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.I just watched this documentary about artists and actors, and they ALL agreed that what’s most meaningful to them about their work is the PROCESS. Process, shmocess. I’m sorry but I don’t give a fuck if you get up at 5.am. or write all night. I don’t care if you put on a bow tie or sit in urine-soaked sweats. I don’t care if you read poetry first to “prime the pump” or if you can’t read anyone else’s work while you’re writing except Jonathan Swift lest you pollute your vision. Notebook, legal pad, computer, I don’t care if you write the sentences on the roof of your mouth. I don’t want to watch you eat, I don’t want to watch you masturbate, I don’t want to see your grocery list, I don’t care about your dog and how some of your best thoughts come while you’re stacking the dishwasher. Don’t tell me about your dreams, ever. I don’t care how you thought you were writing one thing when you started and now it’s something else! I’m more interested in how a magician turns a coin into a woman sawed in half than how a poem, burp, became a short story that, burp, meant to be a novel. What am I interested in? RESULTS.
Will I burn in hell?
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Betsy Lerner 
I love you, Betsy Lerner. I’ll burn right there with you.
However you burn, “it’s a process”.
Priceless response. I’ll not top it.
totally agree. who the fuck cares?
“My heart burns there too.” When people talk about their process it makes people feel like they’re not doing something right. I like to hear about how people overcame failure and persevered until they succeeded.
If you do, you’ll be in very good company.
I love process talk, especially when I’m stuck. I’m thrilled by the desk-in-the-laundry-room stories, the dog beside the chair. Notebooks, pens, a slant of autumn light falling hard across the desk. A little superstition seems warranted when you’re trying to turn a coin into a woman sawed in half.
I’m definitely with you on the dreams.
I’ll meet you at the barbeque down below with a Kidde CO2. Scorch on.
“People got no business being in my workshop. Now, scooch on out of here.”
That’s my process.
Focusing on process is what gave TV viewers “The Joy of Painting”.
Burn baby burn.
Yeah, maybe, but you’ll have fine company. I mean, cat heaven is mouse hell, so who knows? I don’t mind the process; whatever works, and I know mine, but it involves dreams, superstitions, a South American hallucinogenic, tantric sex and a certain crystal from Tibet, so I don’t want to mention that.