Writing Frequently Asked Questions

Posted on by sereichert

I’m on a bit of a respite this week, out of town and putting myself in a mandatory time-out while one of my kiddos is learning all about Paleontology and hopefully making some cool memories. So I’m sitting in a hundreds-year-old farm house, that may in fact be haunted, and catching up on some work and some rest…mental and physical.

Because of that, I’m rerunning a blog from about 4 years ago, updated to reflect what’s happening nowadays. Oddly, not too much has changed except the projects I’m working on. So, enjoy. And if I don’t call or email you back right away, just know that I’m retreating from the world in a healthy manner.

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?

A new series. Tentatively: They Eynhollow Series. About an orphaned Fae who discovers her destiny was a lot bigger than a boxing ring in Detroit. I’m through the first heavy rounds of edits and will clean it up further to hand into my editor by the end of August. The next two in the series will follow in the coming months so that (she said fingers crossed) both will be completed and handed in by the end of the year for publishing in 2027. I’m also working on a new novel (that’ll get some extra love in Writing Heights Novel in a Month challenge). Midlife romantic comedy.

Getting ahead on my blog posts

10 poems planned to write in my little ‘mental reset’ vacation.

Organizing about 50+ poems for a new anthology that I’d like to shop around to publishers next year

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

Marketing for my third novel in The Time Keeper Series out AUGUST 11th

Journaling every day

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). Also this reminds me to update my website, which I’m TERRIBLE at.

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.

On Laurels and Mountains

Posted on by sereichert
Photo by Startup Stock Photos on Pexels.com

I was trying to think up a topic today, within the sphere of writing, that might be new and interesting. It was then that I realized I like to fall back on my favorites. Character writing, dynamics of character interactions, emotion on the page, building tension. Or perhaps turn the microscope on myself and talk about burn out and creativity, progress without production, heart without hustle. But I feel a little bored with those topics and if you read my blog enough, you’ve probably read more than you wanted to.

So what do you write about when you’re toolkit feels a little… empty?

Well, maybe just that. I’ve long been at war with myself over the worthiness of a higher degree in the Literary Arts. Let me preface by saying in no uncertain terms: Every Degree You Get is Meaningful. Education is never a waste. And time spent learning and perfecting your art and voice and style is a worthy pursuit. But I have to add, that economically speaking, it doesn’t always give you an advantage. And…if you are at an economic disadvantage due to student loans, it can be harder to pursue a writing career.

So, what does a financially unstable writer do, when faced with the knowledge that she could certainly use a little more education and a freshening up of her skillset? Well, honestly, I could just rest on my laurels. I’ve published books and had work in different literary magazines. I’ve won some awards. I could argue I know enough.

But that would be short sighted and frankly pretty fucking egotistical. I don’t know everything. I could know more. I could experiment more. I could find a new mountain to climb, and shouldn’t we all? After all, what are we doing with this life if not learning? So, I’ll be looking for some affordable alternatives and, for any other writer who might be, like me, looking for a new challenge in their skills department, share some interesting options from down below.

  • Research new or unknown forms of poetry. This is my new favorite. I’m working on pantoums and cinquinta, and all kinds of weird little funness
  • Take a class from a local writing group or community center: Like Writing Heights or Lighthouse Workshop
  • Try an online course like MasterClass or a YouTube channel: Currently I’m taking Aaron Sorkin’s Screenwriting, and Roxanne Gay’s Writing for Social Change
  • Join a Book Study or Writing Challenge: again–shameless plug for Writing Heights Writers Association
  • Check out what Harvard offers on line for free: Harvard Free Classes
  • Take a class or invest in a book, outside of your genre: I’m currently reading both a Screenplay book, and one called “Howdunit” all about how crimes are committed and solved.
  • Consider switching over to Fiction or Non-Fiction: whichever you don’t normally do
  • Attend a conference or workshop in your area: Despite the recent hubbub, (and it’s not in my area) I will be attending AWP with the hopes of taking some classes that can broaden both my poetic skill and my writing organization’s offerings.

