Book Review: The Serpent and The Firefly by Courtney Davis

Posted on by sereichert

I hate to admit how long it takes me to finish a book. I love to read, and if I had like ten more hours in my day I would do it all the time. I’ve started carrying around my e-reader (don’t hiss at me you physical book-philes, I love both versions but that tech is a lot easier when the page counts are high, to tote into a doctors appointment) in an effort to spend those free moments lost in worlds instead of lost in the spin of social media doom scrolling. And I’m not surprised to find that the more I read, the more I want to read. But the last book I read, I finished in under a week, so I know it was good.

My last book that I finished was The Serpent and The Firefly by Courtney Davis. Now, it’s kind of hard for me to be unbiased. One, because this beautiful little book shares a release date with Raising Elle (so they’re like fraternal, romance novel twins), and two, because I really love Courtney as a person and as an author. So I’m going to do my best to give you a good, honest rundown of the book.

I love urban fantasy and The Serpent and The Firefly checks so many boxes. From the description and back cover, I couldn’t have predicted how beautiful a world Davis was going to build. She does it in a seamless style that brings readers into a dark little underworld, glimmering on the edges of our reality. I love the variety of characters she brings in (interesting but not overwhelming) and hope that she expands on some of the groups of supernaturals in later books (I’m totally into the angel angle, and I want more nymphs!) Her main character, Jade, is thrown into an unexpected position of power, after having her magic hidden for years. Luckily, she has sexy and not quite trustable Baal, giving her some guidance. Not without cost, as he’s using her to regain his rule in hell. But I love the way she shows him tripping over his desire and need, the more he gets to know the adorable and floundering Jade. And let me be clear…I’m not a huge snake fan, but there are some scenes with Baal that made my little toes curl and think about the advantages of a forked tongue…ahem….moving on.

The chemistry between the two main characters is palpable and there’s a lot of good tension building that made me shake my fist every time they had a ‘nearly there’ moment, but the relationship they forge in the end is worth the wait and I love especially watching Jade’s progression from a timid woman in witness protection, to a full-on goddess who saves not just our world, but two other realms as well.

Davis’s writing is crisp and she gives her characters wonderful personality and dimension with dialogue and just enough description. She builds her worlds beautifully without smacking you over the head with too much narrative. Its a quick read but a lot of story happens in those pages. I’m definitely looking forward to her next series out in August, starting with The Vampires of Atlantis. For more info on Courtney and her books visit her at her website, or on her author page at 5 Prince Publishing.

Next week is poetry, then a little homage to a new challenge that I hope you’ll join me in for July.

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

Camp NaNoWriMo 2023

Posted on by sereichert

Hello writers.

I don’t know if you are suffering the lull of longer days and stifling summer heat. Maybe this is your season and you’ve got no complaints. Whether your basking in the golden glow or changing your third sweaty bra of the day with a curse, I have a little challenge to keep you motivated even when the lethargy of July hits hardest.

You all know I’m a huge fan of November’s novel writing challenge, but this is the first year I’ll be participating in their Camp NaNoWriMo. The organization offers two camps each year (April and July) to help keep writers inspired throughout the calendar months. The camps, however, offer a little reprieve from the high-word count pace of November. The rules are simple, during camp months you get to set any word count goal you want and are allowed to work towards any project. Say you have a first draft that you’re ready to get cleaned up, through the camp conversion chart you can estimate how many ‘words’ you would get through your editing endeavors. Or say you want to get a jump start on a new Vella project (ahem–I’m working on it!) you could put out a goal of twenty episodes at 1,000 words a piece and as long as you’re logging your progress towards that, you’re nailing the challenge.

I realize you don’t have much time to prep, like you might in October, but I think the beauty of this challenge is that it’s a lot more lackadaisical and banging out a simple outline or bullet list of your goals might be just enough to get you started. Begin with a project in mind, pick a reasonable word count, page count, or chapter goal (reasonable means it has to still be a challenge, so don’t slack off–but don’t discourage yourself with something you can’t reach in a month–especially with kids at home) and pin it up by your work space to keep yourself honest and inspired.

