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
I’ve been in London this week. Coincidentally, I’ve been reading my diaries from my junior year abroad. It’s 43 years later and here are all the things I can’t believe: I can’t believe I survived my depressive and manic episodes. I can’t believe I’ve been stable for 30 years. I can’t believe I married at all and that I’m still married. I can’t believe I have a daughter and we are close. I can’t believe I’ve published three books and have just written, at 63, my first novel. I can’t believe this blog helped me develop my voice and bring a community of like-minded writers to my door. I can’t believe I cherish life no matter the slings and arrows I still aim at myself. I can’t believe this city holds so many sad and lonely memories and that I’m around to indulge.
It’s a fine line between advocating for yourself and being a douche bag. And it’s really important to know when you’re crossing it and I’m speaking to myself right now. My efforts on my book are fully in the marketing now, which means pushing, pushing, pushing. Writing letters, emails, sending galleys, doing my social media, blah blah blah. In other and much better news, I’m sticking to the challenge of writing every day and I’m not saying it’s pretty, but it’s something.
Are you with me in writing bootcamp or what? Progress reports please!
I started a new project, felt all buzzy and real stepping out onto the diving board. Then I stopped. Two things happened. First, i showed it to someone too soon. Didn’t get the encouragement and admiration I was seeking. Second, I let a vacation, then work, then ennui get in the way. Do not do this. Do not skip a single day of writing. If you want to write something, write every single fucking day. I know this, I preach this, I believe this. As a fitness trainer on YouTube recently said, “I love intensity, I worship consistency.” So with this post, I am committing to a page a day.
I did the final corrections on my novel. (Honestly, the two words “my novel” sound equally obnoxious and unbelievable.) It’s in the can, it’s cooked, it’s soup. In the past, my husband has described my relationship with my books once they’re done as “psychotic disassociation.” He’s not wrong. On the one hand I have this deep belief that once you finish something and put it out into the world, it’s no longer yours. It’s not a spiritual idea, it’s just a fact. It’s how of your hands. You made your cake. But I think the psychotic disassociation is also a product of/defense for working in publishing. It’s like being a doctor and operating on yourself. I know too much.
Okay, I admit it, I want to know what the hell is going on with Kate Middleton, Princess of Wales. I’m not a conspiracy theorist (unless it has to do with publishing). My theory, if I had one, is that Kate’s surgery is related to an eating disorder. I don’t think William is cheating on her even though I’m not a benefit of the doubt type. I am tempted to rewatch the Crown through Queen Olivia Coleman’s reign. I did listen to Spare and I’m not ashamed. I never wanted to be a princess when I was a little girl. Part of me thinks this is a royal PR stunt to drum up sympathy for the chilly princess. But here’s what I really want to talk about: I think I started a new book. It came to me when I thought I was locked in a hotel stairwell.
This is not a paid advertisement, but it is an advertisement! My client Tricia Romano worked on her book, THE FREAKS CAME OUT TO WRITE, for seven years through a tragic personal loss and Covid. She Finished the Fucker big time and it’s a great joy to see book showered with praise. It’s a sprawling oral history of The Village Voice that covers six decades and includes over two hundred interviews. Here are just a few of the raves that have been coming in from the New York Times, NPR, and The New Yorker. If you love downtown, the art scene, politics, performance art, activism, feminism, gay rights, theater, punk music, hip hop and jazz. If you ever lived in New York (or wanted to), were born too early or too late, this book brings it all to life. It’s a great ride.
I had an epiphany the other day about my next writing project. I was driving. I was thinking about my errands, the dry cleaner, the special light bulbs, the pharmacy. I was thinking about a difficult call I had to make. I was thinking about my sister. In other words, I wasn’t thinking about what to work on next when it came to me: wait. I remembered that every one of my books started organically. I was seized with an idea and started writing. Some stuck, some didn’t. But I never made myself do anything. Why was I making myself crazy? I think the reason is I always feel lonely when I’m not working on a project. I think I started writing as a kid because I was lonely.
Dearest darling readers of this blog: take a look in the right hand column and get a sneak peak at the jacket for my DEBUT novel, Shred Sisters. This book poured out of me in seven months and then took almost three years to revise with the help of many smart writer friends who generously gave me feedback. Each reader brought something different and helped me immeasurably. I still don’t quite know how the original gush happened, except that I kept waking up earlier and earlier because I couldn’t wait to get back to my keyboard before I had to go back to my day job. I was writing until my hands cramped. Reader, I was on my meds. It was not mania, but I felt wind beneath my wings. I felt my wings! I don’t know when/if that will ever happen again. I made up for it all on the other side, the eleven or twelve revisions, even writing one whole revise in longhand. I think what I’m trying to say is that there are no shortcuts. But I’m also curious if anyone has ever felt a book rip out themselves. There was also the rush of being able to make it all up after years of writing non-fiction. Poof!
What do you think of the jacket? Market research!!
Over the years, many writers have asked me for advice about what their next project should be. They’ll have a few ideas and want me to weigh in what I think is the most selling or commercial, which might get them a big advance. Even though I’ve been working in publishing for over 30 years, I never quite know what to say. I’ve always believed that the execution was far more important than any given idea. And I basically give the same answer: do what you feel most passionate about. It sounds sort of twee, but I really mean it. For the first time in my own writing life, I don’t know what to do next. It’s an awful feeling. I have too many ideas. If I had a shrink, I imagine she’d say that I need to sit with the feeling. Or at least that’s what she used to say about everything before I quit. It’s probably good advice, but I hated it then and I hate it now.
I feel so awful about not blogging more often, but as you know I’ve run off with a new lover called BookTok, and I find the whole whacky world of content creation (lol) and influencers and scrolling to be deeply intriguing. It’s like learning a new language or going to a foreign country. Not knowing the rules, trying to get comfortable, wanting to join but afraid of messing up. I’ve been making little videos where I read from the diaries I kept in my twenties. It’s been something of an excavation and what I see is that this little monster has been at it for a long time. Writing almost every day in those notebooks, blogging every day for years, and now my first novel. I like to say that it poured out of me, or dropped into my lap, but the reality is that every diary entry and post was part of my story, part of developing my voice, part of enjoying connecting with people and being less afraid. I like to joke that I’ve written a coming of age story at 63, but it’s no joke. It just took a while.
No one will love you more or hurt you more than a sister.
It is said that when one person in a family is unstable, the whole family is destabilized. Meet the Shreds. Ollie has no breaks. Amy can't get her life started. Spanning two decades, Shred Sisters is an intimate and bittersweet coming of age story exploring the fierce complexities of sisterhood, mental illness, boundaries, loss and the limits of love.
Betsy Lerner 