Well, I hope those ideas have given you a little goose to the behind to get started on reclaiming your lifelong love of learning (or inspiring one if you lacked it).

Happy Writing!

Poetry 7-3-25

Posted on by sereichert

Travel leads to thoughts. Interesting new connections and inspirations do too… Travel also leads to not a lot of time getting to sit down and make up blog posts. So I hope you’ll forgive me for posting two poems in a row. This is an older one, not in my current headspace, but always, somehow, tattooed beneath my skin.






Remember Your Lines







What does depression feel like?





Like I want to sleep forever





but every time I fall into that





blissful unconsciousness,





I hope I never come back out





that it’s just a peaceful send off





So long…have a good flight





Don’t call when you get there.





Because…that would be weird





And freak everyone out…





It feels like…





I can’t feel





sunshine, or joy, or pride, or hope





I’m a slab of granite,





wavering on two crumbling pillars of sandstone





stuck in quicksand and sinking





and I don’t care if I go under





in fact, I welcome it and hope





it suffocates me





with calm commands,





breathe in…breath out…and hold





like an MRI of your final moment





but it never tells you





to breath in again





Depression feels like





I have no energy in my synapses





and even if I did, nothing I could do with it





would be worth anything to anyone





least of all myself





Depression is a gray, weighted blanket





only not for comfort, it’s for the unsurmountable load





that life gives you to carry





and you just can’t find a good enough reason





to carry it anymore;





but you can’t find your way out





from underneath it either





Depression is seeing through eyes





that are a movie screen





to an audience that lost its will to care





lacks empathy, doesn’t recognize





Art





or love





or fleeting time





or beauty





Depression is a cage that I shout meaningless words out of,





fake platitudes





in hopes no one else falls into the cage next to me





I’m fine!





You’re fine,





you’re fine, baby girl





you’re fine…





I love you





it’ll be okay





It’ll be okay is tattooed beneath my skin





so that I don’t forget these





lines to a play that I rehearse and repeat,





back to the world that asks





Are you?





Okay?





I look down to the scars I once cut





but can’t cut again; they’ll see





Children learn from watching





so I don’t show,





I tell…





I tell lines





I tell them the lines I need to tell





I tell them,





Though the world is burning around us





and women will never be safe





and human lives don’t matter





cattle for the breeding grounds or





simply to slaughter to the gods of capitalism





Stop!





don’t say that…





don’t project the hopeless…





Read the line





Read the provided line





not the truthful line





of scars….





It’ll be okay





I’m





Okay





You’ll be…





… will you be?





Okay?





Depression is lying to loved ones





so you never have to worry that you’ll be





their downward spiral,





the same scythe of your mother’s loss





that cut you down





Cause we’re all Ok





we just need to…





I just need to





Remember my lines



	


	



					
						


	

		
Honoring Your Quirk

				

			Posted on  by sereichert		

			


	
	
			


	

		

Hello writers. How are you fairing in this strange, unhinged, cacophony of terror? Despite the political, cultural, and technological mess that we’re in, I hope that you’re shutting out distractions for at least a couple of hours a day to find some peace, and your own voice again.





Today, I wanted to talk about writing style. Not so much our voices as writers (though I’ll be covering that in a later post) but the way at which we approach the art, and the process of engaging in it. I’m in a busy season after signing on with my publishing company for another three-book series. It wouldn’t be so bad, but this is the first time I’ve proposed a series that was not yet complete. Which means, I now have a very real, somewhat daunting deadline of trying to write a novel (and polish it as well as I can) by the end of August. The first two books are done (mostly) so they will both be in editing by the end of this week. But the last book…





Let me start by explaining my process. I’ve written three trilogies. Two have been published, one is complete but won’t come out until 2026-2027. This newest one (my 4th) began with a Vella novel on Amazon (remember that flash in the pan?) and grew to a two book project that includes my first male-male romance as the second book. Both are fun, time-traveling fantasy romances, set in one of my favorite eras. All very exciting, and I had no trouble at all banging through the first drafts of them. Because I wrote them, as I always do, by puttering through whatever scene I was in the mood for at the time. Then I hodgepodged them together, as I always do, and fill in the gaps where needed.





