Day 23 meh. Are we starting to see a pattern here? Writing every day really gives you the chance to see the good days for what they are and the bad days for what they are. It doesn’t matter. The days don’t care about you. Just keep pushing through. We have seven days left. You can do this.
Good day? Bad day?
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Day 22. I wrote for an hour today. I lost track of time I shit you not. I want to say that when I proposed 30/30, I had no idea if it was a good idea, if I could even do it, etc. I jumpstarted a piece I started last summer. I’ve written on average 2 pages a day. The consistency has been incredibly valuable, but it’s realizing that I can fit 30 minutes in any time any where. I don’t have to be all precious about my pre-dawn quiet. I can eat them here or there, I can eat them anywhere!
When are you writing?
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Day 21 limping along to be honest. Mostly played footsie with early pages. fixing typos, laying in descriptions. It’s all part of the same flag. There are just some days when all you can do is move the pawn back and forth on the board.
Is anyone out there still writing? I feel you slipping away.
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Today, Day 20, and we are in the final third of this thirty day challenge. I know some people are cooking. Some are dropping in and out. Others have said fuck it. Wherever you are, if you’re still checking in, start tomorrow. Just see what you can do in ten days, thirty minutes a day. I have been shocked to see the pages accrue with just thirty minutes of work.
This morning, this quote jumped out at me in today’s paper from the writer Hanif Abdurraqib, “I’m not in a band. I didn’t get to be a pro athlete. In the end, I stumbled upon something that I didn’t know was a dream.” Tell me about it. I didn’t get to be a psychoanalyst. I didn’t get to run Paramount.
What didn’t you do?
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When I was nineteen, I was a sophomore at NYU. I had gotten kicked out of film school and took my refuge in the school of arts & sciences where I entered the leagues of lost English majors. I know I lived in a dorm, but I can’t remember any of my roommates. I can remember my favorite bench in Washington Square Park where I spent hours smoking cigarettes and reading and people watching. New York is was and always will the great parade of humanity and I its humble bystander. When I was nineteen, I hadn’t yet fallen in love, I hadn’t found a friend to share my writing with. Much of what I did was secretive: secret eating, secret writing, secret crushes, secret depressive episodes.
Friends, it’s Day 19 and I’m still typing.
What were you like when you were 19?
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Day 18. If you’ve fallen off a few days it’s not a big deal. This isn’t AA where you have to start all over on Day 1 if you “slipped.” If you’re here and you’re trying to write and you’re struggling, you’re in the right place. The beauty is you just need to find 30 minutes. Not a day, not a half day, not a room of your own, not a silent car, all you need is thirty minutes. I have to tell you, I had no idea when I floated this idea what would happen. For me, it’s been completely liberating. Every day, I can find thirty minutes and my project likes the attention.
Please weigh in and let us know how you’re doing.
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It’s Friday! Day Seventeen of the Thirty day writing challenge! Do you know where your children are? Today I had fun writing. Yes, I actually had fun. Me, Betsy Lerner, Queen of darkness, actually enjoyed the tapping. I shall prepare for a crushing experience tomorrow. But for right now, I’m cracking open a can of diet ginger ale and kicking back for some Netflix marriage. Guys! Guys! I can’t believe we’re at Day 17. Day 17!!!
Do you ever think of an audience when you write?
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Day 16. So appreciative of all the comments and insights surrounding our work. You know that one of the things I love about writing is that you do it alone and it’s lonely. I’ve never joined a book club or writers group (even though I am aware that this blog has been home to different writers groups over the years and they all make me completely happy). Still, I discovered writing as a child, and all through my teenage years and adult life, its delicious narcissistic promise of self involvement has never let me down. I don’t just go to write, I go to be alone, to steep, to steal myself away. To enjoy the exquisite pleasure of my own company. So yes, this sweet little community is fucking with my head. I did my dirty thirty.
How about you? Do you need help getting up the hill?
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Day 15. I had a really good day. At least I think I did. That’s the beauty of writing. You really don’t know if you had a good day. You don’t know if what you did was great, garbage, or something in between. You might like it one day and not the next. You can’t tell if you’ve been kicked in the head or in the ass. Enter the snowflake land.
Do you have any way of knowing if you did good work?
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DAY 14. If you’re reading this you’re half way there. Congratulations. I’ll come clean: I didn’t write today. I’m not going to make excuses because there are no reasons good enough not to write for just 30 minutes. I was also going to have a yogurt for lunch but somehow found myself demolishing a bagel with tuna fish. The whole idea behind the 30/30 was continuity whether you had a good day or a bad day or a blah day. It was about no excuses and balls to the wall. Sorry to have let you down,
What have you learned in 14 days?
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Click here.
Sometimes I think a meteor could strike the earth and wipe out mankind with the exception of my mother’s Bridge club — Roz, Bea, Bette, Rhoda, and Jackie — five Jewish octogenarians who continue to gather for lunch and Bridge on Mondays as they have for over fifty years. When I set out to learn about the women behind the matching outfits and accessories, I never expected to fall in love with them. This is the story of the ladies, their game, and most of all the ragged path that led me back to my mother.
Betsy Lerner 