• Bridge Ladies

    Bridge Ladies When I set out to learn about my mother's bridge club, the Jewish octogenarians behind the matching outfits and accessories, I never expected to fall in love with them. This is the story of the ladies, their game, their gen, and the ragged path that led me back to my mother.
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Tell Me, Would We, Could We

Nearly every writer I met with in Miami was working on a memoir. Each one had a story more harrowing than the next: disease, abuse, mental illness, etc. Each one moved me, and you know I’m a misanthropic bitch who really only cares about a handful of people in the universe and where I’m going to get my next Twix bar. So what the hell happened down there?  Am I going soft?

22 Responses

  1. Hormones. Don’t worry, you’ll be back to yourself in a flash!

  2. I will answer all your most pressing quandaries. But first. Give me that twix.

  3. Eat another Twix bar – and maybe things will get twixed around the right way.

  4. What’s so wrong with going soft? Except that, yeah, you live in NY.

  5. I, too, am working on a memoir … no tragedy, drama, or abuse. Describing “the good old days” in the Penna. coal mining region, with a little touch of good humor. Any room for this type of story?

  6. No, you’re not going soft. yes, I will prop you up if you need it. The problem with you, old child, is you want to sell books. But, unfortunately, these days, all the books look and sound alike. Why? Because the people that are writing these books are not writers and, really, just want to cash in on their tragedy, which, of course, everyone has, You would know best, but how is that tragedy interesting reading? ENLIGHTENMENT. I’m telling you, this the next big thing: ENLIGHTENMENT. Gather up all the manuscripts that have been sent to you by lonely people that just wanted someone to hear their sad tale and know that they existed and turn it into a religion. Make them suffer if they don’t keep confessing (I’ll leave that to you.) But, fuck, bleed those idiots, bleed ’em dry. They’ll feel better in the long run. I’m tellin’ ya, it’s the next big thing. Get on board, Betsy, let’s rape the cupboard; it’s the next big thing.

    PS. Do you think I could make it?

  7. I think the concept that life toughens you up is a false one. Life abrades you, wears off layers in increments. If you build up scar tissue in one spot, you rub yourself raw in another. It’s why we make art, isn’t it? It’s what suppurates through the thin and broken parts. And I imagine memoir is the quickest, or most direct, manifestation of such.

    It’s a good thing, if you ask me. Otherwise we’d all be walking around like stegasauruses. Stegasauri. But commercial chocolate sure does help, or licorice if you’re me.

  8. I love you. I’m gay, but I’d love to have your children.

  9. No Betsy. You’re having a Twixepisode. You’ve got to start tapering off slowly, very slowly.

  10. You’re a sweetheart. You try to hide it–the city makes its demands–but everyone knows it.

  11. The bigger question: Why so many memoirs?

    • It’s the “Ka-ching factor.” That which made America great, etc.

      But remember, when your waiter is telling you of his stock investments, it’s time to get out of the market.

      • Do you mean that people write memoir because there’s money in it? I don’t believe it.

  12. Sigh. Love this blog more with every post.

  13. It sneaks up on you, compassion. Then douses you like a fire hose. Perhaps all the attendees were actually gifted writers with compelling stories?

    Or, like Linda commented, hormones were at play.

    Twix though? I had you pegged as a Kit Kat Dark gal.

  14. I know memoir is the current big thing. Ask any agent. But why did they move you? Maybe you needed distraction. Or maybe you were in their way.

  15. But what would you do for a Klondike bar?

    P.S. I’m departing L.A. Didn’t see your soul all weekend, so I think you escaped in tact.

    • Now I’ve got that jingle in my head. That and the York Peppermint Patty commercial were my favorites. I don’t watch much tv anymore but I’m smitten with the Old Spice ads. My 5 yr old likes to jump around the house yelling, “Swan Dive!” It’s a miracle he hasn’t broken his nose yet.

  16. The warm weather mellows you. You were wafted.

  17. Fret not, my friend. You’re back, amongst the jaded. You’ll get your hard ass groove back in no time.

  18. This made me laugh — sorry. I know you’re flummoxed and in despair and all, but my cat died today and I needed a dose of je ne give a shit.

    Thanks. You’re such a dame. And there is nothing like a dame.

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