Betsy Lerner

No One I Think Is In My Tree

Posted on March 2, 2010 by betsylerner

I’ve been thinking a lot about the comments on Monday in response to my tantrum about my own writing. I never expected to have such kind responses, encouraging and supportive. That’s because I’m always expecting what my own brain doles out: buck up, get to work, you’re a piece of shit (actually it’s you’re a fat piece of shit but we don’t need to get ugly here), you’re a phoney, no one cares about your lame ass excuses, etc. Whenever people say, you shouldn’t be so hard on yourself, I always want to reply: then who will be? It has never occurred to me to be nice to myself, which is probably why I loathe the entire self-help industry, spirituality, and whistling.

The thing is, your comments got to me: it’s winter, the toughest time usually comes before a breakthrough (or breakdown), you’re not alone, something about an insect near my vee-jayjay, and the clay. I want to thank everyone who commented. I’ve never known a writer to say, I’m at the top of my game, or I killed a new chapter this morning, or I’ve got my next five books outlined, or People seem to really love my writing. It’s so much darkness and even more scratching. It’s living inside your head, brutal and beautiful.

What I want to know is: what do you tell yourself? What is the drumming in your head?

Filed under: Writing | 48 Comments »

Joining the World of Missing Persons and She Was

Posted on March 1, 2010 by betsylerner

Betsy:

Thank you for your wonderful blog.

I hope this question doesn’t seem too trivial. On the matter of sending a snail mail query letter: Does it make any difference if the letterhead is professionally printed (e.g., from Office Depot) or does it suffice to go with 24-lb stock and your own laser printer? Will that matter to an agent?

Again thank you.

Dear Kind Person: No question is too trivial, especially after a day like today.* The more trivial the better. Anyway, you don’t need professionally printed letterhead. In fact, you don’t need letterhead at all. In fact, you don’t need paper. Most agents accept email queries. If you still want to send snail mail, just format your letter as you would a business letter. Letterhead always looks a little too, um, self-important. Worse is when the letterhead comes with a little illustration of a pen, for example, or a typewriter, or some mind/body symbol that encourages one to break free. I hope that answers your question. Now, back to our regularly scheduled programming.

Remember the “pounds or pages” challenge? Well, I just had my first writing session with my boot camp coach. I gave him an assignment to write three pages on something that relates to his story. He did a great job (far better job than I am doing shedding weight), and it was very pleasurable to be in a teaching mode. To talk about basics such as tense, pov, pacing, conflict and tension. I liked slipping my agent skin, not thinking about whether something was saleable, or fighting over an e-book royalty, or chasing a royalty statement, or rejecting a project that has so much going for it, but you just don’t feel it.

How are you all doing? I think we said thirty pages or ten pounds by April 1. If you’re not going to make your goal, adjust it. As my trainer says, a 70% success rate is a very good outcome.

Filed under: FAQ, Protocol | 11 Comments »

Here We Are Now Entertain Us

Posted on February 28, 2010 by betsylerner

Two dog hand puppets?

Many people who read my memoir said it was “brave.” Every time I heard that word, I immediately translated it to “crazy.” Isn’t that what they really meant, that it was crazy to expose so much of my life? I used to cavalierly say that the only thing people knew about me after reading the memoir was whether I could write. But I’d feel embarrassed and exposed and not brave. Not too long ago, my shrink wondered why the people in my family felt a need to make their stories public. Because we’re whores? Because we didn’t get enough attention? Because attention was, at our dinner table, love. Because love was food. And food was a weapon. And writing is a weapon. And sex should not be a weapon but sometimes it feels too good to resist. And if writing is shit on a stick, how can you not wave it around?

I am lost today. I have no idea why I write or what I want to say. I am angry and distressed and cannot locate the grid. I gave my shrink my books and she never said another word about them? Do you think she’s read them? I’m painting her as a jerk, but she’s actually the best person I’ve ever worked with. Her name is Betsy! Talk about transference. Talk about a room where you can say anything. Where what you say and what you need say are like the distance between you and the page. What does it take to get there: courage or skill, need or craft, desire or discipline? Brave or crazy?

Filed under: Writing | 54 Comments »

Sometimes When We Touch The Honesty’s Too Much

Posted on February 25, 2010 by betsylerner

Hi Betsy,

Thank you for ‘The Forest for the Trees.’ Great book. Are there any forms of persuasion that entice you back into editorial hire? $$$$? Good looks? The Yin-Yang swing of your text might lead a young stud to believe your interest in things pendulous is an opening…I have an important book you see…one that could change the way we think about everything…it hinges on, of all things, the history of writing. Can you recommend a good editor? I want one. Also, I went to self-publishing boot camp and was told to fuck the system and do it myself. Do you concur?

