• 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

Everybody Knows This is Nowhere

I’m having one of those days when I really want to be Michelle Williams.

Instead, meeting with a BDP, another prospective client, a client whose publisher has turned down his option book, a party at Crown for their new publisher. You know, a see and be seen. Of course, I’m having a bad hair day, which is pretty much every day. There’s really nothing like a publishing party to make you wish for a swift and painless end. I thought about wearing a suit but decided to go with the jeans and black shirt black jacket look. Right?

My Former View of the World

Just in case you missed this little piece in today’s NYT business section, it was reported that some people are bringing their Kindles to readings to be autographed. David Sedaris signed one device thus, “To Marty — This bespells doom.” Sedaris also pointed out that he was once asked to sign a woman’s artificial leg. I noted in an earlier post that a pregnant woman asked Heather Armstrong (Dooce.com) to sign her belly. And when I was growing up, my fifteen year old neighbor got her butt signed by Bob Weir. Talk about a coup.

I test drove a Kindle for a week. For me, not useful because I always take notes on my manuscripts. And I still like the so-called integrity of the page.  And the page itself. But I was against microwaves, cable tv, running shoes, Post-its, phone answering machines, cell phones, blackberries, etc. I’m not a Luddite, I just hate change. So much so that I’d still rather lug around seven pounds of manuscripts and see forests felled than carry around a device. Well, a reading device.

Anybody out there loving their Kindle?

FAQ: I Don’t Know If My Book is Fiction or Non-Fiction — Is This a Problem?

Yes, it is. For all the aesthetic and creative reasons that come to mind, but also because at the end of the day the book needs to be shelved somewhere. Maybe not on Amazon, but if you want to find your book in a bookstore, it needs to find a shelf: fiction, current events, biography and memoir, history, etc.

In  Forest for the Trees, I wrote that not knowing your genre is a little like not knowing if you’re straight or gay. I no longer know if I agree with that. For some people, it takes time to find the right genre to work in and you may be good in a couple or more.  The MFA programs tend to keep the breeds in separate kennels. And I’ve always subscribed to the idea that if you want to do something well, you need to remain intensely focussed. But look at Updike. Stories, novels, essays, poems.

I started writing poetry when I was young and miserable. I wrote two non-fiction books in my thirties. And now I write screenplays that are so spectacular it’s frightening. Okay, no one wants my screenplays, but I love the form. If only NYU hadn’t kicked me out of film school, I might’ve been in Diablo Cody’s girl writing group, the Fempire. Damn you, Diablo!

But you do have to know what you’re doing, genre-wise, so you can be in control of what you’rewriting, and well versed with the tropes and conventions within the genre.

Also, to the fair maiden who wrote in, you must have this question resolved before you approach agents and editors. Otherwise, people won’t know if you’re straight or gay.

Twelve

It wasn’t Take Your Daughter to Work day, but I brought mine. Her school ended on Wednesday and she wanted to come to the city, pledged to help me. Highlights included:

  • Our very hot intern took her to Sephora and they both came back looking like hookers; intern also gifted her with free samples.
  • Ran into old friend/agent AW at Spoon (our local coffee place) who acted as if my daughter were an Obama first child, swooning over her like mad.
  • While walking around the city, my daughter pointed out men who sported “man purses.”
  • Okay, I wasn’t going to give her your manuscripts to read or contracts to negotiate it, but she did make a ton of new files for me that had been piling up and, nation, the girl can fire up the label maker.

  • The guy at TKTS kiosk described Avenue Q as “muppets with a South Park mouth.” Maybe he can help me pitch my books.

FAQ — Writer’s Block

A few writers have asked if I have any advice for writer’s block. I may make some enemies saying this, but writer’s block is something that totally bores me. I even hate the term, writer’s block. It sounds like one of the newfangled diagnoses  such as Oppositional Disorder to pathologize an ill behaved child.  In my experience, you’re not writing because you don’t know what to write about, are afraid of exposure, have no discipline, are ambivalent about your desire/ability to write, etc. These are not small things. They are very real. But as I’ve said before, the world isn’t asking you to write; so it certainly doesn’t care if you don’t.  Don’t lament the time you don’t write.

That’s the tough love. Some ideas to get the wheels turning: therapy (obviously), pick up the old diary and pen (pushing a pen is good for the soul), try The Artist’s Way, get a Hitachi Magic Wand, join a workshop, read, walk two miles in the morning followed by lemon tea with honey, and as I’ve said before: get dressed!

Audition

Sometimes a writer is in the fortunate position of being courted by agents. I had lunch with one such fellow today. People, I wore a dress.

It’s always interesting to find out why the writer is looking for a new agent. And to see if you can provide what he needs, if there’s a creative fit, a temperamental fit, if you’re the right person for the job.

At the end of our lunch, he told me he was seeing other agents. I knew this, of course, but after hours of schmoozing it still comes as something of a buzz kill. Well, it’s not like I’m only the agent in town for fuck’s sake. 

In fact, I’m ususally pretty zen about these things.

It’s So Noisy at the Fair

Computer, phone and blackberry all malfunctioning this morning. Who’s the caged monkey now? Everything seems to be working again.

Finished the huge editing job I’ve been working on for a book that was dreamed up twelve years ago. I know it’s twelve years because I was pregnant at the time. I remember the dress I was wearing when I met the writer. The child that was stirring within is now a charter member of the Zac Effron fan club and wears black toe nail polish.

Went to my client’s swankified 40th birthday over the weekend. I love it when people ask, how do you know the birthday boy? And I get to say, I’m his agent.  Suddenly, I rise or drop in esteem; either way it’s entertaining.

The party was amazing, filled with brilliant, sophisticated people (I know, how did I make the cut?), a rooftop terrace overlooking Manhattan, a harvest moon on the rise. Delicious food, candles everywhere, toasts and goodie bags. It was a perfect party, flooded with love.

Strolling through Washington Square Park on the way back to the hotel, I thought of myself at 18, arriving at NYU hungry for experience, yet just as happy to mostly stand at the sidelines and watch the great human parade.

Just Published

Rich.Dreaming“Dreaming in Hindi is a funny, deeply humane journey of words that invites the reader to awaken to new sounds and sensibilities in India. Katherine Russell Rich reflects our own history and culture back at us through the lens of a storied culture. What a gorgeous, intelligent book! –Jayne Anne Phillips, author of  Lark and Termite

 

 

 

Kessler_GoatSong“Beautifully written in Brad Kessler’s poetic, reverent voice, “Goat Song” shows us that when we take care of the land, animals, and each other to feed ourselves, we’re participating in an ancient rite that imbues our lives with meaning and nourishes our bodies and our souls.”  — Alice Waters, author of The Art of Simple Food

I Hate It When People Say Have a Good Weekend

I’m usually really on top of my reading. In the first place, I commute back and forth from New Haven a few times a week. So with the exception of the New York Times on the way in and the New York Post on the way home, I have three hours a day to paw through manuscripts. In the second place, there’s nothing like a writer/client waiting to hear what you think. You’d rather be caged with a wild monkey. And those who say, “take your time,” they are the biggest head cases all. So I like to take them out of their misery and read their pages as soon as possible.

But now, this weekend, when I have the first little “getaway” planned in a very long time, I’m up to my eyeballs in manuscripts. Fortunately, I want to read everything. Two novels that sound extremely appealing. New pages by one of my favorite novelist clients. And the blue monster. So why am I writing a post, you ask, instead of doing my work? Why are you reading this instead of sending me a brilliant non-fiction proposal?

Land of a Thousand Dances

When suddenly Johnny gets the feeling he’s being surrounded by
horses, horses, horses, horses
johnny