No more hiding behind email. When I have to have a talk, I’m picking up the god-damn phone. In the first place, you find out what the person is thinking, feeling, you can gauge their reaction. Plus you grow balls when you don’t sit there like big pussy typing out some apology or avoiding a confrontation.
I remember when I lived alone, about as lonely as you could be, and the phone would ring and I couldn’t answer. It was like breaking a seal. I became extremely phone phobic. Before the days of answering machines, I could stare down any motherfucking ringing phone. Then, ironically, I entered the work world as the receptionist at Morgan Stanley’s corporate library. Fourteen or so lines for every department. At first, I was freaked out. Then I got the hang of it. Later, there were days when I thought I was dancing on my console. (Of course a joint at lunch followed by three chipwiches might have been partly responsible.)
Fast forward to email and life behind the screen. This really gives writers an edge because they know how to manipulate through language. I could kiss myself for all the bullshit notes I’ve concocted. True beauties. And so, dear love, I must relinquish you as a tool for evil. I must pick up the phone and find my human chord. One of my clients has the best Boston accent which she lays on thick for me, another yawns when she lies, I can tell when another is high (again), and when one is depressed (again). Jim Carroll wheezed through his high Bronx accent and man do I miss the sound of his high, tinny voice.
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On February 1, 2010, I posted what I believe is the first ever 
Am working on the copy edit of the revision to Forest for the Trees. I thought I was making it better, but today it seems worse. You know how that is. In fact, I can’t believe I ever got it written in the first place. I seriously don’t know where I got the balls. The cojones. The brass ones. The nuts, nads, teabags. The taint, the testes, the kajmaster. The ballpark.
I’m the middle of three girls. My two sisters have blonde hair and blue eyes. I don’t. They used to call me Jan Brady after the Brady Bunch episode where Jan gets a brunette wig to differentiate herself from Marcia and Cindy. I think the psychological term is “individuate.”
Dear To Blog or Not to Blog:
First, I just want to say hey to all the haters out there who commented on today’s blog. I sometimes wonder why I spend so much time blogging; well today there is no doubt. To drag everyone down with me. Thank you, thank you.
Betsy Lerner 