Betsy Lerner

Someone Found A Letter You Wrote You Me on the Radio

Posted on December 7, 2010 by betsylerner

Here’s the link to a radio show I did last week. It was a sixty minute call in show, and after a while I got a little restless. It was then I spied the power bar I had brought in for lunch. If you listen to the interview, I want you to tell me if you can detect when I started chowing down on the power bar. More, I want you to appreciate the kind of special guest and self-promoter I am that I would begin to NOSH during a radio interview. Imagine, what I could on television!

I had another interview the next day; I limited myself to my special raspberry drops, Les Framboises. My dad would buy us these tins at Broadway shows and I was in love with the fancy calligraphy and, of course, the tin itself which seemed like treasure, or better yet to hold treasure. As it turns out, this was also a mistake because I always bite down on hard candies. I wonder if the sound of me spitting out the raspberry drop can heard on the interview? That would be awesome.

This is an open letter to Stephen Colbert. I swear, if you have me on your show, I will remove a wrapped cheeseburger from my pocket, unwrap it, and eat it instead of answering your question. I will eat an entire Carvel cake in the time it will take you to ask me a follow up question. This goes for Stewart, Letterman, Rose, Handler, and Fallon. (I’m not going to get into it, but Conan being off the list is not an oversight.) Let’s make television magic!

Filed under: Media | 30 Comments »

It’s Based On a Novel By a Man Named Lear

Posted on December 5, 2010 by betsylerner

525 Comments as of close of day Friday. It was like a freakin’ avalanche. This must be how Bransford feels all the time. I wasn’t sure anyone would even leave a title. So thanks to everyone who participated. To choose “the best,” it was impossible to do anything but sift through the titles as if through a pile of query letters. And I’ve selected those with exactly the same criteria as I do the letters that cross my desk: does the title (and some combination of elements in the letter) make me want to read more?

In Fifth Place: The short stories “The Camera Has Its Reason” and “101 Ways of Hating Claire.” I just like them, the first is kind of heady but also funny, the second, well you know I’m a hater. They’re quirky without being too “quirky.”

In fourth place: The Wrong Daughter (Yes, lots of titles with “daughter” in them these days, but I’ve always felt like the wrong one myself. It’s strong, immediately signals the conflict, and perfect for the women’s fiction market.

In third place: Zebra Crossing (I just like the way it sounds and the visual it immediately creates in my mind.)

In second place: Gardening In Belvoir. I don’t get how it’s a paranormal suspense. It sounds British. But it’s strange and intriguing to me.

In first place: The Pigeon Drop. I love titles that sound good even when I don’t know what they mean, but when I discover the meaning, and in this case it’s the name of a common scam, I love it all the more. I also love stories about con artists, grifters, etc. It sounds original to me, but it also sounds like a bestseller to me, like Michael Connelly could have written it.

Okay, that’s my completely subjective take. Will the author of the Pigeon Drop please send his or her address if you want to redeem your prize of an AUTOGRAPHED copy of the New and Revised FOrest for the Trees. askbetsylerner@gmail.com

Thanks again to everyone who participated. Please feel free to agree, disagree, weigh in. It was thrilling to see such a huge and thoughtful response (August, you too, you know it I love it when crap all over my posts.)

Filed under: Writing | 20 Comments »

I Ain’t No Monkey But I Know What I Like

Posted on December 2, 2010 by betsylerner

Please be gentle!

When I go around hawking my book, I give a series of workshops and one is on titles. I don’t know if it will be possible to recreate some of that experience here or if anyone will be game, but if you would like to test out your title, leave it as a comment. What we do in the workshop is use everyone as market research. Writers float their titles and we get a show of hands who likes it, who doesn’t, why? And then a deeper conversation ensues about the importance of titles and why we like some, not others, how useful they are for marketing, what they need to accomplish given the genre, how well they capture the essence of the book, how they can attract and galvanize, or get lost in the crowd.

What makes you pick up a book in the store? You have a title, jacket art, an author’s name, some descriptive copy. What grabs you? Some combination no doubt. But when you are pitching to agents (and agents in turn to publishers), it is even more critical to get the title right. I pitched a book today and the title and sub-title said it all. And when I pitched it, the editors said things like: that’s a brilliant title, that title gave me chills, I feel like I’m going to cry, etc. This is called a bulls-eye. It doesn’t guarantee a sale, but you’ve got the door open and editors will look at it more quickly.

