Posted on September 21, 2015 by betsylerner
Question: The last book that made you cry?
Salman Rushdie: I don’t cry when I read, really, though I did cry once while writing the death scene of a character I loved in “Shalimar the Clown.”
I just can’t say anything. But here’s what I’m thinking: Really? You’ve never spilled a tear over someone else’s writing besides your own? A chin quiver? A Sierra Mist? What about when Beth March dies? What about Tess of the D’Urbervilles? What about Jenny Cavalleri?
What books have you bawled over? Four hanky reads? Watcha got?
Filed under: Agent, Salman Rushdie, Tearjerkers Love Story, Thomas Hardy Little WOmen | 33 Comments »
Posted on September 21, 2015 by betsylerner
Dear David Simon: I’ve asked you once and I’ll ask again: Will you marry me? I finished Season Five tonight. Apart from the fact that I’m still not exactly sure who Marlo Stanfield was, that was the best ride since the Soaps. The Wire, for all its violence, is incredibly character driven. I’m going to miss the gang, the look, the tone, the pacing, the story telling. And the dialogue! Great fucking dialogue: And I quote, “You’re a cunt hair away from an indictment.”
What should I binge-watch next?
Filed under: Uncategorized | Tagged: David SImon, HBO, The Wire | 17 Comments »
Posted on September 12, 2015 by betsylerner
DEAREST DARLING READERS OF THIS BLOG: LOOK WHO’S PUBLISHED. Our very own TETMAN!!!!!!!!!!
Thanks for the years of great comments, of great spirit, and support of all the writers who hang out here.
Everyone, get a copy or two of Franny & Toby. NOW! Congrats Tetman. You rock!!! Love, Betsy
Filed under: Uncategorized | 20 Comments »
Posted on September 1, 2015 by betsylerner
Writing a book is like finding a new lover. It woos you, loves you, fucks you, then leaves you. Dearest darling readers of this blog: I did it. I finished my book. I finished the fucker. It was due today and I turned it in today. 91,000 words cracked out of the sky, the tree, the branch, the twig. Am I stoned? Am I dead? Am I run over by a truck? Am I a cat, a bat, an owl, a toad? Every morning at 5:00, 5:30, I glimpsed myself in the window, a shadow, a golem, a cup of coffee. Does my nightgown smell like oatmeal? Who highlighted these transcripts in yellow? How many years did I wait for this? How many before I find another?
Fess up: did you write or did you play with your food?
Filed under: Uncategorized | Tagged: writing | 34 Comments »
Betsy Lerner 