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 Beautiful Writers Workshop: Novelty #1: Why in the Hell do I Need to Worry about Plot?

Posted on by sereichert

Can you believe I couldn’t think of a more creative title? Me neither. Some days are like that. Remember, this is geared towards beginning writers, so most of you long-in-the-tooth novelists may not get the same bang for your buck. But…there are a lot of sexual innuendoes. You’re welcome, or Sorry.

Today, I’m pushing through and rehashing an old, but viable post. Remember? Before the fucking world turned upside down and Elon Musk became president with Absolute Power? Yeah…those were good times. Let’s not dwell, you can call your congress person again (you’re calling right?) and attend those protests (you’re attending right? This IS the time to be the MOST KAREN you can KAREN–see below for my favorite emoji of the species) after this short and entertaining jaunt into PLOT. We’re getting into the meat and potatoes of writing a novel, and this kind of thing needs space. So, without further ado…

What is Plot and Why is it Important?

All right, I get it, it’s a dumb question, we’re all writers and we all KNOW that plot is the basic structure and story of your novel. It is the idea. The “what happened”, and why, and “what’s going to happen next” of any decent story. I’m not trying to dumb it down for you. But the true test of a good plot lies in the simplicity of answering those questions.

Now, you can have books that are character driven (an event happening TO a person, or BECAUSE OF a person). And you can have books that are historical non-fiction, based on one specific moment in time or occurrence. The PLOT of your book expands more than just beyond an event (otherwise The Hunger Games would have been maybe 50 pages long). The plot is the premise or sequence of events. Some novels will follow a very specific order of events that are common to their genre, or as we like to call them tropes. Tropes comes from the Greek Tropos define as “turn, direction, way” and refers to common, recognizable elements or sequences of events.

Many genre specific tropes (I almost prefer ‘formulas’) are embraced by the audience and even expected. Examples include: “the hero’s journey”, “enemies to lovers”, “small towns”, “cold cases”, “missing persons”, “AI gone wrong”, “fairy tale retelling”. But if almost every novel follows a plot formula how is it #1, that readers don’t get bored and #2 that you tell an original story that hasn’t been done before.

It’s an interesting dilemma on the part of a writer. We know which formulas work in fiction and straying from them often makes a plot fall apart or leaves a reader angry or unsatisfied at the end.

(She’s gonna want to talk to your manager)

But how do we follow commonalities in plot structure and still make it a fun, captivating, and surprising journey for our readers? The answer my friends, lies your ability as a writer to do five things: (Fuck Yeah! A bullet list!)

  • Begin with a unique event or crisis. This comes back to the “scan the headlines” exercise I’ve had you do before. A lot of weird shit goes down in the world. A lot of undercover, shady AF stuff too. Use it as a springboard, to your “what happens then/if” story building.
  • Tie the reader to your character (through love or hate) and make their reactions to events unique or contrary to the norm. (ie a cheerleader who fights vampires. A small town farm boy who becomes a powerful Jedi. A teenager who comes into supernatural powers without the maturity to handle them and doesn’t use them to download free porn–come on….or *snicker* cum on? Oof, sorry. Uncalled for. Please keep reading, I’ll behave.) Character building will come later in this series but if you create unique ones, their actions will create new takes on formulas.
  • Use honed writing technique to build tension for climaxes. Yikes, that sounds dirty and here I promised to be good. Tension is one key to making a story more than just series of events. So much of this depends on your voice and writing style. But the big take away here is about risk. Making the risks personally huge for your character, and even the world at large, will keep the plot fresh and drive it forward.
  • Play with the number and intensity of climaxes (story arcs). I think I’ll start using story arcs (some prefer ‘beats’) because every time I type climaxes I can’t stop giggling. Ok. Story arcs are BIG deals in your plot. Think of these as door ways, crisis-points at the top of your arc, that your character has to move through in order to get closer to what it is they want/need. Once they hit that doorway, or crisis point, they can’t go back. A serious change has occurred either in the setting or with-in the character and they must move forward. Next blog will be all about these arcs so I won’t go into much more detail here.
  • Consider using unexpected but intelligent twists. The best movies and books I can think of that do this are: “The Sixth Sense”, “Fight Club”, “Gone Girl”, “Mind Hunters”. What better way to shake up an audience than by having them accept one reality for the entirety of the story, only to show them the true reality at the end.

