BetsyG shares her fiction again, this time to honor her missing cat.
BetsyG talks about a bad couple of days, but some reasons to feel some joy.
It’s vacation week, and BetsyG’s not in her usual essay-writing form. But she gives a tantalizing preview of next Monday’s post, and wishes everyone a happy new year.
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.
I’m profoundly sad that David Foster Wallace commited suicide. In this article, I reflect on my experience reading his work and ponder the unanswerable “whys.”
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.