Posted on November 7, 2015 by betsylerner
Some years ago, I read a manuscript called CALF, a brilliant, ambitious novel about the eighties, about violence, and a world where a Washington socialite guilty of murdering her daughter and John Hinckley could both wind up at St. Elizabeth’s for reasons of insanity. And become romantically involved. I got down on one knee and asked the author, Andrea Klein, if she would have me as her agent. Our walk to the altar of publication was long and full of pot holes, but we got there. CONGRATULATIONS ANDREA on the publication of Calf. You slay me.
What is the most violent novel you’ve read and how has it affected you? I’ll ask Andrea to choose the top three responses and send the “winners” copies of CALF. You can’t win if you don’t play.
Filed under: Uncategorized | 20 Comments »
Posted on November 6, 2015 by betsylerner
I read this story by Ben Marcus on the way home from the city. I don’t really like short stories all that much, but I loved this one. In part because it was like a novel in a nutshell. Partly because I felt tense the entire time I was reading it. I also thought that the details had god in them; the narration so assured I did’t need to worry. And most of all it felt real.
Is is real or is it Memorex?
Filed under: fiction, Short stories, The New Yorker, Writing | Tagged: Ben Marcus, The New Yorker, writing | 9 Comments »
Posted on November 4, 2015 by betsylerner
It’s almost dark. Leaves skittering. For a moment, I think I see a bear upright and dancing under the lamplight. Then it’s gone. I’m trying to think of the next scene in the script I’m writing. THis is new for me. I don’t usually think about what I’m going to write: I just write. I figure it out after. A man in a red jacket is walking on the other side of the street. We look at each other. He is probably trying to guess my age. I am trying to ascertain whether he is a murderer. Do I slow down or hasten my steps. I could go two ways with the script. Or twenty. It feels like there is a key, but of course there isn’t. Force it don’t force it. Fuck it don’t fuck it. Please don’t kill me. 
What are you afraid of?
Filed under: Uncategorized | Tagged: bears, screenwriting, writing | 14 Comments »
Posted on October 29, 2015 by betsylerner
Detective McNulty becomes the writer Noah Soloway in The Affair. My McNulty! He’s older, thicker, and his back is waxed. He is also having more sex than most writers. For fuck’s sake he’s a NOVELIST. His editor is a wiry, vest-clad, bespectacled chap who brings up Steinbeck and expense accounts. Noah won’t compromise on his ending! The editor wants a murder! C’mon Noah! Play ball! Noah has dedicated his new novel to the woman he is having THE affair with. When Noah is out, Allison spies the pile of pages on his desk — the novel in progress. She lifts up the title page to see the dedication page: To Allison. She shivers with recognition of their love.
Who would you dedicate your book to?
Filed under: Uncategorized | Tagged: McNulty, Novelists, The Affair, writers | 11 Comments »
Posted on October 23, 2015 by betsylerner
There is so much going on. I can feel it. Some vegetables in my garden are getting their boots on. In a half-remembered dream a steering wheel came off in my hands, turned to dirt. I am jacked up on popcorn and diet Sunkist. I play on-line Bridge with strangers in the night. I can feel the pockets of desperation in the air. I can see the cinderblocks and hospital gowns. THe knotty pines and nighttime eye patch. I got invited to a party via Facebook! I read a rant by a man who won a prize. The trees are the color of peaches. The new Adele song dropped. Nothing at the Mini Cine. Did my nails with “Just in Case.”
Are you writing?
Filed under: Uncategorized | 20 Comments »
Posted on October 18, 2015 by betsylerner
Sending huge congratulations to my great friend and mentor Patti Smith on the launch of her new book, M Train. I was on my striped couch when I read the first pages five years ago and knew something extraordinary was happening. There were twenty pages at the time and I’ve had the privilege of a ringside seat to the creation of this masterful work. Hopeful, melancholic, funny, elegiac, canny, frail, sturdy and sublime, M train is a map to an artist’s obsessions and passions including coffee, detective, shows, the graves of iconic poets and writers, the sea, the sky, the pen.
What was or is your favorite cafe to write in?
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Posted on September 21, 2015 by betsylerner
Question: The last book that made you cry?
Salman Rushdie: I don’t cry when I read, really, though I did cry once while writing the death scene of a character I loved in “Shalimar the Clown.”
I just can’t say anything. But here’s what I’m thinking: Really? You’ve never spilled a tear over someone else’s writing besides your own? A chin quiver? A Sierra Mist? What about when Beth March dies? What about Tess of the D’Urbervilles? What about Jenny Cavalleri?
What books have you bawled over? Four hanky reads? Watcha got?
Filed under: Agent, Salman Rushdie, Tearjerkers Love Story, Thomas Hardy Little WOmen | 33 Comments »
Posted on September 21, 2015 by betsylerner
Dear David Simon: I’ve asked you once and I’ll ask again: Will you marry me? I finished Season Five tonight. Apart from the fact that I’m still not exactly sure who Marlo Stanfield was, that was the best ride since the Soaps. The Wire, for all its violence, is incredibly character driven. I’m going to miss the gang, the look, the tone, the pacing, the story telling. And the dialogue! Great fucking dialogue: And I quote, “You’re a cunt hair away from an indictment.”
What should I binge-watch next?
Filed under: Uncategorized | Tagged: David SImon, HBO, The Wire | 17 Comments »
Posted on September 12, 2015 by betsylerner
DEAREST DARLING READERS OF THIS BLOG: LOOK WHO’S PUBLISHED. Our very own TETMAN!!!!!!!!!!
Thanks for the years of great comments, of great spirit, and support of all the writers who hang out here.
Everyone, get a copy or two of Franny & Toby. NOW! Congrats Tetman. You rock!!! Love, Betsy
Filed under: Uncategorized | 20 Comments »
Posted on September 1, 2015 by betsylerner
Writing a book is like finding a new lover. It woos you, loves you, fucks you, then leaves you. Dearest darling readers of this blog: I did it. I finished my book. I finished the fucker. It was due today and I turned it in today. 91,000 words cracked out of the sky, the tree, the branch, the twig. Am I stoned? Am I dead? Am I run over by a truck? Am I a cat, a bat, an owl, a toad? Every morning at 5:00, 5:30, I glimpsed myself in the window, a shadow, a golem, a cup of coffee. Does my nightgown smell like oatmeal? Who highlighted these transcripts in yellow? How many years did I wait for this? How many before I find another?
Fess up: did you write or did you play with your food?
Filed under: Uncategorized | Tagged: writing | 34 Comments »
Betsy Lerner 