As the youth coordinator for Writing Heights Writers Association, I’ll be creating a group for my teens to participate. It’s a much lower pressure contest and still has a lot of the same benefits, mainly building good writing habits along with some fun swag at the end. If you’re interested, or you know a writer who could benefit from a little mid-summer pick-me-up, visit their website: Camp NaNoWriMo and register today.

Hit me up here or on social media and let me know what you’re project is and if you’d like to connect via the organization’s site. I’ll also be running some virtual write ins during the month.

Creativity and The Writer: Part 2

Posted on by sereichert

Hey kids. If I hadn’t mentioned it before, a lot of what I’m talking about this week (and last) I learned from a great class at the Wyoming Writers Conference a couple of weeks ago with William Missouri Downs, a screen and play writer with years of amazing experience. If you have the chance, check out his work. His class has been on replay in my mind so I thought I’d share the good stuff.

Last week we did a little basic housekeeping when you’re trying to foster a more creative life. This week, we’re going to go a bit deeper into what creativity is and why, sometimes, it can be hard to grasp.

First of all, creativity is not something you’re generally born with. There maybe certain individuals who seem to have an easier time being creative, but for the most part, anyone can become more creative. Because, at the root of creativity, is the ability to open your mind to new possibilities and new solutions, and that starts with a few things:

  1. Be curious…about everything. Read articles and blogs on anything that grabs your interest. Give yourself space to wonder and research, even if it’s about the mating habits of the Pygmy Sherbert Moth of Southern Cambodia. Learning about different and strange things will actually help your brain spark ideas and forge connections that you might not have before.
  2. Learn how to concentrate. It seems counter intuitive that creatives are able to sit and focus for long periods of time (maybe its that stereotype of the flighty artist, flitting around the room on several projects) but being able to concentrate, uninterrupted, leads to alpha states which leads to ‘flow writing’. And it also keeps you working at a problem until a reasonable solution is found. Think of it as mental stamina, and we all could use more of that.
  3. Set aside time for your art and PROTECT YOUR SOLITUDE. I don’t think more needs to be said, except that it also means being able to be alone, and creating boundaries (even with the people you love) to protect your writing space. When people in your life ask what they can do to help, be honest and ask for alone time to write and create.
  4. Look for options long after others have given up on a problem. Explore all angles and possibilities. Even the ridiculous and absurd solutions–find those and play, because one thing may lead to another, to another, eventually to the right thing. Whether it’s a plot hole, or a crisis resolution, be open to the strange and impossible. Being stuck is an opportunity to do something different, to get your head completely out of the box.
  5. Take chances and accept failure as part of the process. Failures lead to knowledge and knowing you will fail means you take every opportunity as a chance to learn more about what works and what doesn’t without judging it or yourself too much. Safety is not a place you learn anything.
  6. Have several different interests. Yes you’re a writer. But you’re also a yogi, or a bat tamer, or a bee keeper or a circus performer. Spend time learning and growing in as many places as you can. We should all actually strive to be Jacks and Janes of All Trades. After all, the whole saying is that “a jack of all trades is a master of none, but oftentimes better than a master of one.” This goes back to making those strange and creative connections between things and solving problems outside of the normal lanes of knowledge.
  7. Be persistent, write every day without fail. Meet your deadlines (other people’s or self-imposed), without fail. Yes, yes, I know there’s a lot of writing advice out there. And some people don’t write everyday and they’re perfectly happy and successful. I think writing everyday is not so much a direct line to your success in the field, so much as it’s an investment in yourself and a way to give back to your time, your space, and your own sanity.

There are plenty of exercises you can find in books and online to help boost your writing creativity but the habits above will help you cultivate a lifestyle where your brain can do what it was born to. And that’s, create.

Be willing to throw outrageous suggestions and ideas up on your board and not make judgements. Free flow new ideas out on a page without looking back as they land. Then give yourself an hour or a night and come back to it. Even if none of them seem viable, they may lead to different avenues that will be your next great idea.

Well, that’s the short, short version. I hope you have a creative week and feel free to email me here on the site if you have any questions or just want to chat about writing.

Good luck.

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.

