The BetsyG-Spot

It’s been a year since The BetsyG-Spot first went live with Once Bitten, my essay about daring to fall in love again after heartache. It’s been a year of lessons for me. I’ve learned that I can apparently write about my love life—past or present—pretty much indefinitely. I’ve also learned that the Internet is not the goldmine for writers as it was billed to be, and that readership doesn’t just drop into your lap, especially among the over-40 crowd. It’s surprised me how many loyal male readers I have, although I can see how revealing the secrets to the female mind could be a draw.

One thing I’ve been pleased with is that The BetsyG-Spot seems to stimulate its loyal readership, most of whom comment offline. It is nice to be read, even if by a small audience, and nicer to be understood and appreciated.

This week is also the anniversary of the death of my aunt Miriam (see the dedication page for more about her), who inspired me to do what I wanted to do by her example. It’s still surreal to me that she is gone. She is very much alive in my memory, as if I’m watching a movie. But I miss being able to talk to her, to share my work with her, to learn from her.

My cousins are sharing an exhibit of her work this summer to honor her memory. In preparation, they have photographed all her works (she was an artist, in case you didn’t read the dedication) and shared them online for family members to see and request pictures for after the show. I marked a few things that I both liked and that reminded me of her. I don’t know what my cousins will give me, but while some pieces have higher value as art, the piece I want the most is a sketch of part of her living room. This sketch features some of her sculpture and her knickknacks, but above all, it puts me in the room with her. Its value to me? Priceless.

I had hoped to make more of a splash on this anniversary, but over the past couple of weeks the urge to write has been deflated. I feel as if I need a good, long break from my job to regain my energy for this, my work. One of the good things about teaching, when I taught in the computer lab at my son’s school, was that I had the summers off. Now my ex is making less money and expecting a bigger contribution from me, a situation that arose when he lost his job a few years back and I had to work full-time to keep my household from going under. There was no way to pedal back after that; my income is now too important to my household. But as a writer, I desperately need the time off. Some writers are able to squeeze in an hour here or an hour there, but I am not that kind of writer. I need to waste an hour before I even get started, and then the time is gone. I have it in my head to try to take off as much of August as I can, but I don’t know how that will jibe with my main client.

I’m a wilted flower, and if I don’t get watered soon…Sigh.

And it’s because of this wilting and deflating that you haven’t seen your Sex in the Suburbs post yet this week. I hope to write something tomorrow, as it’s important to me that I keep up the schedule.

Thanks so much for being a part of The BetsyG-Spot over the past year. It is truly appreciated.