• Bridge Ladies

    Bridge Ladies Sometimes I think a meteor could strike the earth and wipe out mankind with the exception of my mother’s Bridge club — Roz, Bea, Bette, Rhoda, and Jackie — five Jewish octogenarians who continue to gather for lunch and Bridge on Mondays as they have for over fifty years. When I set out to learn about the women behind the matching outfits and accessories, I never expected to fall in love with them. This is the story of the ladies, their game, and most of all the ragged path that led me back to my mother.
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They Say Our Love Won’t Pay the Rent

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In the middle of a big editing job: erasure shavings everywhere, post it notes creeping up my ass, hunting and pecking for transitions, new structure shaky like the legs of a doe. Looking for the heart of the thing, the lungs and liver. I fucking love this work. It’s just me and the page. Face to face. Man to man. Thirty years of a muscle. I truly believe where there is great writing a book of great beauty can emerge no matter the struggle . I loved being an editor. Was proud to tell a stranger on a train what I done for a living. Now, I’m that thing with eight legs but I still have my blue pencil. Still have a trick or two.

9 Responses

  1. Yes; no doubt !!😁

    Sent from my iPhone

    >

  2. I’m editing too, but I’m at the weary stage of it after the flush of “Yay editing!” has worn off. Also that was probably a terribly mixed metaphor.

  3. Shining through is your passion. And expertise. It’s a mighty thing to know you’ve got the stuff, empowering. Writing, like editing, is hunting and pecking, chiseling and sculpting. That’s what I love about it most. The struggle gives it heft.

  4. You enjoy the journey.

  5. Indeed

  6. Betsy, you’re a saint. A tricksie, eight-legged saint.

  7. I’m a shitty first-draft writer and sometimes find myself struggling a bit with the third and fourth drafts, as well. But give me a red or a blue pencil over a blank page any day.

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