Erica Manfred - Writer, Self-Publishing Guru

I Made Over My Boyfriend—and Lived

ericamanfred — Thu, 29 Sep 2011 14:08:29 +0000

What do you do at the beginning of an affair, when the newly discovered love your life, who is in every other way an attractive, nay admirable, person, asks with an eager puppy-dog expression, “How do you like this shirt? Doesn’t it look great?” In my case the shirt in question assaulted the retina with a strange geometric pattern that couldn’t quite make up its mind between stripes, squares and triangles.

Why Your Shrink Hates You, A True Story

ericamanfred — Thu, 29 Sep 2011 14:07:33 +0000

Admit it, haven’t you been wondering after all these years in therapy why you’re not getting any better…why you still can’t get a decent job, apartment, mate, or sell your screenplay? The best kept secret in shrinkdom is that, like gynecologists who go into their speciality because they hate women, shrinks go into theirs because they hate people.

Confessions of an Amateur Shrink

ericamanfred — Thu, 29 Sep 2011 14:06:41 +0000

Even though it seems to be one of those harmless social pastimes, like bemoaning the state of the subway system, giving advice can become a dangerous addiction.

Fat Fashion Frustration on Fifth Avenue

ericamanfred — Thu, 29 Sep 2011 14:05:56 +0000

Bless your lucky genes, size 10, that you’re not a size 20—then you too would be stuck with Lane Bryant.

Coworkers from Hell and How to Cope

ericamanfred — Thu, 29 Sep 2011 14:04:58 +0000

In every workplace, there are congenial, supportive colleagues…and then there are the other kind—the ones you fantasize about while pummeling the punching bag at the gym. Is there an officemate sabotaging your success? Here, a primer on how to handle the most common culprits.

In Defense of Desperation

ericamanfred — Thu, 29 Sep 2011 14:04:02 +0000

Anyone who’s ever been single and longs to be coupled has been warned that desperation is the kiss of romantic death. Every woman who’s ever pined away night after night wishing there was a man in her life knows what the problem is with this type of advice: How can you not look desperate when you are desperate? What’s the solution? Give up the pretense.

The Myth of Chemistry

ericamanfred — Thu, 29 Sep 2011 13:59:51 +0000

Despite heaps of evidence to the contrary, we insist on assuming that love, unlike more earthbound emotions, is made up of mysterious molecules that pass from one person to another, the sizzle of these sex-laden atoms rendering us helpless to resist. Or something like that.

Annals of Matchmaking

ericamanfred — Thu, 29 Sep 2011 13:58:57 +0000

I don’t know if it’s hereditary, but some of us seem to have a mutant gene that drives us to fix friends up, even against their will—almost as if it’s in our nature to rebel against the notion that people can find love on their own. I, for one, am convinced they need me to find it for them.

No, I Won’t Leave Him at Home

ericamanfred — Thu, 29 Sep 2011 13:57:48 +0000

Since my divorce, Shadow’s been my security blanket. If you care about me and want to be my friend you’ll understand that.

I Was a Red-Diaper Baby

ericamanfred — Thu, 29 Sep 2011 13:56:13 +0000

O.K., so my parents were Communists. But at least they believed in something. I never thought I would feel nostalgic about Communism. As a 60′s activist and child of lefty parents, I once took as gospel beliefs that now seem quaint: human beings are basically good; if people, not capitalists, owned the means of production, poverty would disappear; economic equality could cure all social ills. Misguided and dangerous though Communism was, the passion for social justice and compassion for working people that it represented is gone from the planet, and I, for one, miss it.