Postulating Purpose

Posted on by sereichert

Hello friends. Today is the start of the Writing Heights Writers Conference here in Fort Collins, so I’ll be away from my website and blog for a few days while I help out.

I’ve been a part of the writing community for quite a few years (15?) and have attended several conferences, classes and events as both a member and now part of the team. Far from being an expert, I feel like I’m still learning things every time I step out into these forays with other writers. About writing, yes, but also about trends, and people, and methods, and humanity. And myself. Lately, I haven’t been very impressed with myself as a writer. In fact, my startling lack of creativity and drive has been kind of frightening. Even an 800 word blog post feels like a struggle. Nevermind that I have an anthology I’m supposed to be putting together in a month.

So what the actual fuck is my problem? Well…I mean I have a lot of them. But you don’t have time and nobody wants to hear the sad-sack history, but I think this particular existential crisis is coming from a hard round of lessons and the decisions I had to make because of them.

For a long time I was driven by a duel sense of purpose. But lately I’ve felt as though I’m faltering in that. Not because I don’t still love writing, or teaching, or any of the things I’m currently doing, but because I think I’ve put an unbalanced load of it all on my plate.

You see, I used to have martial arts as a balance. Something very physical, extroverted, technical to fill up the other side of my life, so that writing in its quiet, introverted, creative expanse was an equal partner. In this way my brain and body were fed, my need for social interaction balanced with my need for solitude. But now–without it in my life due to unfortunately but necessary circumstances, I’m very wobbly.

I think for too long I defined myself as both. And therein lies the problem. I have been feeling, these past months, half full. Half alive. Half of what I know I can be. I have filled the empty space with more writing obligations but it’s drained the creative parts of me. It’s made me no look forward to butt-in-the-chair time, and I am…edgy.

So the next two weeks are both filled with conferences, and book sales, and networking, and hopefully a reawakening of my creativity will be found sometime between the cocktail hours and the moderating classes. But I worry, that I will only feel more drained afterwards. And what then?

I guess it will be time to find a new balance. A new pursuit. A new purpose, to fill that other half of my soul. Breaks my heart to even consider it. This blog really doesn’t have a purpose itself. Just to let you know, I’m struggling. And as much as I love writing, I recognize that it is one piece of my soul that can’t drive my entire life, nonstop forever.

If you see me at the conference, stop and say hi. I’ll be the one juggling my existential crisis in the back of the room.

Cats, Responsibility, and Writing

Posted on by sereichert

What in the hell is she talking about now?

Well, I was going to go through more information on conferences and educational opportunities, and how to network, with the impending conference season upon us all…but right now, my semi-blind, seizure prone cat is sitting at my feet, having unstartled from when I came up in different pants an hour ago.

This blog is about writing. In so much as it’s about compassion. In so much as it is about responsibility.

In so much as it is about living, every day, as fully and as lovingly as we can.

Periwinkle started going blind about a year ago, as a year-old rescue kitten. We adjusted, pivoted, and managed the house to meet her needs. Because I recognize that when you agree to make an animal part of your family, then you take them in total, and you care for them as best you can until it’s their time to move on to the next adventure at a nice farm in upstate New York. Then about a month ago her seizures started. Scary ones, big ones, with hissing and violence and running in circles while she urinated all over herself. Trying to hold her steady enough that she didn’t knock her head into a wall again and bloody her nose. And then came the clean up, and calm down, and gentle hands to wash it all away. I was convinced, after the third, that she would need to have help, ending her suffering.

After relaying my plan to my children, to prepare them for this difficult decision, my daughter…my loving, quiet, introverted daughter, the oldest and my first, who never asks for much and is sensitive to wavelengths most people in the world never even feel, looked me dead in the eye and said. “You’re just giving up on her.”

And at first I was mad. I’m the only one who takes care of the pets. I was exhausted. I was doing all I could and our vet didn’t have answers. There was medicine that might not help. There were surgeries she might not live through. All we had were mights and maybes.

Then I let her words sink lower into my heart.

When exactly–in the course of my ever-jading timeline–did I decide that nothing was better than mights and maybes? That the certainty of quitting overruled the hope of trying? When did I start putting my comfort over the pain of effort that may not be rewarded? Was I just justifying her ‘quality of life’ over my own life-weary need to not bother?

