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’m gonna say something really unpopular. Getting published sucks. It’s like running around the town square with a paper bag on your head and your pants pulled down for as fast as you can for 2-6 weeks and then it’s over. And that’s if all goes well. You have this dream of getting published. You believe the angels will sing meaning people show up your reading, reviews praise your prose, you have a meaningful conversation with an NPR host and some jaunty repartee with Steven Colbert or Bill Maher. There’s no handbook, no counseling, no support group of people in a circle of folding chairs admitting they are powerless over words and their lives had become unmanageable.
What’s your dream of being published?
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Betsy Lerner 
Sharing my stories. If you don’t have to write, I don’t recommend it.
My dream is to have an agent and an editor who guide me to making my words the best they can be and that I thank them like crazy in the acknowledgements and someone(s) buys our book and reads it and realizes there’s more to it than they thought and that somewhere(s) it starts a conversation. P.S. I already have a headache so the extra headache wouldn’t even be noticed.
I don’t understand why writers are bothered by the very important acknowledgment that publication is inevitably disappointing, especially since so many, if not most, writers are never even published. But even for those that are, it certainly seems like an additional reason to, pardon the expression, focus on the process, not the results, and try to have fun. For me, writing has always borne a great resemblance to eating. I know I will probably not like the results, so I try even harder to just enjoy the act itself. I’ve never been published myself, and I am an old guy, but I enjoy both writing, and eating more than ever.
“What’s your dream of being published?”
I no longer dream that dream. I am now awake.
I’ve published and it’s fine but it’s not dreamy, especially with the publicity/social media demands placed on authors these days. I don’t have the split personality needed to survive that nightmare. So whatever happens, happens.
Write, submit, repeat then go live the fun dreams. That’s my plan.
To have an editor for a huge publishing house dance around with my manuscript singing my praises. Then Meryl Streep and George Clooney beg to be in the film version.
❤
Pretty much a full blown fantasy of stellar reviews and delightful readings in lovely little bookstores, so whatever else happens will be disappointing. Hopefully I’ll keep what’s important in perspective: PUBLISHED! Ya-fucking hoo.
I once believed in that happy dream and was months away from seeing it come true. Then, the publishing house that had lured me along, was sold. The new owners had a different agenda; creating a situation which required me to get my IP attorney involved. Thankfully, I now have my manuscript and other tangibles back in my control. These days, I roam the PM lists with that broken dream trailing a few steps behind, whispering encouragement.
Writing a book is the easy part. Getting published is difficult. The big five publisher are not going to come calling- ever. What sucks is all that shouting #look at me, look at me, look at me. All that shit drivers me fucking crazy. Always.
Oh, I write the same reason I buy a lottery ticket. I know I won’t win, but the $2.00 byes me a real dream that can last maybe a week. If I write something cool, the publishing dream lasts maybe a month.