• 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 Don’t Know How to Love Him

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Am I high? Am I manic? Am I in love with the sound of my own voice? My fingers tapping a lullaby? Did I show up fifteen minutes late and sweating, my mask glued to my face. Did I talk too fast? Too much? Did I say I love being an agent? Am I wearing my reading glasses? Am I blind in one eye? People say they love how real I am on the this blog. Am I? Am I? Isn’t every sentence a perfect lie? A seduction? A box within a box within a box. Thirty plus years in publishing plus one golden ring. I have a lot to be grateful for and yet.

Are you real?

9 Responses

  1. And yet. For real.

  2. I’m visible today, so I must be…

  3. “Are you real?”

    Virtually. But remember, I write fiction. And I am not a cat.

  4. For the most part, yes.

  5. Apparently not. As far as I am aware, I have no internet presence under my real name. But sometimes, when I write something good, I feel as real as I know Tetman to be. And that feels really quite something, I can assure you. Still, he really should stop lying to us — he’s the coolest cat I know for sure and for certain and meow.

  6. Sometimes – always with those I trust. Making comments on social media is definitely (definitely) not like writing in a journal. 😉

  7. My boobs are real. My ass is overly real. My writing is like my boobs and ass, real and overly real.

  8. Indy gets more real every day.

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