I’ve heard too many writers say that the title is a place holder because they know it will change. Or they say they’re not good at thinking up titles. Or the title is good enough. I beg you to find a great title. A truly great title. You cannot underestimate how much it helps your cause.

So, if you are working on your title and want some feedback (and please post anonymously if you like), show us what you got. And we’ll tell you if we like it and why, or send you back to the drawing board. Or just tell us what some of your favorite titles are and why. I will send a FREE AUTOGRAPHED copy of The Forest for the Trees (Revised and Updated for the 21st Century) to the best loved title submitted. No joke.

Filed under: Books, Marketing | 590 Comments »

I Knew All Along That He Was All Wrong

Posted on December 1, 2010 by betsylerner

The problem with watching too much In Treatment is that you begin to take on Gabriel Byrne’s characteristics, his brooding mien, his Irish accent, his eye twitches that signal he gets it. You start telling people to get a good look at themselves, to find the connections among various life events, to pick up the almighty pattern. And then you try to offer a little hope, just a wee bit of salvation or redemption or revelation. You know: insight.

I’ve always fancied myself an armchair shrink, so it doesn’t take much for me to get into character. Though, I usually wind up feeling more like the patient. Of course, I love seeing Byrne with his shrink. You know, the doctor heal thyself crap. Sometimes when I stare at my shrink, I imagine her in the most banal situations, waiting for a mammogram, running back into the laundry room to throw a Bounce in the dryer, mindlessly playing with green beans on her square plate.

Therapy is to writing as writing is to ____________________________.

Filed under: Uncategorized | 37 Comments »

I aint scared of you I’m scared of me

Posted on November 29, 2010 by betsylerner

Over Thanksgiving holiday, my nephew (also my tech person and the smartest person in our family if Harvard admissions is any judge) suggested that I scrub up my blog if I ever wanted to apply for any job. This hit me like a ton of books. It’s not like I’m posting pictures of myself on Facebook wearing a tube top and throwing up at a backyard party, or doing bong hits in the ladies room of the Nassau Coliseum. I don’t even have a Facebook. I took umbrage at his remark; was I really that over the top, out of bounds, or to use the dread word: inappropriate. Was I eating dead babies? Smearing feces? Carving swastikas into my forehead. What was he talking about?

Thank god I work for myself, I thought. But then what if I did want to get a job? And where? Run Random House? HBO? Personal assistant to Jake Gyllenhaal? I could always bag groceries (I am amazing at this), organize Tupperware drawers (again, sorry for such unabashed self-praise, but I’m genius at this), I could teach pottery. I wonder if I could get a job at Google or Amazon, or is this what he is talking about? I started thinking about self-censorship and how, on this blog, I already engage in a fair amount of it. For instance, I never write negatively about clients or publishing colleagues. I never talk about projects that are in play. Is my nephew aware of how much self-control I actually muster night after night? I thought the blog was a resume enhancer. At the very least it makes me appear younger, right? And to all potential employers: fuck off and die.

What’s on your resume? Worst job? Besides being a writer that is.

Filed under: The End of the World as We Know It | 59 Comments »

If the world should stop revolving spinning slowly down to die

Posted on November 28, 2010 by betsylerner

My husband has been reading the Saul Bellow letters. Over the last few days, he read out parts to me. I am a huge Bellow fan and plan to read the letters myself. Part of me wants to tell him to stop, don’t ruin it for me. But I don’t. I love hearing the riffs and moments that catch John’s eye. I think the theme is the same: space. How much you allow yourself as a writer.

I saw an exhibit over the weekend by a young artist called Mark Bradford. I felt an immediate kinship with paintings. As I made my way through the exhibit, I learned that his mother had a beauty salon and he learned much there about making hair beautiful and the slow processes involved. Many of his works are collages that employ permanent paper from the salon. People try to call his work collage. He says they are paintings without using paint. He also talked about space and growing into larger canvases, about being nervous at first to take up too much space. At the end of the exhibit, his paintings took up entire walls and could barely contain their energy, the power of the idea, the painstaking execution.

How much space do you take up, your work?

Filed under: Writers | 37 Comments »

I was lost in a valley of pleasure. I was lost in the infinite sea. I was lost, and measure for measure, love spewed from the heart of me.

