It’s really hard to think about writing, publishing, virtually anything while our world hangs in the balance. I’ve never been political in any of my blog posts and I doubt I have anything new to add to the conversation, but it really is hard to feel that anything matters. How do you write a book about butterflies, or calories, or Mark Twain’s beloved butler? How do you quiet all the voices, put your blinders on, and not think about Donald popping Tic Tacs and groping women. Let alone blowing up the world.
How do you do your work?
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I have a client who has either no or negative self-esteem. That said, he is a writer. And I’ve always believed that writers are egomaniacs, often closeted, but egomaniacs all the same. How the hell else do you bank your life on sentences knowing that there is a mighty chance that no one will read them, and make them anyway. Is that ego, insanity, possession, obsession, neurosis, inspiration, habit, faith? I think the reason people write is because they need to. This post is all over the fuckin’ place.
People are just as likely to ask what you’re watching on TV as what you’re reading. TV is exploding and binge watching is the only acceptable thing to binge on. I actually watch some programs on my phone under the covers, the way I used to read as a kid. My favorites are Luther, THe Killing, Happy Valley, and Transparent.
Over the weekend, I had a book event/fund raiser in Westport, CT. A bridge club invited me to read, followed by a luncheon, and two hours of duplicate bridge. First of all: this is my life. Is this my life? Who am I? Did I write a book about five Jewish octogenarians and learn to play bridge? Do I go to readings with my mother and kibbitz on the way there and back. And actually want to spend this time with her. And feel all this incredible connection with people about the book. Me? At one point, while signing books, someone yanked my dress (yes, I wore a dress!) and I discovered that the back of my dress was tucked up into the waist of my pantyhose and everyone could see my control tops and my ample arse.
When did this become a thing: a person emails you and tells you to call him. Please don’t ask me to call you. Please let’s not make a phone date. Just pick up the phone and call. If I’m not there, leave a message and I’ll call back. Isn’t that how we used to do it? I always thought that was a pretty good system. What’s the point of using email to make a phone date. It’s an extra step and it puts the onus on the wrong party.
Betsy Lerner 