we learn how to write better when we give ourselves more variety.

Two, we will burn out less often when we can take breaks from something that’s got us stuck—AND, AND AND…sometimes being able to put down ‘stuck’ projects and work on something else will lead to that magical AHA moment of unstuckness, because your brain has stepped back and can look at it without so much intensity.

Three, in terms of getting paid? You might love your novel, but its your magazine articles that are paying for your PB and J’s while you wait for the next publisher to realize how amazing you are (and you are amazing)…so have something more lucrative if you want.

Four, I hate to say it, but marketing, editing, and submitting count as writing. It’s the new and best chance way to really make it as a writer these days.

So—what am I working on?

3 novels: one in first edits with a cowriter, one is the first in my new urban fantasy/romance series—heavy rewrites but mostly formulated, one is my Kindle Vella romance that I’m writing, frighteningly, chapter by chapter (I’ll plan that out better next time)

A weekly Blog post

3-5 Poems a week

The new Beautiful Stuff anthology

1-2 Submissions a week (leading to new poetry and flash fiction pieces)

Edits for some accepted short stories

Soon: Edits for my first novel coming out with 5 Prince Publishing

You make any money at that?

No.

Not at all.

After editing, marketing, and website fees are factored in, I’m actually, constantly, in a hole. In fact, I love writing so much, I started working a part time job just to afford it.

But this is important to know about yourself as a writer. Why do you write? For the money? Because there are ways to do that—freelance, magazine articles, content writing, textbook editing. But you should also know that getting published right away, with a good book deal and royalties is not common. It isn’t impossible but you’re going to have to work for it.

My suggestion is to write because you love it. Because if you do that, and you throw it out into the world to see if it lands with someone, and it doesn’t get picked up, then at least you loved what you did, enjoyed what you made, and created something that was meaningful. And that’s not nothing.

If you don’t enjoy it and try to meet a trend, or publish some MFA tome that you hated every minute of, I honestly believe that the chances of it ‘landing’ and being picked up, are less.

Stories with heart and passion behind them, are just better stories.

Do you get writer’s block?

I go back and forth about those two little words. Yes, I believe that writers can get blocked. but I prefer to call it “Life Blocked”.

Writing doesn’t get blocked. We block ourselves. We get in our own way. Life gets in our way. The other worries, concerns, judgments, conflicts, and comparisons surrounding us get in our way. The writing is always there, just waiting to come out. It’s not beyond our reach. Until we put up walls of insecurities and excuses in our own path.

Somedays the inspiration isn’t there. Write anyway (see my answer from above about switching up projects, doing something that is still writing but not what’s got you puzzled). Somedays you are burnt out. Take a day off. Watch stupid movies. Take a nap. Keep your hands off the computer until you’re gnashing to get back to putting words down. Writers forget that inspiration is always there, you just sometimes have to clear out the path before it will flow. That might mean writing that scene you’ve been dreading until it turns into one of your favorites. Or sitting in the chair, writing the worst shit you’ve ever written nonstop for thirty minutes via a timer until you realize that it’s not all bad and that you were just afraid admitting that we all write shitty stuff sometimes.

Don’t believe in writer’s block. Believe in normal human emotion and limitation, give yourself grace but don’t give yourself excuses.

Where can I find your work?

Always know this answer and, if possible, have a card with your info on it. You can find my work on Amazon, libraries, in some journals and newspapers as well as on my website. www.sarahreichertauthor.com (and yes, get a website)

How do you finish a book, I just can’t!

How do people climb Mt. Everest? How do people raise children? How do people retire comfortably after 45 years of work?

One step at a time. Always forward. Never giving up. Pause if you need, catch your breath, remember why you’re putting in the work, eyes on that distant horizon and keep moving. You will get stuck. You will want to quit. There will be stories you do have to quit or rewrite completely. Just don’t stop writing. One page a day. One sentence. Six chapters. It doesn’t matter. People who don’t finish their books have let the world win. They let their doubt win. They let the aspect of editing and cutting out what wasn’t working win. They let the fear of finishing a book and what that might mean for expectations on them win.

Don’t let fear or hard work stop you. Just write. Because you love it. Because you love the character. Because you love the journey. Because you love being lost in that world. When it gets hard, shift course, skip over the dark and come back after you’ve written through some light. There are a million ways to quit. But there are at least as many to persevere. Find what makes you keep going and do that.