Sincerely Yours,

The Editor and The Young Stud

Dear Sin:

So glad you wrote in. Lots of people ask me if I think about going back into editorial, but few (none) have wondered what it might take to get me back: $$$$, good looks, a young stud’s pendulum. Yes, there are things that entice me as I count my 15% at the end of the day and wonder about the riches sitting there atop editorial hill. I also like: gin, Monte Carlos, milk shakes, thread count, lipsticks, titties and fine time pieces. As far as fucking the system and doing it yourself, I prefer to work within the system and fuck myself. Thanks for writing. Sincerely yours, B

Filed under: Uncategorized | 27 Comments »

Might As Well Face It You’re Addicted

Posted on February 24, 2010 by betsylerner

My name is Betsy and I’m a “writer.”

Hi, Betsy, Welcome.

I want to thank everyone for being here tonight. I’m grateful to the rooms, to all of you, and to my HP. (I nod my head here to signal my humility.) I tried to stop writing a year ago. I told myself I could handle it. I wrote because I wanted to, not because I had to. I wrote when I was happy, when I was sad, lonely, angry, horny. Eventually I wrote for any damn reason. (The room nods back in assent.) But then I hit bottom. I started stealing, lying, hiding my manuscripts. One night, the cops pulled me over, they caught me: jotting notes in my Moleskin while driving. That’s why I’m here. And with your help, and god’s grace, I will quit writing one day at a time.

Would anyone else like to share?

Filed under: The End of the World as We Know It | 34 Comments »

Everybody Wants to Shine

Posted on February 23, 2010 by betsylerner

If you’ve been following the blog in the last two weeks, you know that I went to LA and in four days saw exactly ONE celebrity, Josh Duhamel. And if I’m going to be completely honest, I’m not 100% certain it was Duhamel. Tonight, however, at the revival of Sam Shephard’s A Lie of the Mind, I saw: Mike Nichols (he looks amazing), Natalie Portman (looks amazing), and John Lithgow (looks t-terrif). There were tons of characters actors upon whom spotting you say, “isn’t that so and so?” and “wasn’t he in such and that?” Very fun, buzzy new york night.

Which followed a moody day, contemplating some of the comments from yesterday and trying to better understand this four-way stop my writing career has taken. I want to thank everyone who offered generous observations and Vivian Swift, in all her wisdom, who reminded us that a) it is February and b) leave the hair alone.

And last, why is Betsy Lerner such a star-fucker? Any insights?

Filed under: The End of the World as We Know It | 16 Comments »

That’s Me In the Corner

Posted on February 22, 2010 by betsylerner

I realized today that I have become something I hate: a dilettante. A dabbler. A jack-off of all trades. I have a screenplay blocked out that I can’t seem to kick into second. I have a tv writing partner and we are on a highway to hell. I have Neeps, or The Marriage of Parsnip and Potato in a notebook, I have an abandoned memoir, The Potter’s Apprentice. I have…bupkus.

I have always believed that if you want to get something done you have to put blinders on. You have to work at that one thing and that one thing alone. Your focus needs to take on the qualities of a heat-seeking missile. What the fuck has happened to me? Besides this blog? Ha ha ha.

I am going to quiz my daughter on tectonic plates right now. Perhaps when I come back, something will shift. Until then, I’d love to hear some motivational stories of accomplishment and glory through focus, will and determination. Though stories of utter disgust and abject failure always welcome.

Filed under: Writing | 31 Comments »

Dedicated To The One I Love

Posted on February 21, 2010 by betsylerner

I have been trying to figure out who wrote the first book dedication for some time. It does seem to be a contemporary practice. I prefer books that don’t have dedications. It’s like a big fuck you that I can really get behind. It’s like: I’m an artist, this is my book, it isn’t for anyone, no one helped me or inspired me; it isn’t apologetic, grateful, beholden or indebted. It just is.

That said, I included dedications in my two books. I dedicated The Forest for the Trees to my authors. Aw. And I dedicated Food and Loathing to John. My pimp.

Since I still don’t have a bookcase, I picked up a pile of books off the floor and these are the dedications:

HOUSEKEEPING: “For my husband, and for James and Joseph, Jody and Joel, four wonderful boys.” Not my business, but what’s up with giving kids names that all start with the same initial? I guess it’s easier to sort the monogrammed towels.

