Identity
Right after my agent sold my first novel to Harper & Row, I was invited to a very upscale Manhattan literary party populated by up and comers in publishing and writing. I brought a friend for protection and when asked what I did I said, “I’m a teacher.” I was an adjunct at Brooklyn College where I was obtaining an MFA in fiction writing. “You’re a writer,” my friend hissed. “You just got a book deal with a huge publisher.” “I’m not saying I’m a writer.” “But you are!” “It sounds like boasting.”
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Loser
I know how Hilary Clinton felt. Well, no, I don’t. But I know a teeny bit how she must have reacted to the election of that ignorant, lying, cheating, adulterous creep instead of qualified, articulate, heroic, intelligent her. It wasn’t fair. So, there’s the Fatty factor. We had a porky Russian Blue named Fatty to distinguish him from his semi-identical twin, Skinny. I entered Fatty in a contest sponsored by a kitty litter company inventing his persona as a thug-like, jaded, feline who was very proud of his ‘crib’.
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How to Go on a Writing Retreat and Not Lose Your Mind
1. Low expectations. Non-writers might imagine some sort of serene and meditative experience that produces at least hundreds of pages if not a book. Writers will expect multiple games of Words With Friends, an endless layering of bad feelings: guilt, shame, fear, boredom, panic, anger, regret. Repeat. Writers know that no matter the beauty of your setting – mountains, ocean, lakes – you will feel trapped, sad, and grow to loathe the landscape.
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