And didn’t I have a responsibility to do better for her?

So we took her to the neurologist (a three hour appointment that my husband took on as I had to work that day) and was given an order to administer 2ml of shitty tasting medicine, by mouth, twice a day.

I’m not sure if you’ve ever owned a blind animal, or one who’s breed and temperament predisposes them to vocal and violent physical outbursts but if not, understand that Periwinkle’s NORMAL vet appointments require no less than four vet techs/veterinarians to come in with welding gloves and a kitty straight-jacket to administer a two second shot to her hind quarters. Nonetheless, twice a day, we (two untrained and un-welding-level-protected adults) have to hold her down, open her mouth, and force her to take this sticky, foul tasting medicine.

TWICE A DAY.

FOR A MONTH.

That’s 60 times. 60 times I have to hold her down, against her will, pry her mouth open, let her nails tear into my inner thighs and hands and hope she doesn’t sneeze or vomit it all out again. I hold. My husband gives it to her. We placate her with treats and pets, and clean her face after. And it doesn’t get easier, and it never feels good.

But I’m not giving up on her. Because we don’t give up on the things we love. Not our pets, not our writing, not ourselves. And I try to recognize and respect that present discomfort is short term, survival and hope in thriving are the end goal.

We find a way, we exhaust all possibilities, we trudge through the painful tearing of our work and the forced sittings of writing in the parts and pieces of the story we’re trying to heal and bring to the surface. We go to therapy and we journal and we cut out toxic people who we’ve tried to appease for too long, even when it feels lonely and unsupported. We start saying no. We start aiming for yeses that matter. We sit in the pain and ply ourselves with gentleness in the aftermath. We speak kindly to ourselves. We cherish every moment, even the painful hard ones and we don’t take the easy way out.

Because the truth is, there’s not really an easy way out. Nothing in life is easy all the time. And I suppose you could quit whenever it got hard, but you’d never really get anywhere and all you’d end up with is a huge steaming pile of regret. And that’s a pretty shitty consolation prize for life.

I wasn’t built to give up. I wasn’t built to let heavy weight wear me down. Or have false friends, and gossiping narcissists and egotistical jerks make roadblocks of my own insecurities or need for love. I will do the hard work. Despite the odds, despite the voices that whisper behind my back and inside my head “wouldn’t it be easier if…”

I have a responsibility to my characters, to my stories, to my own love of writing. I have a responsibility to my peace of mind, to my health and well-being, to my balance and serving my future. Anything that gets in the way of those things, whether its claw marks, or vicious gossip, or plot holes…I’m no longer willing to accept or let them stop me anymore.

Now, if you’ll excuse me, I’m going to go pet my cat, and enjoy the sunshine calm where I can catch it.

Don’t give up while I’m gone.

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

BOOK LAUNCH

Posted on by sereichert

Huzzah! I can’t believe the date is finally here, ya’ll!

Raising Elle gets released next Tuesday (May 2nd) and I’ll be signing books, answering questions and doing a short reading at OLD FIREHOUSE BOOKS in Fort Collins, CO at 6pm that night. Parking is a little tricky in Old Town so plan accordingly (that’s more a reminder for myself than for any of you. Introverts with anxiety like to know about parking ahead of time). Raising Elle is the first book in my new series, and if I might say, it’s probably the darker of the three, but the characters are beautiful and their story is heart-full.

Here’s a little blurb:

Elle Sullivan comes back to her hometown, Sweet Valley, Wyoming, bruised to hell and hiding a big secret.
​
Determined to start her life over, she embarks on a journey to take back her power and help her family save their small horse ranch. But running into her old high school sweetheart, Blake O’Connor, reminds her that no road to success is easy. Raising Elle is a journey through hardships and forgiveness, and all the ways love heals even the deepest wounds.

Here’s a fancy graphic:

It would mean the world if you could make it and help me celebrate. If you can’t, however, please know that the book is available for purchase via 5 Prince Publishing and Amazon. Thank you all for your support and I hope that I get to see you next week.

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.