All right, so there are some tips for building an effective plot that carries readers throughout the book. My advice to you this week, is to explore various tropes and patterns, especially those in your genre. Turn a piece of paper (landscape-style) and write out the typical pattern of your story, then overlay events and characters of your proposed idea. See how they match up, see if you have enough tension building scenes, just play around with it. I’m not much of a plotter myself, but even I will do a general outline to keep myself on track and make sure I’m building a solid plot.

Next time, more on story arc, how to climax well (*snork*), and end satisfied (*hahahahaha). Until Thursday, happy writing.

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

When Heroes Fall

Posted on by sereichert

I’d been trying to think of something writer-like to put on the blog this week. I am, after all, a writer and my blog is about more than just book signings and the random outburst of poetry. It’s a space for aspiring and seasoned writers to not feel so damn alone. To know that we exist in a universe together, with other, weird little writers. We inspire and uplift each other. Sometimes we are cautionary tales, or serve as examples good and bad to one another. We critique and offer hands up, teach and learn, all together, knowing that the heart of an artist is surrounded in a soul more sensitive than most.

We see the world differently. We hear it and smell it, and absorb it. We make connections and notice the little things that many don’t. Its often why we suffer so much more greatly. But this week. This week I watched and read as whispers of misconduct became horrible, horrific truths. About someone I used to admire very deeply. Someone I thought understood and abhorred causing unnecessary suffering. I read his books. I read my children his books. I bought his graphic novels, I enjoyed his writing advice. He was incredible and creating characters and monsters.

Then the truth came out that he was one. A true-to-life monster.

For years, and in very dark and disgusting ways, he committed monstrosities. Ways that I cannot as a feminist, as a human, as an artist, or as a soul made of stardust, reconcile with. It took every one of his books off my shelf, and put it in the recycling bin.

But you can hate the artist but love the art, right? All of those terrible acts don’t negate that he’s a good writer… Here’s where I brush aside that morally gray line.

NO. I can’t love the art of someone who’s soul is so rotten and sick that he’d do that to another person.. Yes, those terrible things DO negate that he’s a good writer. Because the brain that created those words, also created and excised pain and terror on actual human beings.

Here’s the bottom line. I’m fed up with a world offering excuses to people who behave this way. Weighing a ledger between talent and atrocity. Where its ‘kinda okay’ because I don’t want to give up my special editions? No. It matters. It matters who we support and what we allow, and I’m done allowing it.

I took his books off my shelf, for those girls and women. For my daughters, for anyone who’s ever fallen victim to a hero, and every hero who’s ever taken advantage. That’s not heroism.

He’s not allowed in my house anymore. I’ll never willingly read his words again or buy any more of his books. I hope he turns the monstrosities and horrors he put out into the world, back in on himself where they belong.

What Do We Do Now?

Posted on by sereichert

It’s that time of year again, when we reset our calendars, back to a clean slate and make a lot of promises to ourselves that this year will be better. That we will be better. Only its a harder world this time around. You’d have to be pretty clueless to not see the deterioration of our society and our environment happening on the daily. Forces beyond our immediate control, who are so much more powerful than they should be. The inequality and stark difference between the few that have and the masses that have not. The magnitude of our environmental mistakes, snowballing into catastrophe… ugh, makes you want to just go back to bed, yeah?

Only what if we don’t? What if instead of accepting our broken and unjust system, we did something about it? Do you realize how many we are? Do you have any idea how revolutions work? It isn’t only the richest, brightest, and most powerful 1%. It is is the rest of us, standing up to say ‘no more’. Stopping our cog in the machine, putting to halt the system that works for only a few, and wears the rest of us out. Not giving in to hate and lies, not allowing our rational brains to get whipped into a frenzy by sensationalized and one sided news sources. Knowing that the truth of humanity, our shared existence and our common bonds is what those in power fear most. Because if we ever organized against them, the ‘let them eat cake’ knows they would not survive.

Am I calling for revolution? I dunno.

Are people dying of hunger? Are people being denied basic human rights? Are people dying because they’re can’t afford medical care? Are we imprisoning the poor for profit? Are we being refused a living wage? Are we having our energy and our art stolen by the heartless, greedy and belching machine that is AI? Is our environment being destroyed on the daily to pad the portfolios of people already too rich to spend it all? Short answer, yes.

But revolutions can be more than just war on the streets. They can come with lifting up communities, speaking out against injustice, refusing to work in unsafe conditions, turning off the noise of all the talking heads, reading books, speaking out, helping others. Revolutions can happen in our daily lives by refusing to live in the way we’re told we must.

