• Forest for the Trees
  • THE FOREST FOR THE TREES is about writing, publishing and what makes writers tick. This blog is dedicated to the self loathing that afflicts most writers. A community of like-minded malcontents gather here. I post less frequently now, but hopefully with as much vitriol. Please join in! Gluttons for punishment can scroll through the archives.

    If I’ve learned one thing about writers, it’s this: we really are all alone. Thanks for reading. Love, Betsy

Someone Left the Cake Out in the Rain

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Spent the day writing, she said feeling saintly, superior, and suddenly sad. It’s truly a drug this writing business. Editing is a contact high. It’s when the words and sentences are your own, when you find a simile that makes sense on three dimensions. I know this blog is generally a clusterfuck of complaining because for every victory there are 10,000 failures. If I think I wrote well today, I’ll see the delusion tomorrow, and yet and yet. We need the eggs. This year I want to wear glitter and sit up straight. I want to wear it or throw it out.

Can you describe your best writing day?

Dream If You Can a Courtyard


 

Today, a little better. Work is the only tonic/balm/antidote to negativity. And I did good work today with  a writer on the cusp of finishing a book. Loose threads were sewn up, extraneous details dropped, transitions sharpened, part titles materialized out of thick air. People, we have to write. We have to fight. We have to fuck all. When you call a sentence into being it is as real as a moth hanging on a stalk in a forgotten forest.

Why do you write?November Moth (Epirrita dilutata)

Take Comfort in Your Friends

It’s the new year and I’m feeling really negative.

How about you?

What Part of Party Don’t You Understand

 

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The holidays are really good for writers. They bring out our sense of alienation, isolation, aloneness. They bring up ancient family wounds, sibling envy, parental neglect, abuse and suffocation. Social obligations and anxiety sky rocket. Melancholy sets in, or worse. Yes, this is our season!

Happy holidays. I love you guys. See you in the New Year. xo, Betsy

How Can You Just Leave Me Standing

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So it looks like The Bridge Ladies haven’t made any TOP TEN lists. Godfuckingdamnit. Please don’t tell me it’s all subjective. Please don’t tell me it doesn’t matter. Please don’t say that these lists are all complete and total crap. I love lists. I love rankings. When I was a third grader in Hebrew school, the teacher put little gold, silver, and blue stars next to our names for accomplishing certain tasks. The were glue-y on the back and I coveted them. One day, I was in the local stationery store and found a box of the same stars. I forewent my Archie’s and bought the box. The following Sunday, before anyone arrived, I pasted five or six gold stars next to my name.

What are your top ten books of 2016?

Pretty Little One That I Adore

 

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I’ve always wondered what people really mean by character development. As far as I’m concerned, a character must be whole from the first sentence. What am I not getting? I don’t really want to see anyone “grow.” I’m not interested in any “reveals.” I could give a shit if a character changes. Editor are obsessed with this notion. I want characters who wear hats, or fuck bunnies, or write letters, or throw curveballs, or hand over the money from the till. I want nothing. I want fear. I love chipped teeth and belt buckles in the shape of buckles. Serving tea, a windsor knot, a college rejection, the back seat of Monte Carlo. I don’t want my characters to learn any lessons, let alone that life is worth it or filled with joy.

What is character development anyway?

The Hardest Part Is Letting Go of Your Dreams

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 I should go back into therapy. Did I take my meds?  What’s that car doing? My charger! No, I don’t give the dog too many treats. A couple making love in the pool. My mother drinking milk from a carton. Howard Greenberg’s blonde hair. When people go in for a handshake and you shame them into a hug. Time not flying by. Time going backwards. Tire pressure. Eye doctor. Why do I resent the people who love me? Does anyone love me? Do I love anyone? Have to get off FB. Need a haircut. Hair! No more bread, pasta, sugar, life. I am my father. I miss my father. I miss Dante. I miss myself. Alex Baldwin. What am I going to get my best friend for her birthday? I have no time to read! The gym! When I snubbed Susie Nankin in the second grade. When I punched Spider in the stomach playing Hearts. When I spun around so fast on a stool, age 8, that the force threw me off and my hot little body crashed into a wall and I collapsed on the sticky floor at the Farm Shop in front of a line of people waiting to pay.

What keeps you up at night?

I’ve Stepped in the Middle of Seven Sad Forests

 

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I went to a performance tonight of my daughter’s sketch comedy troupe. Sixteen or so college students doing hilarious sketches: outrageous, provocative, and politically incorrect in the extreme. The audience was filled with friends, screaming with laughter, calling out their friends’ names. It was a tremendous amount of fun, but as I drove home I fell into a familiar funk. I I didn’t join a single group in college, unless sitting in Washington Square Park and smoking cigarettes on a bench with other people smoking and walking by is considered a club. I wrote a lot those days. My diaries were inky and filled with self-doubt. I worked on the fourth floor of the library, the smoking floor, and also because a guy I had a crush on worked there, though I never said hi.

Are you a loner or a joiner?

Amie, What You Want To Do

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Let’s talk about dialogue. He said, she said. One of the biggest mistakes I see is using full sentences for dialogue. People don’t speak in full sentences. Full stop. Next is using dialogue as stage directions: “We took the highway to get to the mall, ” she said. Next is trying to use convincing dialect, “Y’all like slush puppies?” And last the old saw: dialogue shouldn’t advance the plot, only enhance it. I think it’s a good rule of thumb.

“How do you use dialogue?” she asked.

With Lovers and Friends I Still Can Recall

Some people in publishing specialize in certain genres: science, history, sci-fi, fantasy. I’m what’s known as a generalist, which is a fancy way of saying dumbass. Or enthusiast. Or gourmand. Or freshman. Or what not. For quite a while I worked on memoirs and was known as the pain and suffering editor. If the straightjacket fits…I always tell my assistants when they are learning how to evaluate proposals and manuscripts: Prize winners and page turners. That’s what I’m looking for. Great writing will get me interested in everything from a love supreme to rats’ asses. Is it pretentious to say that all I care about is the writing. I’ll also break for an amazing person, or a crazy good idea, or pancakes. I have to admit I really feel that I am getting older, which is mostly a beautiful thing. But there’s also this sense of self preservation I’ve never had before.

What is this post about?