Betsy Lerner

Well You Can Dream On Me

Posted on September 13, 2010 by betsylerner

Betsy,

I started a blog in April, it’s about my son. I post weekly. What do you tell your clients about blogs? Do you ever try to convince writers to start one? Or two? Are writers ever “discovered” that way? Can blogs lead to books or is it a totally different (disposable) medium? Are they only interesting to publishers in terms of the numbers or is the content the thing? Is blogging real writing? Do you cover blogs in your new edition of Forest for the Trees?

Thanks!

Dear Fellow Blogger:

In answer to your questions. First, if you want to build an audience, you need to blog every day, at least this is my understanding. I tell my clients to think about a blog if it makes sense and can augment their book, build an audience as they write, find the niche markets that would be interested in their work. A lot of authors make the mistake of starting a blog when they finish the book or as the book is about come out. Even though the web makes it possible to launch a blog in seven seconds, it actually takes serious time and devotion to build an on-line presence if you are starting from scratch. Yes, Virginia, some writers have been discovered through their blogs. Most notably, perhaps, is Julie Powell of Julie & Julia fame. And these blogs have led to books. Another great example is Stuff White People Like. Is blogging real writing? Well, it ain’t Proust. But lots of bloggers (ahem) pride themselves in what they write. Yes, I cover blogs in my new edition of Forest for the Trees. I also talk about Twatter, MyFace, etc. I’m kinda with Betty White here; it’s all a big waste of time. On the other hand, in just one year and a half, this blog has brought me more laughs, fun, a great community of writers, potential clients, invitations, people out of the woodwork etc. than I could have ever imagined. I think it’s probably a good idea to figure out what it is you want from a blog and then design one to help you fulfill those goals. Or, WTF, just open an on-line vein and let it bleed.

What do you say? What blogs do you read? What makes a blog great? Do they help or hinder your writing?

Filed under: On-line | 38 Comments »

Revved Up Like a Deuce

Posted on September 12, 2010 by betsylerner

Dear Betsy,

I thought I’d throw a real question your way. If you’ve already answered it elsewhere, please forgive me.

When dealing with agents, publishers, etc., how do we not be dicks? I don’t mean the kind who are intentionally that way, but dick-ness born of insecurity and desperation. The thought of getting published (what to speak of writing) is so frightening, so freighted, it brings to the fore (am I getting too alliterative?) all one’s defenses. It’s as if we unconsciously decide, “I’m not going to let them reject me so easily. I’m not going to let them see how scared I am. I’m going to preemptively reject them first by being a dick, and so, if they do somehow accept me, I’ll know it’s because they really, really want me.” For those of us who haven’t gone through years of therapy to overcome (or just become aware of) this kind of thinking, is there a code of publishing etiquette to which we can strictly hew? A chart which we can tape to the bathroom mirror? You can argue that it’s just a matter of being a decent human being, but dicks seemingly get published all the time. Or do they become dicks after they get published?

Love, NAME WITHHELD

Dear Gentle Person:

If you are wondering about being a dick, pretty good chance that you’re not one. Isn’t that part of the definition of being a dick, a sort of willful disregard for other people’s feelings? But more interesting to me is the question of whether being a dick helps or hurts. Tucker Max’s forthcoming book is called Assholes Finish First. I’ve always craved a little of that swagger to be honest. But I’ve also noted at every publishing house I’ve ever worked for that once you were deemed a dick, people did very little to advance your career. Of course, some would say publishers do precious little to advance your career regardless of your personality, zodiac sign, or the number of times you bring warm scones to the office.

The only authors from whom dick-head behavior is tolerated are those who make the company a barge of money. I’ve always heard John Gray was a major dickhead (Men are from Scroto, Women are from Clito); I’ve always heard Tuesdays with Morrie was a dickwad among dickwads. But these are rumors. I’ve also heard Mary Higgins Clark is a sweetheart. I know John Grisham is a gentleman. I believe Stephen King to be a really cool dude.

Is there a code? Well, yes and no. I mean you can’t be a total asshole and expect people to work with you. You can’t show up without an appointment and demand an audience. You can’t bombard with calls or email. You can’t rent a Mercedes and hire a couple of hookers on your reading tour and submit the charges. Those days are long gone.

Look, there is never any excuse for being a dick. I once had dinner with some famous people and after some drinks the conversation got around to whether any of them ever played the “do you know who I am” card. It was hysterical. They all had done it, but only once or twice they swore. (That’s like me telling me my mom I only tried pot once or twice.) But they were ashamed. They knew they were being dickheads. I also met a lawyer once who told me that he was very good at what he did (divorce law), and almost always won. I asked him what his secret was. “I can be a real prick, ” he said.

Here’s the deal: you probably have to be at least a bit of a prick to be a writer. Probably getting published brings it out a little more. And big success can certainly fan some dickheaded flames. Thing is, it’s probably okay to be a bit of a dick. Just try not to be a douche.

C’mon everyone, talk to me. What’s the biggest dickheaded thing you ever did in relation to your writing?

