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.
Much gratitude for all the good wishes. Could I have done it without you? Probably. But this little blog, which I started in December, 2008 has been a lifeline, a needle in the vein, a poke in the eye, a kick in the pajamas, it’s been friendship, inspiration, irritation, and a guilty mess. It’s a lot of bad grammar and typos and dangling martinis. I can’t tell y’all what y’all mean to me. I found my voice here, or a voice, a persona that looks like me at seven in other words adorable and chubby in all the right ways. Yes, body acceptance begins where? I wrote when I couldn’t write. And that, I think, has made all the difference.
Are you writing?
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Betsy Lerner 
U go grrrrrlllll.
So proud.
Love your blog. It is a constant source of inspiration and I’m not even a writer, just a fan who loved your Bridge Ladies book. I got the title wrong, but you will get the sentiment. xxx to you.
What a sweet picture. Love the dangling martinis! Ha. Yes, always writing–writing letters, writing drafts, writing notes to myself that turn into longer pieces (or that get thrown out) and, even, writing in response to another writer’s blog!
You are the inspiration, Betsy. And a boot in the pajamas. The game got tougher, the playing field vertiginous, the stakes nosebleed high, and despite the insanity of thinking I have something important to say, I am still writing. As if my life depended on it because it does. Thanks for this curmudgeonly fever dream of a blog and the all the push and shove, challenge, spunk and dangling martinis that come with it. Congratulations on the book and this exciting next stage!
“Are you writing?”
Yes.
I think you’ve been around here longer than you indicate, unless you’re not you, but rather are some invasive entity that now inhabits the web presence we know and love as Betsy.
I’m writing a book that includes a talking cat. I don’t know, he just showed up one day, I didn’t plan on him to be there. But he appeared after a talking bed and a talking spider, among other oddities of composition.
Am I writing?
You might as well ask, am I breathing.
Sometimes shallow and sometimes I’m gulping in and out so hard I’m dizzy. I like dizzy.
Am I writing.
You might as well ask, am I breathing.
Sometimes shallow and sometimes gulping so hard I am dizzy. I like dizzy.
Standing on a swing! In a very pleated skirt with matching knee socks, black sneakers, cool jacket. Happily swinging in front of a little forest of trees…
Hello new old Betsey, welcome back!
No and I’m not happy about it. Time just seems to be flying by and I’m working too much. You are an inspiration, in large part because you practice what you preach. I’m hoping I can get back in the game and start playing again.
Cool photo.
Started in 2018? Gee, I’ve been following you on Writing.com since 2012/01/03. Or, was that another betsylerner?
Yes, I write. Mostly shortening my too long memoir. The original I’ll keep because that was what was. But 1200 pages is not commercial.
Writing, yes. Lots of varied projects. Frustated by the difficulty in finding the right places for stories, novels, etc. But is doing the work still fun in spite if that?…he–double hockey sticks–yes!
😊
reading it what I do. writing is like Janet and John. It runs, it jumps, it skips, but no blackboard or Mrs Boyle to correct my a and E.
I finished the second draft of a novel a couple of weeks ago and, rereading, am wondering why I do this to myself. Four in the morning every damn day for months and months, and for what? A tattered sheaf of pages for the pyre? A fleet of paper boats? I could read a hundred wonderful books in the time it takes me to write one mediocre novel that will live at the bottom of a drawer. I think I’m over it.
Take a beat. Get a couple of writer friends to read and give feedback. Rome wasn’t built in a minute. Your anguish pierces my heart, but no coddling from the Queen of the Damned. Remember, this isn’t exactly a decision. xo
Fuck off. I love your books. Xo
It sounds like you’re almost there — keep writing!
Your writing: tender, fresh ravioli stuffed with baked mashed pumpkin smothered in a light cream sauce seasoned with cherries, walnuts. and a slight hint of sage.
Mediocre: Over cooked store brand pasta and ketchup.
Amen. I agree.
I always loved your writing, AveriI. I loved your blog, when you moved, too.
And I want that pumpkin ravoli, too!!
Thank you for the moral support, and OMG the recipe! I feel I brought the mood down after Betsy’s happy news. Sorry about that. Xo
Ashamedly, I admit, I’ve been sporadic at best. I did ok until summer arrived and then it was garden (which pretty much flopped this year) and 10 acres of yard and pasture to cut along with a house to finishing painting and a fence-line that needed weeding and, oh, yeah, we had to do some work on the barn.
Your success with the dirty thirty is so inspiring that I’m jumping back on the wagon in the morning. My current project is a long haul, but it won’t get done if I keep skipping days. You supply the inspiration, I’ll supply the perspiration! Thank you, Betsy! (sweet picture!)
Yes I am. Almost every morning.
A second comment from me, in question form, for all to read.
Among these comments many have stated that you inspire them. Being someone’s inspiration can be quite heady, and yet it could be a burden.
What is it like to know that so many writers are inspired by your efforts?
AND
Don’t say you were just doing your job. You have splayed yourself out here. We know a bit about your journeys, both dark and bright. You do inspire.