When She Knew
BetsyG shares her fiction again, this time to honor her missing cat.
BetsyG shares her fiction again, this time to honor her missing cat.
Until this week, my short story, Scotch Hangover, had been read mostly by men, who were universally aggravated with the ending. The guys in my writing group didn’t think it was the wrong ending or that it needed revision; they just weren’t pleased with it. But this week, women read it, and the response has been different. […]
BetsyG talks about a bad couple of days, but some reasons to feel some joy.
BetsyG looks back on the six months of The BetsyG-Spot, and evaluates its successes, failures, and where to go from here.
BetsyG talks about one aspect of why she loves essays, both reading them and writing them.
I write about my past relationships with men. How can I do that without worrying about hurting them? And what kind of silly man would date me, a writer?
BetsyG rambles about writing for her blog, the Red Sox apparent loss to Tampa Bay, and her 10-year-old’s sudden turn to adolescence.
Almost everything I write starts off as crap. But through an iterative process of whittling away at the piece, it usually ends up where I wanted it to be. In this piece, I use some examples of the first draft of one of my other published essays to show how well revision works.
BetsyG likes to write even more than she likes to talk. Her essays have been published in the Boston Globe Magazine. She has children who would be horrified to be associated with her and her blogazine. BetsyG is a happy divorcée and, suffering from a bad case of arrested development, has no idea how old she really is; her deluded belief is that she's your age, whatever it may be.