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.Good news, bad news. Rejection, acceptance. Invited to the party, snubbed. For once they put enough lime in my gin and tonic. For these small things I am grateful. The woman at the bar so vigorously shook the martini canister that I thought I heard the ice rumbling around and felt the coldness near my neck. Red light, green light. Bank account. How much time can you buy to write. Today, on the plane I was surrounded by a family of five. The father attended to all of the children while the mother zoned out watching episodes of Ozark on her device. You made yourself and you can break yourself. Don’t forget it.
Between writing and not writing, where are yon on the spectrum?
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Betsy Lerner 
Writing! For once.
I’m still on a writing hiatus, but little nuggets of a new story have stayed with me for about a week. That’s usually a good sign.
Not writing. Nearing the end of a piece and trying to tidy it up, but I keep finding ways to avoid it. It’s like pieces of me are missing and it’s not a good place to be.
writing fairly steadily at home with week-long bursts away. just fell down a research hole and found the piece of information that provides the answer to my character’s change. a holy moment.
but i’m tired.
In The Eyes Of The Lady & The Right Hand Of God, Missing Jim Carroll. Sean St. X.
Writing my ass off, although my ass doesn’t look like it.
I am so close to hitting send (to my copy editor) I have to hold myself back from the edge of the crust.
between writing
and not writing
are all the colors that can be seen
i am not there
i am there
i am not
i will be
i am
After far too long of a hiatus–I am making headway on a new book tonight! I’m thanking a snowstorm and a three-day weekend for kicking me in the ass.
And thanks to you, Betsy, and our Island of Misfit Writers, for always providing a nudge!
I am writing again. When I return I always warm my hand to the warmth of a familiar fire, Betsy always being there. Thank you Betsy. For always being there.
Leave the dishes and screw the laundry, stay up until 1, wake with longing writing. Fearless and honest. The first time ever. No expectations for publication, wondering what the market wants. Just because I want to.
Writing here and there. On the 3M pastie. On the back of a receipt. On my palm. On the back of my hand when my palm runs out of space. For that big writing project? I am the world’s leading oral writer. I’ve been talking about it for decades. Been looking for a kick in the… right direction for a bit of help.
I’ve written an article here or there. Been published once, in a small book. That was fun.
Trying to pull it all together and sit down to know which way I should travel. Haven’t heard the siren’s song (without all that nasty deceptiveness stuff) of my tribe, just yet. Perhaps I should sing just a bit louder. I’m tired of singing longer. Found someone’s book that I’m **TRULY** hoping will help lead and inspire me in the direction to go.