Posted on November 24, 2010 by betsylerner

I know I have a great deal to be grateful for, but I hate this fucking holiday. When people say, have a good holiday, shit, when I say have a good holiday, it always sounds like: try not to kill yourself. It’s funny, but I don’t think I’d be a writer if it weren’t for my family, by which I mean trying to get away from them. The crawl space under the stairs. The fort behind the house. The high school parking lot. The single in Tooting Bec. The little study painted in baby aspirin orange. The quarry in Rockport. And the fat raccoon who wished me well. Every twelve-plex. Every overcast sky. Every trail littered with leaf rot. Try not to kill yourself. And by that I mean, a happy and healthy to all of you wonderful malcontents and bitchin’ ass writers who show up here every day or from time to time. I am certainly grateful for you.

What are you NOT grateful for?

Filed under: Uncategorized | 48 Comments »

If You Want My Body and You Think I’m Sexy

Posted on November 23, 2010 by betsylerner

It’s that time of the year, Galleycat announces the Bad Sex in Fiction Finalists:

http://www.mediabistro.com/galleycat/jonathan-franzen-tops-bad-sex-in-fiction-award-nominee-list_b17633#more-17633

After getting scorched by the NBA, Franzen’s got to feel good about being the list topper here. I mean anyone can write bad sex scenes, but writing the worst sex scenes that takes some doing. I actually read the Franzen and I think they must be referring to the sex between the married lady (name I no longer remember) and the musician friend (name I no longer remember). Just the way she joined him in bed was oogy to the max. Though I thought the married sex scene was sweetly done. Especially the way they rest when they are done. When I was single, there was no resting after sex. It was all James Franco chew your arm off time. Get dressed and get out. Rest on the subway if you know what I mean. But resting after married sex happens, as does laundry folding.

What have you read that gave you a bone or a wide? Best or worst sex in a book, watcha got?

Filed under: Writing | 36 Comments »

Birds In the Trees Seem to Whisper Louise

Posted on November 23, 2010 by betsylerner

Coming home from Miami last night, my daughter was reading Are You There Vodka, It’s Me Chelsea. A far cry from Are You There God, It’s Me Mags. And yes, I bought it for her. Look, she knows about periods. I’m a bad mother. But when I was thirteen I was sneaking Harold Robbins novels from my best friend Lisa Zimmerman’s mother. God, those books were fat and racy. You could feel yourself up reading them.

I was reading a revision of a novel that went from humming to singing. That turned a caterpillar into an ocelot, a cougar, a raven, a bat. I don’t think there’s anything more rewarding than seeing your editorial notes be received like a pint of blood. To see an author address your notes and hit the pile of cards hard. It’s a dance, a dip, a bow, a kiss It’s lightening in a bottle. It’s that feeling that you have understood and you have been understood. I am so inspired by writers who take a sad song and make it better.

What book did you sneak? And, for extra credit, how well do you take to notes for revision?

Filed under: Uncategorized | 40 Comments »

Without Your Love, It’s a Honky Tonk Parade

Posted on November 21, 2010 by betsylerner

I have to go fast because this is a pay computer in a Sheraton in Miami Beach. I’m down here for the Miami Book Fair, which is a fantastically vibrant event with tons of booksellers, authors, street performers, sausages, you name it. After my agent panel, I signed books for a half hour or so. I was very moved by a few people who brought in old dog eared hardcovers and told me how much the book meant to them. One woman, with the beautiful face of a Mayan sculpture, told me that she never used to speak in her writing class or share her work. Her professor, sick of her oracular silence, insisted she write the last lines of her diary on the board. She wrote, “all I have left to do is die.” This woman then told me that he called her into his office and gave her a copy of my book. She told me read it ten times. I really didn’t know what to say. It was almost too much to take in. I silently hoped that he also gave her the name of the campus counseling service.

It’s hard to know what’s true in this world. Hard to know if the full moon over Miami wasn’t a stage prop, fat as a face. It’s hard to know if the laughter around the pool wasn’t forced, or the lamb chops cooked to perfection were fully appreciated by the dinner guests who floated above the calm water of a dark canal. Hadn’t we come to be wooed. Hadn’t we come to steal candy and laugh like children finding our way out of a strange labrynth of palm trees and howling dogs. Did I tell you I met Dave Eggers, my hero, CK Williams who is called Charlie, and Russell Banks, and Susan Cheever. Did I tell you that I cut myself off after two glasses of white wine because it was clear I was about to behave regrettably. And I’d like to be invited back.

For me, it was Ariel, the book that saved my life. What book saved you, or at least reminded you that you were not alone.

Filed under: Writers Conference | 69 Comments »

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