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.It’s Friday! Day Seventeen of the Thirty day writing challenge! Do you know where your children are? Today I had fun writing. Yes, I actually had fun. Me, Betsy Lerner, Queen of darkness, actually enjoyed the tapping. I shall prepare for a crushing experience tomorrow. But for right now, I’m cracking open a can of diet ginger ale and kicking back for some Netflix marriage. Guys! Guys! I can’t believe we’re at Day 17. Day 17!!!
Do you ever think of an audience when you write?
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Betsy Lerner 
I think of my mother, even though she passed away 10 years ago. She didn’t want me to write. She was afraid I’d spill all the family secrets. Still my harshest audience.
Do you ever think of an audience when you write?
Yes, yes, yes.
I haven’t written my column in over two years and yet when I sit down to write i think about audience all the time.
When I’m out and about I still get recognized because of the picture which headed the column. No big fish in a little pond for me. (I was a minnow in a mud puddle and proud of it). Funny though, because the head-shot looks like I am the daughter of the woman I have become. Damn aging.
It was and is important to me to connect to my readers. So as I type this I see you writers reading this. You’re in bed, at the kitchen table, on a bus, train or waiting in line. I wont mention the ones who take their phones into the bathroom but you know who you are.
Hey audience, have a nice day. Off to do my dirty thirty plus.
Sometimes. It’s helpful in the late stages, but crippling earlier on.
Yes, and it fucks me up.
“Do you know where your children are?”
Know where they are? I don’t even know who they are, or even how many. Wise is the man who knows his own children, and the days and nights of my youth were frolicsome and fulfilled. There is one child, I know him and where he is. There is a second, we are strangers to each other but I know where she is. There is almost certainly a third, I don’t know him or where he is. There is likely a fourth, of even whose sex I am ignorant. Might there be more than that? Might be, might be. The 70s and 80s were quite the time. Man the animal, spewer of seed.
“Do you ever think of an audience when you write?”
Of course. I want my writing to be read. So I know what I write and why. I try to be honest, in so far as I may understand what honesty is. I try to be skillful and precise. Some reader doesn’t like the story? Fuck ’em, they can leave if they don’t like it.
Sort of. In the form of a shadow of myself. First I aim to please/entertain/amuse/whatever myself. But if, as back in the day (waayyyy back), I was writing for a specific publication, well, yes, indeed, I had an audience (editor, publisher, readership, etc.) to consider.
Maybe I’m lying. Are there are people lurking over my shoulder as I tap tap?
Yesterday was pretty good, not quite the word count, but good. I’m slowing down b/c I’m at a critical point in the story. I have to write “the scene,” the THING I’ve been laying the groundwork for all along. And you know, it has to be right.
“Do you ever think of an audience when you write?”
I do, and I feel like if I like what I have, then they will too, and that particular audience is there and growing. (hopefully)
The thing is, I like stories about the depraved (McCarthy), the misfits, (Pollock) and the wounded, (Allison, McDaniel, and Gibbons). And wrapped around those depraved, misfits, and wounded are the solid, normal, and self-aware types who, while going along the glorious twists and turns reveal the balance, the normalcy, while they deal with the “sick.”
Quite honestly, when I talk about who I like to read, and then you take a look at my picture, I come across as if I should be sitting in a church pew. Like a book cover that doesn’t match the story within. 😂🤷♀️
I have too many audiences in my brain and it messes with my writing. But I know we also need an audience… I think?
I think, but I’m not sure because it’s all a little hazy, but I THINK my audience is myself, but the multiple myself, the one who is everyone.
Day 17 and I still know where my children are!
I missed writing today. Had two of my grandkids here and I opted to spend what time I had with them.
As far as an audience goes, I really don’t have anyone in mind when I write, I’m just trying to get the story down. If I think about anyone, it’s when I’m editing. I wonder if my youngest sister would enjoy reading it.
I have a post-it note on my computer that says, “What would Scott Simon say?” I find him to be an intelligent, critical, and appreciative reader when he is interviewing an author. Plus he’s a writer himself. I’m currently at work on a book about adoption and Simon had two adopted daughters. As I write, I’m aiming straight for his heart.
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