• 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

To Pimp a Butterfly

adele-tops-hot-100-for-eighth-week

Something I write about quite a lot in The Bridge Ladies is how the women have lost touch with popular culture and technology. I’m not exactly snarky, but it’s frustrating and sometimes sad to watch them sail away on their ice floe while the world passes by. And yet here I am watching the Grammy’s and I don’t really know who half he artists are and I’m sure that as I get older the ratio will tip the Malcolm Gladwell. Fuck. I don’t want to grow old if I can’t hold on. I’m going to bed after Adele.

Who is your last best?

 

Without a Dream In My Heart Without a Love of My Own

Whatever possesses birches to undress
in the dead of winter, to stand
in the woods all solitary and come-hither,
their papery spice-colored layers wavering
in the wet, weighty breeze?
The peeling layers go on revealing
what’s underneath until it seems
there are more layers than there is tree.
A tree half-peeled is no less a tree,
any underbark revealed is nearly healed.
                                        –Jean Monahan

 

087da00I spent the weekend with my great friend from graduate school, Jean Monahan. She’s a poet and had just started writing after a long hiatus. She gave me her poems and it was wonderful to give her notes. I was drawn to her all those years ago because of her writing. Unlike everyone who was weaving pop culture into their stanzas, she danced around the edges of Marianne Moore and Elizabeth Bishop; her poems subtle, arresting, the emotion catching you by surprise.

I always tell people that one of the most important things you should get from a writing program or conference is finding your ideal reader. Someone you can always share work with and get an honest response from. I always tell people not to trust best friends, mothers or people you sleep with. They have a vested interest. Writers need writers.

Who is your ideal reader?

We All Want to Change the World

characters_l

Yesterday, someone asked me how my social medial was. The same tone as, say, how’s your yeast infection. Then, what are you doing about branding. I am not Kellogs, Marlboro or Spam. I do not have a bar code on my ass. For fifteen years as an agent, I’ve been helping my authors work on their social media. My philosophy is only do what you like and therefore what you are good at. You can’t be good at it all. But now, faced with these questions and the fact that I don’t have millions of followers (preferably in purple capes and gold slippers), I fear my book will grab a shovel. Friends, I did this blog for four years to save my writing life, i.e. my life. Every night, with my boyfriend Jon Stewart cracking wise in the background, I ground out paragraphs as indulgent and florid as I could muster.

That’s all. Be my friend, like me, share, poke, prod, nod, twat, gram, thumb, or like Diane Panuzio in the fourth grade throw a hunk of asphalt at my head.

How’s your social media?

We Could Have Had It All

 

images

 

This is it: the great pre-publication weight loss challenge. Friends, I have three months to reduce before the book comes out. Take this journey with me and you will scale the heights, plummet the depths, restrict and binge, go the gym and cry in the shower. I will try on everything in my closet and throw it on the floor, throw myself on the floor. I will try to make peace with myself but there will be no peace.

My daughter reminded me of a few choice quotes from Adele:

I’m not going to lose weight because someone tells me to. I make music to be a musician not to be on the cover of Playboy.

I don’t want to eat a Caesar salad with no dressing, why would I do that?

I’ve never wanted to look like models on the cover of magazines. I represent the majority of women and I’m very proud of that.

Then my daughter said, “Would you rather have ten Grammy’s or be a size two?

Hmmmm. How about five Grammys and a size six? Two Grammys and a size 10? How about no Grammys and I wake up one fucking day of my life and not feel like a piece of shit.

P.S. What do you want most in life?

P.S.S. Please follow me on FB or give me a big Sally Field. Apparently this will help sell books. I’m not just a whore for my book. I was a whore long before this.

You Look Like a Movie, You Sound Like a Song

 

wwdcdirectnewfrontier

I said it would never happen, but I’ve become a nightmare. I send cloying emails every day to my editor’s assistant asking for more time, making more changes on the galleys, asking the same stupid questions about social media over and over like only a fifty-something can.  And no matter how obnoxious and ingratiating I am, this young woman remains unflappable. Maybe I’m not trying hard enough.

Meet the world’s best assistant editor aka The Slayer. She always gets back to me promptly, is always friendly and encouraging. She is also an astute reader.I trust her implicitly. And I know that she’s constantly working behind the scenes to make it all go smoothly. I always thought I was an amazing assistant, but The Slayer slays me. Honestly, I deserve an apathetic Millennial with hipster aspirations who vapes and snubs social media. The Slayer is perfect. I recently made the mistake of asking how old she is.

What kind of assistant were you?

 

 

 

 

 

 

My Mirror Staring Back at Me

Head shot

Guys, here’s my author photo (pre-facelift). My mother hates it, so I figure I’m on the right track.

Be honest, but not brutally honest.

Yesterday Don’t Matter If It’s Gone

bicycle20rider20backs

I know it looks like The Bridge Ladies have hijacked my blog about writing, depression, and how publishing will break your heart in a hundred different ways. The Bridge Ladies is my new book and it’s coming out in May and if you love me even a little please buy a copy or 200 for your local synagogue’s sisterhood. Or pre-order. 😉

So I’m working on changing the blog and trying to keep it the same. I’m trying to lose weight and am gaining it instead. I’m trying to sleep through the night but I’m up every hour. It’ been seven years since I published a book and I feel as nervous as a virgin. I want to spread the word about Bridge Ladies and hear from people about their  Bridge memories. But I also want to throw my mashed potatoes on the floor and spit peas through a straw at the ceiling.

I’m thinking about blogging about the publication of the book. Is this interesting or even more indulgent than the thousand plus posts I’ve dumped on a beautiful and unsuspecting world.

What would you do if you were me?

It’s Raining Men, Hallelujah!

BARNES & NOBLE DISCOVER PRIZE

Nonfiction Finalist

fpo

Bettyville available in paperback 3/16.

 George Hodgman  IS ON FIRE.

Long as I Know How to Love I Know I’ll Stay Alive

08hodgman3-master18051q6c2lxz4l-_sx329_bo1204203200_Congratulations to my dear friend and client GEORGE HODGMAN on his NATIONAL BOOK CRITICS CIRCLE nomination. New York Times Bestseller Bettyville available in paperback  March.

Are you the kind of person who prepares his acceptance speech or wings it?

I see the hate in your eyes, damn them boys is too fly

 

close-up-of-explosion-of-champagne-bottle-cork2

It’s that time of year: THE HATE LIST 2015

  1. Carrie’s wig
  2. Jimmy Fallon and the new late night TV line-up with the exception of my new boyfriend James Corden. I HEART JAMES CORDEN.
  3. Snatch chat.
  4. That McNulty/Noah Saloway is British. How?! How?!
  5. The only movie I loved this year will not get nominated. Room.
  6. Unsubscribe feedback requests
  7. The House of Trump.
  8. I hate the jacket of PURITY so much I can’t pick it up which is okay since I haven’t read The Goldfinch yet.
  9. The term “binge-watching.”
  10. FOMA (there is nothing better than missing out)

What’s on your list. Let’s make it long and ugly. Happy new year! Love, Betsy