I put together a yearly list, as usual, but this year I did something different. Instead of pushing through to commercially gained goals or pant sizes, I looked at what would help make me a better, stronger, more compassionate and purpose driven person.

You see, when we’re all worried about wrinkles and thigh size, we’re not dismantling the systems of injustice. If we’re worried about our 401K, we’re not thinking of our fellow human beings. Sometimes, just being content with your soul, resting in a hustle culture, and pursuing art and clarity is a radical act of rebellion.

When you sit down to think about your year, I hope you think about how you will defy the ignorance, hurt, and anger that’s permeating society currently. How will you choose to treat your fellow human beings, what work will you do, what purpose will you serve. I urge you to do something beautiful this year. I’m asking you to set your sites on being unswayable when it comes to justice and peace. I’m asking you to take to the streets when the time comes, and to stand up for your fellow human beings. I’m asking you to pursue a higher purpose, not in some deity, but in the pursuit of a better world for all of us. You’ve already got skills, find a way to use them to uplift. You’ve got talents and two hands. Use them for something that dismantles the systems that keep us all down.

Care for yourself, and others. In a world of mass production and garnering likes for self worth, shut off your social media and live in your skin. Rest when you need rest, push when you feel driven, and above all, do not lose hope.

Poetry 12-26-2024

Posted on by sereichert

This is my last post of 2024. I’m not sure what this new year will bring, or how much strife and struggle will be faced. I am reminding myself to find hope. In the kindness of my own heart as well as the goodness of other people I know. I hope you are getting some reflective time this week, to think about the year ahead, the things you need to prioritize and the things you are ready to let go of. I hope you are resting up for the fight to come.

Here’s a poem that was inspired by one of my favorite humans. Thank you Mary Oliver, for all the gracious insight into this wild and weird ride of life. 

Built to Survive

And oh how it pains me,
this disastrous cause
so far removed from the fresh, cold fields
and the dying gray-pink
of November dusk

I am caught in the trappings 
of an ever-present demand
create, create, create
sell, and buy, and break the book's spine
over the truncated timeline,
more concerned for a deadline
than the beautiful present view
before my own dead line

We do not see the muskrat 
in this way go
He does not build with wet, cold reeds
and fallen branches
to impress the critic

He builds to survive
He creates to have warm shelter
from the uncertain storms of life
He does what he does, because he knows 
no other way

How it pains me
this rushing through my words 
and upheaval of capricious page numbers 
flipping and fighting and settling 
for the shallow pond,
when my heart is an ocean
and this art is my shelter
its honesty, my survival
the only trueness left
in the short and tiresome struggle
of this one wild life.

Poetry 12-12-24

Posted on by sereichert 
In Quiet
 
Snow buries the sound
of footsteps and breath
all softness of touch
and heavy with forgiveness.
 
A blanket of repose,
to cover the spoiled ground,
wiping clean this slate,
to a world of potential and rest
 
Waiting.
Patient.

Not asking to be changed,
a pristine shroud to remind us
that some things are best left,
untouched.

What’s going on?

Posted on by sereichert

Hey there, consider this a ‘newsletter’ of sorts. I’m sure you’re all DYING to know what’s going on in my life, and have nothing between Thanksgiving and the Winter Holidays to keep you busy, so here’s a short run down of what I’m doing.

First, there’s going to be a little party, the last in the physical office of Writing Heights Writers Association, December 7th from 1-4. There will be food, books, good conversation and a teary (probably, I know I’ll be crying) send-off to our amazing director, Amy Rivers. She’s had a lot of battles this year and her bravery and fortitude has been inspiring. With so much weight to carry, it hasn’t been easy. But, in doing only a small part, I’ll be taking over for her as the director. And though we’re unfortunately losing her as the leader and our office (I wish I had the funds to keep it but rents are high) we will still be providing support, inspiration and services to writers in the community and beyond. In January I’ll be announcing some exciting opportunities and some return to activities that COVID had put a pause on.

Second, If there are classes or topics you’d like to see more of through WHWA, please let me know. If you’re struggling with a certain skill or marketing aspect, I want to know so even if I don’t know the best answers, I can find a super smart person to help you with it. Also, we’ll be bringing some longer, more in depth workshops for our members so if there’s something you want to deep dive into (memoir, screenwriting, character development, book launching) let me know and I’ll try to get it put on the schedule this year.