Filed under: Authors, Protocol | 24 Comments »

If you wanted the sky I would write across the sky

Posted on September 9, 2010 by betsylerner

Every year, I take my mother to synagogue. I would like to say that I am a good daughter, but I complain the entire time, roll my eyes. She says I don’t have to go, but I insist. She asks if I’ll go after she croaks: NO. The only auditorium I like to sit in for two hours is a movie house. Then there’s the lady who shakes your hand as you come in and says SHANA TOVA as if you’re deaf. She always asks, “are you still writing?” No, I say, god struck me dead.

It comes to me as an ocean with pages, with squid ink and mottled skies. I see every small army take up the fight. I see lonely old women with swollen knuckles and diamond rings. My head feels heavy with the perfume of the dying. My mother keeps telling me things. Thirty-seven years ago, I was a bat mitzvah. I stood there and sang my portion. Even then, I was hot with life.

Whatever you are writing, may it be inscribed in the book of life, sentences that live inside your mouth, scenes you wished for, scenes you escaped from, the ignition of your imagination and the helicopter that hovered near. This is your life. This now. This perfect day. All your tears are here. Every humiliation, every cruelty, every time you took something that wasn’t yours. You are a batallian of complaints. You are the last erotic plum in a purple bowl. I love you with all my heart. Happy new year.

Filed under: Uncategorized | 19 Comments »

You’re Gonna Make Me Lonesome When You Go

Posted on September 8, 2010 by betsylerner

I’ve been helping a writer with the ending of her book for a few weeks. I see so clearly the forest while she is hugging the trees. I’ve tried gentle persuasion, I’ve tried a firmer hand, I’ve tried to see it from her point of view. I’ve given structural and line edits. I’ve talked character motivation and reader expectation. I’ve tried to make one point: in the beginning is the end. I mean at least in this case. This is not a po-mo novel, this is not an experiment only using the letter “e.” Okay, how do I know I’m right? Experience. An exquisite sense of pacing, moment, language, and integration. Because I am a student of poetry and I believe the cup seeks the ball whether it wobbles and falls, or lands with a satisfying clink. I know from endings and I know from blue balls. I know how to twist in hot sheets with a symphony of a thousand locusts sawing outside.

Maybe she doesn’t want to let it go; after all, then it will be over, gone, who will leave little effigies in the trees? Do people really fear success? You think: this may be your last move. It is nothing if not inevitable in a completely surprising way. Oh, you little bitch. Maybe you should shut up. Maybe you should shut up. Maybe this bit doesn’t take the horse. Maybe I should go fuck myself.

How does it feel to end a book?

Filed under: The End of the World as We Know It, Writing | 33 Comments »

If I Listened Long Enough to You

Posted on September 7, 2010 by betsylerner

This morning at around 8:30, the phone rang. I answered it. A breathless woman was on the line, “I’ve just written something, what should I do?”

“Um, what have you written?”

“I don’t know,” she nearly screamed back, “I just wrote it.”

Normally, I would have already gotten rid of this call, but the sheer insanity of it was perversely attractive to me. For a moment, I thought it might be my friend Gina playing a practical joke on me. But before I could say anything, the caller cried, “Can you help me?” as if she were in need of medical attention.

Again I tried, “Well, I need to know what you’ve written.”

“And then I should call you?”

“Yes,” I said,” when you’ve got something finished.”

Now, she calmed down considerably and thanked me profusely. “I see, I see, okay, thank you for your time.”

What does this say besides a) I need a help b) Our assistant needs to get in earlier c) There is something newborn about writing

Filed under: Uncategorized | 31 Comments »

Now come and join the living, it’s not so far from you

Posted on September 6, 2010 by betsylerner

My daughter has three outfits spread out on her bed. This can only mean one thing: we’re officially excited and anxious about going back to school tomorrow. Dear Reader, I could lay out three thousand outfits tonight and I don’t think I’d be able to cure what ails me. Of course, everything is fine. Better than fine. I have some exquisite projects to sell this month, The Hose and I finished a really solid first draft of our pilot, a stalled novelist just sent me pages that rocked, the revision for Forest for the Trees is coming out in a month, and I actually found a couple of hours today to get in the hammock with the Franzen and look at the sky.

Do you ever have the feeling when you look at a person that you see them at age seven or nine? You see the child in the adult? Or as you’re walking the dog and looking at the houses, you feel your heart could break for all the shrubbery? What of your own tray for salt, pepper, olive oil, and vinegar? What of your own kitchen window with its two clay birds, one from Italy, one your daughter made and painted orange? Do you ever think about the exact way in which people put food in their mouths and chew? I can’t believe we dress ourselves. I can’t believe we have cars! I can’t believe people still make things. My gray dress with the peter pan collar. I have one picture of my father holding me. I have forty notebooks. I have a pharmacy in my head. I want to wake up with a hard on. I want to wake up in a city that doesn’t sleep. I want to wear something spectacular.

What about you? How are you feeling?

