• 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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I Felt All Flushed With Fever



This is about being in the homestretch, seeing the end, the pieces falling into place, the yolk hitting the pan, the sizzle, your eyes ringed and dry, your fingernails bloody, your legs alligator handbags, pencil, pencil, pencil. You used to have eyebrows, you used to have friends, you used to answer your phone, you used to sleep. The last three pages, the last page, the last line of dialogue, the last touching image. Fuck all.

What’s it like finishing your project?

10 Responses

  1. im a strong starter
    when it comes to finishing
    im a saboteur

  2. “What’s it like finishing your project?”

    Never the same, from one to the next, if the project was a true project and not an exercise in masturbation by word.

    One project, when I came to the end, the final few pages were handwritten in a late-night flurry of red ink on typing paper, and when I reached the end I threw the pen down on the paper and there I was.

    Another project, I finished it, and it was like I was still in the dream of it, the dream I had dreamed onto paper so long, that I didn’t wake up right away. It was several days before I realized it was done, and I had done it.

    Those are two of the ways it can be like to finish a project.

  3. You wrote a beautifully frantic post.

  4. Finishing is divine, but the sense of relief is a fleeting moment only. When I finish, it’s like I’ve been holding my breath the entire time and I can finally let it out. Then comes the angst. Because even when we finish a project, the angst never leaves, it simply shifts from worrying over settings, themes, fresh ways of description, to, what the hell did I just write, is it any good, who will like it, hate it, pat it on it’s head and shoo it into a corner, etc. etc.

    The usual drill.

  5. It’s like after the last of the bad sushi passes.
    Relief, with hope that it’s finally over.

  6. Relief followed by feelings of second guessing; familiarity breeds contempt. I’ll give it some time. Then I’ll think it’s actually good and go back, look it over, make some changes and realize it’s never really done, but it’s too late now; the child has gone out into the world.

  7. My Day Job world revolves around the words Substantial Completion. The contractors and I rush towards a calendar date- notarized on paper- knowing that our paychecks depend upon our abilities to meet all the goals outlined in the contracts. I like the challenge of bringing my concepts into reality, on time. It’s a handy skill as I toil away in my Parallel World of Writing, and wait for someone (other than me) to be interested in my manuscripts.

  8. I get depressed. Not good enough, not good enough, not good enough. Then I tear it up, delete it, flush it. I am right now sitting at my desk wishing I had not gotten rid of every single thing I have written when the last fire swept through my mind. It is almost impossible to recover documents after you factory reset your computer. I am right now sitting at my desk wondering if I read the other stuff enough that it is burned into my brain and will resurface as I toil along hating myself. Some has, but the good stuff is still hiding in the shadows. Gotta keep on keepin’ on. It’s a study in memory and madness. Finished? Whatever.

  9. Dear Betsy You Had Recommended Bill Clegg As A Possible Agent For My Late Friend, Claire Clube’s Poetry. Suzanne Kingsbury Told Me That He Doesn’t Promote Books Of Poetry. I Wonder If He Would Make An Exception? Please Post Me, & I Won’t Bother You With It; “Embarrassed By The Sound/I Felt He Found My Poems & Read Each One Out Loud.” ( ! ) Sean X

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