THE END OF THE AFFAIR: To C. (End?)

LORD OF THE FLIES: For my mother and father (This is the single most popular dedication as far as I can tell. Weird, since most writers hate their parents or feel stifled by them.)

AUTOBIOGRAPHY OF A FACE: For my friends, whom I love

BLOOD ON THE MOON: In Memory of Kenneth Millar (1915-1983) Dedications to lost friends and loves always move me. You’re not going to get any credit from the person, so it’s really pure, a salute.

THE AREAS OF MY EXPERTISE: Offered This Day with gratitude to KSF (I can never find fault with John Hodgman, even for this hyper-formal and too-studied dedication.)

EVIL TWINS: Chilling True Stories of Twins, Killing and Insanity: For Audrey and Mavis Hirschberg: my own identical twin cousins. (I know.)

Last, I can’t find the book, but I believe the poet Charles Simic dedicated one of his poetry collections “To Her” because it wasn’t clear whether she would be the same woman from the time he started the book to when he published it. If that is erroneous, my apologies. If it’s true: dude!

I would love to know what you think of dedications, if you have any good ones to share from books of your own: either published or planned.

Filed under: Uncategorized | 28 Comments »

Faces Come Out of the Rain

Posted on February 19, 2010 by betsylerner

Betsy:

I have searched and googled and read and hunted. Is it better to
finish a memoir before querying? I have read that you MUST finish it,
I have read that it is better to propose and write after the book has
sold or at least the agent is on board to help shape the focus. What
do you prefer? Do you think most editors and agents are on the same
page?

Thank you!

Dear James Frey:

This is an excellent question. And agents have differing opinions here. Generally, what I prefer is to give the publishers roughly 75 pages and a synopsis. I only do this, however, if the pages kill it and the author has some literary credentials such as prizes, publications, or is involved in some kind of literary world like Moth or, you know, has some following, maybe a popular blog, is a regular guest on This American Life, or has done something extraordinary that has garnered attention in the media. If the writer has nothing to help promote him or herself, then I suggest writing the entire book. As with a first novel, a memoir has to prove itself from beginning to end. There are always exceptions and different kinds of memoirs. And a selling strategy would have to take all of that into account.

Another great way to sell a memoir is off of a magazine piece. The first memoir I ever acquired when I was an editor was based on a Harper’s Magazine article. The agent submitted the article and a few more pages. Done. The next memoir I acquired was off a 30 or so page proposal. Later, when the writer was struggling with the book, I discovered that she had more than 800 of pages that were a mess. No surprise those weren’t included. We signed another memoir based on the sole endorsement of a very famous writer. Hell, people are selling their memoirs off of superb blogs such as Julie and Julia, or I’m Not the New Me, or It Sucked and Then I Cried. I believe I sold my own frickin’ memoir, Food and Loathing, on about 50 pages and a synopsis, but these pages included a scene where I describe how I want to smear chocolate custard all over the walls of a Dunkin’ Donuts, which I believe I refer to as a pink and orange shitbox. I mean, who wouldn’t pay cash for that?

No matter how you sell it, you still have to write it, and make it true-ish. Anyone have a good memoir story? Especially how you tried to sell one. Or recommend your favorite memoirs. Oh, and dearest darling readers, thanks for all the comments this week. I love the rodeo. Betsy

Filed under: Agent, Protocol | 29 Comments »

Money for Jam

Posted on February 18, 2010 by betsylerner

Ten years ago this month, I turned in my blue pencil and became an agent. I never thought I could be closer to writers than in my capacity as an editor, but I have found that the agent relationship can be even closer. You are there at the inception of a career, or you are stepping in mid-stream and trying to rebuild a career. You spend your time as an interpreter, negotiator, editor, shrink, friend, mother, principal, ping-pong partner and bank. You witness the passing of parents and the birth of babies. You know when the writing flows and when it falters. You know your writers’ strengths and limitations, when they’ve had a breakthrough and when they’ve hit a wall. You track a mood swing from self-aggrandizement to self-flagellation and back again many times over the course of one conversation. At a reading, you feel as if you are watching your child’s first recital. You wildy applaud as he picks up his first literary prize. You are celebrating a great review. You are going to a memorial service, an emergency room, a motel in Texas. Just when you think your tank is empty, a pile of pages arrives that takes your breath away.

I’m curious how you feel about your agents, but please don’t mention names or call anyone a douche. And if any of my clients feel compelled to write in, lay it on thick.

Filed under: Agent, Client | 12 Comments »

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