Filed under: The End of the World as We Know It | 40 Comments »

Who Can Take a Sunrise

Posted on September 2, 2010 by betsylerner

THIS JUST IN FROM PUBLISHERS MARKETPLACE:

Oprah Will Resume Book Club On September 17–And No, It’s Not FREEDOM

“Just under a year after selecting Uwem Akpan’s SAY YOU’RE ONE OF THEM, Oprah Winfrey is ready to pick another book for her audience to read. Newtonville Books blogged that they were notified by a Macmillan sales rep of the impending announcement, to air on September 17, when the Oprah-stickered edition will release.

Let’s face it, the Oprah pick is the grown up equivalent of the Wonka gold ticket. The industry is atwitter with expectation. We’re talking a couple million copies and that’s just domestic. I’ve almost never met an author, even the most sane and sober, who didn’t at some point betray his intelligence by suggesting that he would be a terrific guest on Oprah. Except for what’s his name. Oprah is hard and wet. She is fat and thin. She is straight and gay. She is everything and everything is me. Do you remember when she started to give Phil Donahue a run for his rug? For me, friends, it was a thrill to see a hugely overweight woman demand so much share. Sure, she’s made some mistakes, but the girlfriend sells our hotcakes. Long may she wave.

And now, my question for today. If you got the gold ticket, the tap from Lady O, what do you think it would bring: money, readers, fame, disaster, pussy, time, ocean, booze, or a new roof. What would you want? What would you get?

Filed under: Media | 33 Comments »

Am I Rough Enough

Posted on September 1, 2010 by betsylerner

My client Justin Peacock published a terrific piece in today’s Daily Beast : “As literary fiction has become increasingly introverted, it has largely turned its back on plot, and in doing so it also turned its back on truly engaging with contemporary American life. The decline of the importance of plot—a resistance to the appeal of the sort of plotting that drives not just Dickens’ novels but, for that matter, the plays of Shakespeare or even ancient classics like the Iliad—leads inevitably to a failure of novels to engage with their culture…The novel is the only major storytelling form in our democratic culture where out-dated and counter-productive distinctions between high and low, between genre and literary, still exist. No one in their right mind would dismiss The Shield or The Wire’s (on which Price, Pelecanos and Lehane all worked, and of which Price is again openly acknowledged as the major literary inspiration) place as two of television’s greatest achievements because they are crime stories, anymore than a film critic would try to insist that Martin Scorsese is a second-tier filmmaker because so many of his movies are about organized crime. But the novel was always meant to be a popular medium, to be the realm of storytellers. By making itself too rarefied, the literary novel has deprived itself of the necessary oxygen of powerful plotting and engagement with society.”

If you have a moment, check out the whole piece. Agree? Disagree? Bite me.

Better yet, read Blind Man’s Alley this weekend. Don’t trust me, check this out.

Filed under: Client | 35 Comments »

May You Bloom and Grow

Posted on August 31, 2010 by betsylerner

This post is a little out of keeping with the blog’s usual dyspeptic take on life and publishing, and I apologize if I offend anyone. But today, dear readers, I am in love with my clients. No, I am in awe of them, inspired by them, grateful for them. And I’m not just talking about a certain someone whose life story garnered FIVE EMMYS on Sunday night including best actress and best movie made for television.

I’m talking about the ones who are toiling away without a whole lot of recognition, or working through crushing depression, or books that haven’t sold. I am so moved by the stories that are unfolding, sometimes even surprising the authors themselves. I am blown away by a few projects that have come in far more ambitious and accomplished than promised, and those who are wrestling their editorial letters to the ground, unclear who will prevail. And unexpected moments of politeness, or sweetness, or silliness with a writer long hardened by the process.

I am grateful for being the old woman who lives in this shoe, with this unruly pack of artists and thieves. Tomorrow, back to bile, blood-letting and general ill will.

Filed under: Agent, Authors | 20 Comments »

The Painted Ponies Go Up and Down

Posted on August 30, 2010 by betsylerner

My third favorite magazine arrived today, Poets & Writers. When I was writing poetry, I lived for the Classified section where all the contests were listed. The new issue has the 2011 MFA ranking. Guess who’s still coming to dinner at number #1? I-O-WA. How do they do it? Year after year? And this is in fiction, nonfiction, and poetry. It’s the grand slam of wordsmithing. And what of my alma, Columbia? Twenty-fucking-five. Oh, how the mighty fall. And the poetry is ranked #47. Mother of god.

#2 – University of Michigan at Ann Arbor

#3- University of Texas at Austin

#10- Cornell at Ithaca

#50 University of Nevada in Las Vegas

Do these rankings matter? Do they help you on the job market? Getting published? I think the best thing you can hope to accomplish is to a) not go broke b) find a bff/first reader c) find a mentor who doesn’t eventually turn on you. What I discovered when I got my MFA was that I was a better editor than writer; at least that’s what I surmised. I also learned a kind of snobbery in taste. I made a great friend. And I studied with some greats like Denis Johnson and Richard Howard and Bill Matthews.

It’s an old question, but I’d love to hear if you feel your MFA program was worth it and what # ranking would you give it? If you don’t have an MFA, what are your thoughts about going to school to write

Filed under: MFA | 66 Comments »

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