Now that you have a little insight to my style (non-chronological, emotionally driven panster) I must tell you what a struggle this last, unwritten novel in the series is becoming. Because I had to write a proposal, I outlined it for my publisher. I never outline anything. I let the characters lead along a generalized path where there are key scenes I know I want to include. I had no key scenes starting out. I just knew a general path. It was all going along pretty well, for the first 20,000 words. And now…I’m stuck. I’ve pretty much written along the lines of my outline and I think the book won’t even make the 60,000 mark. In addition to that, when I’ve gone back to read, it all feels very flat. Like a Marvel movie. Like a dime-a-dozen romance. There’s no quirk. There’s no character depth. Even though it contains the same characters that I loved and developed for two books. So…what’s the deal?





Last night, after being stuck all week at that 20,000 word mark, I just let myself write a scene between the protagonist and the antagonist, a pivotal scene concerning the loss of someone very important. The concept was not in my outline. The scene was not planned, but just something my brain had been toying with in the shower after edits to the first novel started kicking in. I knew before starting this new scene, that it probably wouldn’t end up in the final version. It was just play. 





But then…Suddenly there was passion. I saw true character coming out from underneath the gray and basic facade. I wrote over two thousand words in a matter of 20 minutes. That’s the kind of writing I’m used to. That’s my sweet spot. That’s my quirk. And I realized then, that for the last month I’ve been trying to write like other authors I know on deadlines. Straight through and stick to your outline. Keep it clean, time’s too limited to be able to waste it on multiple rounds of editing. The trouble is, there won’t be a book by the end of that limited time to edit, if I don’t write like my brain likes to write. I am not like any other writer. I’m quirky and I need to respect that. 





So, that’s my lesson for you today. Yes, it’s important to try new methods and fart around with writing in different ways as a means to experiment and freshen up your routine, but I encourage you to find your quirk and respect it. What works for you, works. And when you’re on a deadline, do what works.





Happy writing. Now back to the grindstone.

	


	



					
						


	

		
I saved an earthworm…

				

			Posted on  by sereichert		

			


	
	
			


	

		

To be exact, they were what I would deem a “nightcrawler”. On my rainy walk, with my rescue dog River, and her distaste for the wet (I think it’s the pit bull in her mix) we encountered the large under-dweller, struggling against the asphalt. I watched for a moment. Remembering, that as a child growing up in a dry state (Wyoming), we rarely saw worms that size. If ever you did, was a good omen to gardeners and those were the ones you never took fishing. I bent down lower than my 45 year old knees liked and gently picked up its twisting body, and placed them gently in my palm where it squirmed for freedom, even from a small safety. The rain poured down around us and I let myself feel all of the tickling, wriggling, slightly slimy motion of a life in peril. I took them tenderly towards the grass and out of the space where tomorrow’s sun on the blacktop would bake them, and set them down.





“There you go buddy, good luck.” I said and a woman walking her dog on the sidewalk, moved carefully away from me. 





Why don’t we care for things anymore? When did we become so crass? How is it we have become too busy to save even the smallest of consciousnesses? I’ve been thinking a great deal about ‘modern’ life these days, and how less like actual life it feels. “Life” is suddenly something we are fed, by those who control the information. Life is on screens, and filtered to be pretty, it’s reductive, or ridiculous. Competitive and unrealistic. It’s shallow and degrading. When was the last time you held something in your hand that was real? A worm? Your child’s hand? Dirt from your garden? A pen? An apple? Someone you loved (known or in secret) arms wrapped tight and trying to stop time, just for a minute? When did you notice last, a being in struggle? Did you stop? Did you help?





