Robert N. Reincke

Death of a Past Life: I’ve always been compelled to document the stories told to me by my grandmother, Omi; stories of her childhood in Russia; of wealth and opulence followed by great loss; simplicity and nature in the countryside; and finally, the struggle for survival as she, my grandfather and mother freed themselves from two tyrannical dictators (Stalin and Hitler). You could say that I was passionate about my family genealogy. But that would be an understatement. I so identified with these stories that I felt as if I lived them (and who knows, I may have). I knew it was up to me to write this book. It took many years to finally do so. I had my own demons to fight. There was only a small window of opportunity when Omi was still alive and I was available. Fortunately, I started the book when she was 96 and clear-headed and I was two years sober. It’s a miracle that it was produced.

Falling Off the Catwalk: Like “Death of a Past Life,” “Falling Off the Catwalk” was a story I needed to tell, but for different reasons. I knew the value people place on the fashion industry and yearned to tell my story. But I needed to be sober long enough to uncover this dark and clouded part of my life in this horrifically usurious and materialistic industry (where parents send their young children to be exposed to the worst elements of our society's ills). Mostly, I wanted to disclose the horrors of the disease of alcoholism, the sicknesses of homophobia, and the irrationality and faulty self-righteousness of religiosity. Healing—spiritual, mental, emotional, and psychological—is my highest passion for this book. For others and myself.

Death of a Past Life: I interviewed my family members (mother and grandmother) on the telephone and taped the conversations. We lived far away; they in Michigan and me in California at the time. I also videotaped my grandmother when I visited her and am glad I did. I also did extensive historical research and used a family diary. And, as almost all good writers will attest (if they have the courage), I channeled the information.

When I write my best, the information comes through me. It’s not words that I intellectualize as much as words that come from my gut, my upper heart, or even the third eye region of my head. I’m either interpreting my own sorrow (or “lesson”), thinking it through my heart, or feeling it from my third eye—what I believe is my higher self and past memory from prior incarnations. This is why, I believe, I get such stunning feedback about Book III of “Death of a Past Life.” I lived it. I was Vova. And I channeled it through my ancestors.

Another example of this is in the section in which Nina sees Vova for the first time in many years. She had no idea he had returned to Leningrad. In imagining how I might portray this meeting, I instinctively thought that he showed up after she had played a game of tennis and was returning to her apartment. That day, I phoned my grandmother and asked how it was that she came to discover Vova’s return. She told me that she had discovered him after playing tennis. My instinct was therefore corroborated.

I researched “Falling Off the Catwalk” quite differently. Almost every word of this memoir came from primary source material and very little of it from memory, none from interviews, and I didn’t channel the information.

“Death of a Past Life” is a novel because I took every story my grandmother and mother told me, added in-depth historical research, and, much like a puzzle, worked it into a story. How much of what they told me was the truth, I do not know. I don’t know if they had the capacity to remember honestly, or if my grandmother truly wanted to disclose all the information she remembered. Additionally, I was aware that my grandmother saw the world through the eyes of a sheltered little, rich girl; the memory she retained even through the last years of her 101 years on this planet were skewed away from the harsh reality that actually existed in Russia before the Revolution. Finally, my grandmother did not communicate emotion. It was clear to me that if I wanted to write a historically authentic book that maintained the reader’s interest, I needed to elaborate on how the characters felt and extrapolate on some of the events prior to the birth of my grandmother. To point out how memory is perceptual I enjoyed pairing actual historical events with stories derived from my grandmother’s point of view.

“Falling Off the Catwalk” is a memoir because of the excruciating amount of work I did through primary sources. I’m passionate about honesty and integrity to begin with. Added to this was that my memoir was written during and shortly after the James Frey debacle (and his defining his “Million Little Pieces” as memoir when it was pure fiction). I, quite honestly, did not have much memory of the events that transpired during the time I was a model (I was very much an addict and active alcoholic...how could I?). Despite my weakening abilities, I maintained detailed notes in my Franklin Planner, journals and self-interviews on video. In addition, I had international publications of my modeling photos. I pieced these elements together to create my true story. This inherently caused challenges. For instance, I had no creative choice in plot or character development. There are no additional creative flourishes. The plot unfolds as it did in reality. I could not create dramatic arcs where they didn’t naturally exist. But I could identify where natural endpoints occurred in reality. Fortunately (and unhappily, at the time, for me) my life unfolded with characteristic drama.

Each of our lives can be defined as a continual memoir. The endings and beginnings of our “chapters” are based upon our own points of view. What one sees in my book depends upon what they are looking for. I chose not preach from the vantage point of my current spiritual understanding, since that is precisely what I had been doing as a religious fanatic during my dysfunction. Instead, I present the reader with bare facts no matter how bad they make me look—obviously I’ve grown a lot and would never act that way again. I let the reader be the observer and come to his or her own conclusions. Resolution to a secondary crisis set up in the book—recovery from alcoholism—is not only inherent by the fact that I wrote the book using my current developing voice, but also mentioned it within the story.

As I state in the concluding chapters, the journals and Franklin planner notes that I used to guide me, abruptly ended as my disease took over (they re-emerged when I reached a more stabilized job situation, much later). Future chapters would have necessitated a completely different pace and tone. And to continue even slightly further (into Athens, Miami, Denver and L.A.) would have brought the reader back into the despair of my chronic alcoholism, which didn’t (as mentioned in the book) resolve for seven more years. I already had presented the deplorable effects of the disease. It was appropriate to end on the best note I could; resolving a primary conflict and bringing the book full circle from Prologue to final chapter.

The situations that followed were much less dramatic: there were no Revolutions or World Wars in 1950’s America; the suburbs of Detroit were much different from the dachas in the Russian countryside or apartments of post-war Germany. Therefore, the follow-up to this book will take a much different tone also. My mother is currently writing a memoir, which I will make into a follow-up book or edit as is. The current working title is “Death of a Life: The Detroit Suburbs.”

Yes. Both of my books are possible because of my growing awakening to spiritual consciousness. In writing “Death of a Past Life” and “Falling Off the Catwalk” I look at conflict and human/​spiritual growth from two extremes. In “Death of a Past Life” my family (and I) experienced all of the turmoil one could possibly imagine from the OUTSIDE—wars, revolution, and displacement. In “Falling Off the Catwalk” I, as a young man growing up in one of the richest societies man has ever known, faces horrific trials and tribulations emanating from the INSIDE—internalized fear (homophobia), religious struggle, alcoholism, addiction, self-loathing, grandiosity, demoralization, and low self-esteem. Both books deal with loss of material wealth and emotional dislocation. Both also work with extraordinary events that occur to relatively common people—my family wasn’t royalty and I wasn’t a super-model.

I had intended to write a follow-up book to bring resolution to both external and internal conflict while illuminating joy in spiritual growth during the time that I have been sober. My intent was to focus directly on spiritual Light instead of small glimpses of it found amidst the spiritual darkness of "Falling Off the Catwalk." This book is not to be (at least not yet). I've determined that it is best to explore this communication using other areas of creative expression, such as in my sculpting.