Third, I have a new book coming out with 5 Prince Publishing! It will be released May, and y’all, this is my favorite yet. I know we’re not supposed to have favorites, but…No Words After I Love You is an expansive and beautiful trek through grief, creativity, loss, acceptance and love. Its funny and poetic and…there aren’t any steamy scenes but it’s one of the best kisses I’ve ever written so… Gosh, I really hope it does well. More details to come.

Finally, my sweet kiddo will be going in for surgery mid month. A pretty scary, big surgery and I hope you’ll excuse me from being absent from the world for a few weeks. Wish us luck, send us all your good thoughts, and hug your babies tight (even if they’re teenagers and hate it). So much of our lives are wrapped up in their survival, thriving, and living a loved life, so I know you’ll extend me grace if I can’t get to emails and requests as quickly.

That’s about all the news that’s news. I know I’m supposed to include some links to my books or something? So…here’s where you can buy my stuff. Also, I appreciate it if you do, I don’t make much as a writer but there will be some hefty bills coming up and every bit helps.

LINKS TO MY BOOKS

Take care out there, pause in the busy season and remember to breathe, and I’ll catch up with you soon!

Giving Thanks

Posted on by sereichert

This is a little piece I wrote many moons ago for my gig at the NCW Writing Bug (back when it wasn’t WHWA). I’ve elaborated because (well–it’s my blog here and I can write beyond 400 words if I damn well want)

My parents are pretty amazing people, and having a third and unexpected mouth to feed didn’t make their life any easier. But I am eternally beholden to them for the sacrifices they made to raise my siblings and me. I’m thankful for the love and laughter they built our home around, and for constantly working towards a better life for all of us through perseverance, patience, and honesty. Even when it meant welcoming their unexpected third (ahem–that’s me) into the world with open arms.

So today, whether you are thankful for your family, your friends, or for the simple fact you have a roof over your head, don’t be afraid to send those feelings of gratitude out into the universe. Thank the health care workers and essential medical personnel who are working against terrible corporate systems. Thank your veterans and firefighters, hell–thank your postal worker because–fucking elections right before the craziest season of the year am I right?

Thank the grocery store and retail staff who spend hours and days on their feet with the public, to try and make their own living, thank the countless other souls who’ve made do through insurmountable odds to keep us fed, and with power, who take our trash and keep our water clean, those that educate our kids with a host of new and difficult challenges. Thank your neighbor for raking your leaves or rake theirs as an act of good will. Thank the food bank for taking care of people who, despite working as hard as they can, still need help, by donating your time, your food, or your money. Showing gratitude goes a long way in a time when we are doing so many ‘thankless’ jobs.

Even if we cannot be together today, our hearts are never far apart.

And for that, I am grateful.

Making Do and Giving Thanks

One of my earliest memories was of waiting in a dark and crowded hall while my mother picked out ‘groceries’ from piles of white and black generic boxes. I didn’t understand at the time that the blocks of Velveeta-like cheese, powdered milk, and bags of rice were part of assistance programs that kept us from going hungry when the insecurity of the uranium mine had left us teetering on the edge of destitution.

My father is, and always has been, a hard worker. He took whatever job he could to support us, but in the unstable energy economy of 1980’s Wyoming there was always a fear behind my parent’s eyes. Their amazing resilience makes me tearful with pride now, as a parent myself. 

Because, back then, I never knew we lacked for anything. 

We were always fed.  We were always clothed.  We had a roof over our heads and wild game in the freezer.  We made do.  When lay offs hit, they squeezed the most out of what we had and made do.  When dad went back to college for a second degree in teaching, we lived in a small house in Laramie and made do.  When Christmas came around and three kids rushed to the living room, there was always something there to be thankful for.

I didn’t have cable as a kid; I had books. I didn’t have a TV in my room; I had the library less than two blocks away. It didn’t matter that we couldn’t afford vacations to far off places because I could go there in my mind. Pages were like my wings, rocketing me towards new and fantastic horizons. My parents couldn’t give me designer clothes or name brand shoes. They gave me Jean M. Auel, Jack London, L.M. Montgomery, Louis L’Amour, Piers Anthony, and Jane Austen. They gave me hours and days of uninterrupted reading time. I still remember mom peeking in on me, sprawled out in bed, pouring over a book, completely lost to the world around me, asking if I needed anything. 

Looking back now, and knowing what I do about how much it costs to raise a child (nonetheless three), I really couldn’t have asked for more.

We made more than just meals from small staples. We made worlds out of our love and support of one another.  My parents gave us the belief in where our minds could take us. And we made do.