I no longer want to be part of an unreal world. I don’t have years to waste on anything not authentic. What is the point? If I only have so many days, why would I spend them sucked into an algorithm? I want to hear my friend’s voices. I want to read their handwriting. I want to see them across a table or next to me on a walk. I don’t want to be force fed advertising, and told that I need wrinkle cream. As though the natural progression of my body is not something to rejoice in and enjoy. I don’t want to be told in spiraling doom scroll what this world amounts to in the number of likes or angry faces it has. Watch the volley of hatred and hurtful ignorance between neighbors be slung around like poisoned arrows. See artists reduced to fodder for machines, and the brainwashing of it all being NECESSARY, take us over, as though we have no choice in the matter. How can we really justify, as artists, “needing” a platform that abuses and misuses our hard work? I can’t. I never had any big hopes of making it in the industry anyway, so I’m not going to keep buying into a system of false promises, while it robs me of my creativity and passion.





We haven’t always been this way. Don’t you remember?





I know I will miss out. Your faces, your lives, the beauty of your progression in the world. I will not see you. I won’t get to laugh at your memes or comfort you in times of loss. But I will think of you. Just because I’m not there, posting weird writing shit, or poetry, or my bastard of a cat…I am here, thinking about you. Whether we’ve been friends since the fourth grade, or you just joined my writing group, or you read my books, or you gave birth to me…I love you. You don’t need the algorithm to tell you that. You don’t need Facebook as a go-between to keep us connected. I’m here. Loving you. Hoping good things for you. Wishing you a day better than you thought it would be, every day. Each one of you. No likes necessary.





I feel a bit like Neo. Taking the pill. To wake back up to what is real. And it’s scary. And I don’t know if I’ll just be forgotten. Maybe I will. But I suppose the hearts that forget me, I never really had residence in to begin with. Today’s the last day and I’m a little scared. The connection it offered was wonderful, the addiction it’s brought me to and the worry it sustains, is not healthy. For any of us. Here’s where you can find me: 







    

  • BlueSky: @sereichertauthor 
    • 




  • SubStack: @sarahreichertauthor
    • 




  • Website: https://www.sarahreichertauthor.com
    • 




  • email: director@writingheights.com
    • 




  • Address (I love letters and will send you one if you provide a return address): NCW, 4128 Main St, #144, Timnath, Colorado 80547
    • 






I hope I see you in the real life. I hope you find the balance you need. I hope you don’t give in to the idea that you’re data points and not a living, breathing, squirming, fighting, good-omen of humanity. I won’t be there anymore, but I’ll be around.





Photo by Grafixart_photo Samir BELHAMRA on Pexels.com



	


	



					
						


	

		
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.

	


	



					
						


	

		
Fear of Failure

				

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“A thinker sees his own actions as experiments and questions–as attempts to find out something. Success and failure are for him answers above all.”
― Friedrich Nietzsche





I know that I’ve talked about failure before (mostly because I’m kind of an expert at it), but today I’m looking at the fear of it and how that can affect us, on not just an emotional side but the physical as well.





The human brain is wired for survival. Which means, its really good at flooding us with chemicals to help us outlive the tiger in the grass. It gives us a healthy fear of risk, so that we can live another day to make fire, hunt and gather, and make more big-browed babies. The problem is that some of the deep seated responses and reactions are no longer as useful in our present day. So often, our overstimulated brains are inundated with stress-response chemicals at every little infraction. Boss angry? Jerk cut you off in traffic? Partner says ‘we need to talk’? All of these things can cause an immediate fear response. 





Sometimes it’s still helpful, but on the whole it shuts down our ‘thinking’ brain which is a much slower, more thoughtful contributor to our actions. What does it have to do with failure?





Let’s talk about the concept of ‘worst case scenario’. All the mom’s in the crowd know what I mean. You’re child is playing on the playground, but you’ve already mapped out every sharp edge, every eye-poking branch, and every potential bully. Because we’re wired to look for danger and to prepare ourselves for the worst things that can happen. Even if they never do. 





Switch over to that manuscript, or poem, or article on your computer that you’ve been working and reworking, and fussing over for years. You have a genuine fear that if you let it out of your sight, it’s going to get poked in the eye with a sharp stick, or fall off of the faulty ladder and break every bone in it’s body.  So you keep it safe, you keep it to yourself. 





Can you imagine a kid that never, ever left home? That never stepped out, that never met anyone else? That wouldn’t be much of an existence and the world would miss out. Unlike your own child, your writing will not die if you expose it to some danger. In fact, it’s through this ‘danger’ that it will grow, learn, and become better. 





So, when you’re trying to decide about submitting, or putting your work in a critique group, remember that its normal to feel apprehensive but that the point of using our voice, of writing what we love, is so that we can share it. And the worst case scenario is really that someone else doesn’t like it. Here’s a little insight-it doesn’t matter if they don’t. If they have good feedback that makes sense and would improve it, great–but don’t let the fear of not being instantaneously accepted keep you from trying. Every work is not for every body. But you won’t know which body it will speak to, if you never let it out. 





So–go get ’em. Take that piece to a critique group, give it to a friend to read, submit it to a magazine. Just don’t let the fear keep it (and you) in a cave.



	


	



					
						


	

		
Ah, Buckle This…A Pantser’s Guide to Buckling Down and Plotting

				

			Posted on  by sereichert		

			


	
	
			


	

		

They say we are divided, us wily writers. Those creative fluffs that let the words burn through them and damn the story arc consequences until the laborious editing process. Those starched-collar spreadsheet architects that engineer the life out of a story until it can be laid out like a mathematical equation. Two ends of a long spectrum encompassing how we all go about writing our stories. 





Whether you’re on your first novel, your seventieth short story, or your tenth attempt at nailing flash fiction, we all have a style that suits our particular intelligence. When I use that word, intelligence, I’m not talking IQ scores or any other accepted standardized measure of smarts. I’m talking about the way we each learn and create. Some of us are  spacialists. Some of us are naturalists. Some of us are mathematicians. Some of us are socialis–uh…well not ‘socialists’ in the negative way that gets a bad wrap these days…social butterflies? We all have strengths in different areas of “smarts”. (pssst–check out the cool infographic from blog.adioma.com–based on Mark Vital’s work. If you have an extra minute, look through it and see where your head’s at)












HOWEVER, each one of us–and I’m making this assumption because you’re reading a writing blog–are gifted with some level of literary intelligence. Storytelling. Weaving words. Building worlds with letters. So let’s start on that common ground and get to know why plotting out your story, no matter how fly-by-the-seat-of-your-pants-writer you are, will help free up brain space for better writing and save you a literal shit ton of time in editing.





I’m a pantser. I’ve always been that way. It’s a creative deluge in my brain on many days. Hundreds of thousands of words, hundreds of characters, plots galore. ALSO– at least six unfinished nearly full length novels, countless ‘story-starts’ as I call them, and plots that have fizzled simply because the fire burned itself out when it hit the cliff of not having a plan.





If you are on my side of the spectrum, how do we avoid the graveyard of fizzled projects, laying stagnant on our lap tops?





Well, we simply need to learn to buckle down.





OK, OK, COME BACK! 






No one shuts off Billy Idol






Jesus, I’m not some pastor dad from a bad 80’s movie, trying to tell you to shut off the Billy Idol and get a real job.





I’m just saying, as we mature as writers we can still have fun, and be responsible (I feel like a “The More You Know”, “after school special” moment coming on) to our stories and characters.





When I say buckle down, I’m thinking more in terms of a roller coaster. The buckles keep you secure while the ride still thrills and delights.





Here’s how I balance out my willy-nilly need to write untethered and the reader’s need to have structure (yes–reader’s need structure…what happens on the roller coaster is fun, but they don’t want to fall to their deaths on the first loop-d-loop)





    

  1. When you get your idea (character, plot, situation etc): Write the hell out of it. I always think of them as scenes. I imagine situations or characters that play out in my head and I just write without self-editing the movie in my head. this can be a couple of pages, up to even 10-15 pages of material. Once I feel, like this story/character has potential and I want to know more about them, that I want to invest book-length time and effort into them, I then…
    2. 







A River Sleeps Through It. 






    

  1. Create a loose story-line. Usually on an informal notebook page, turned sideways. Some people use graphics and spreadsheets. I know myself. If I started doing that it would turn into flashbacks of Anthropological Research Methods and my only C paper…ever… ew, statistics David. That would take all the joy from it for me. Like strapping into a roller coaster with seven belts and having the cart inch along at a safe three-mile-an-hour speed. Don’t fence me in, Excel. 
    2. 




  2. The story line doesn’t have to be crazy detailed. But it should have an act structure. Sure, I could dictate (*snicker* dic-tate) that it be a hard-line three act structure with appropriate crises and resolution points. But some stories require more, (rarely less). If you went through step one above, chances are you have a pretty good idea of at least the beginning and end. You know what your character wants and if they get it or not. The tricky bit is in the center and that brings us to this…
    3. 




  3. Plotting is important because it will help you get through the doldrums of the middle, where most novels go to die. Having some definite ideas about how crisis points build, where and when they come to a head, and how your character changes afterwards will help you know what to write next to keep the story moving in the right direction. Within that outline, is still a great abundance of wiggle room, so don’t get caught up in specifics when you draft your outline.
    4. 






Well, I think that that’s all I’m going to torture you with today. You might find, by starting with this simple diagram you feel more comfortable elaborating on it, adding plot points, character transition moments, and secondary or series arcs into it. Good luck out there, pantser. Buckle up, writers. It’s one hell of a ride.






Photo by Dana Cetojevic on Pexels.com












	


	



					
						


	

		
What’s The Deal, Brain?

				

			Posted on  by sereichert		

			


	
	
			


	

		

I’m normally a prolific writer. Like…I can put down 2,000 words plus a day when I have time and am in the middle of the glorious magical lapse, where time ceases to exist and there is only writing. But of late, that space is hard to find. 





Now, to be fair to myself, I did just get done with a big project for my writing organization as well as helping to put on a conference. The kids are home right now, and there have been a lot of to-do’s in life. All of those excuses aside, when I sit down to write, it’s less a raging waterfall and more a sad little trickle, if it happens at all. 





At the beginning of this year, coming off a year of publishing five books, I told myself that the main goals of the year would be learning and teaching. I would take classes, I would teach classes and give my brain a break from the writing, and especially, editing aspect of what I do–at least in terms of publishing goals. But I think I did myself a disservice. 





By not writing consistently, at least a little everyday on various projects, I think I’ve lost some neuro pathways. I’m having a hard time with my focus, with my word count, and with that magical blossoming of new ideas. But is that all? Because I’m pretty fucking loopy these days. Like can’t concentrate, I’m tired all the time, I’m crabby (granted the world is a shitfest currently), and often depressed.





This is where the post gets a little weird, but I encourage people (men, women, and everyone between and along the spectrum) to stick with it.





Let’s talk about perimenopause. (Ew! I know, but shut up and listen) Brain fog is real, ya’ll. It also means night sweats and if those don’t keep you awake, the random brain and body signals being sent will. Less sleep equals…even more brain fog. I’m struggling to find balance, and focus, even though I haven’t changed any of my normal dietary, exercise, or life practices. All this to say, sometimes, life and biology don’t work with us. Sometimes we have to find new pathways and methods to do what we love.





Right now I’m researching it. I’m trying to eat healthy, let myself rest when I’m tired, and (despite also still teaching and learning this year) I’ve started writing again. A small, simple and sweet little book that’s not requiring too much investment as of yet, because I need to keep practicing, but I also need to keep it enjoyable, and not too convoluted for the brain cells that are already fighting strange hormone dips and tricks. 





I know I’ll get through this, I’m looking into therapies and other things that can be done. Because I’m committed to managing my health and I’m committed to my creativity. Even if that means (as a woman and isn’t it ALWAYS the case) I have to work a little harder to find that balance. I’ll keep writing, a little each day. I’d rather be stuck in the traffic going slowly in the right direction, then pull of the road and never get back on.





Take care out there kids, and bring a fan. It’s going to get hot randomly.