Hello!
It’s time for my second ever ‘Notes From a People Pleaser’. I’ve procrastinated writing this for a while now which means it’s a week late but also that I’ve obliterated my 2023 Q1 to do list (my agent described my emailing style this week as being very Gremlins - ‘just when you get rid of one another three pop up!’). As soon as I started, I remembered why I’m doing this - it’s wonderful to have somewhere to both overuse commas AND share the things I’ve been consuming or thinking about, and I hope that we can have a conversation about one of these things!
My second book, BEFORE WE WERE INNOCENT, is out in just over three weeks and while I’m so excited for people to read it, I’m also a little nervous about everything between now and then. I know I’m lucky to have this problem but occasionally it seems like a prank that I, a writer by choice because I’m objectively inarticulate in real life, have to somehow figure out how to sell my book in real life. My best friend always assures me that ‘people expect writers to be weird’ but most of the writers I follow seem to be excellent communicators too. (This also contradicts my dad’s occasional use of ‘God doesn’t give with both hands’, and ultimately seems a little unfair.)
Thank you so much for reading, and please do get in touch with any recommendations or thoughts on anything I’ve mentioned!
Love,
Ella 🤍
Notes on Teenage Diaries...
A friend of mine recently forwarded me an account that proceeded to steal the next two hours of my life. On instagram, Mackenzie Thomas reads aloud from her teenage diaries and the entries are both wildly prescient and wildly funny (“The problem? Me, physically and mentally,” is perfect in every way). I only decided to write about a friendship between three teenage girls after discovering my own (much less funny) teenage diaries, and I’ve been flicking through them again to mine content for my ‘countdown to book release’ posts. I, like most teenagers, was also gloriously unhinged (I describe my poor sister’s first period as being ‘SO SO SICK - BLOOD. EVERYWHERE.’, and feverishly document every stray glance from unsuspecting strangers on the bus), but honestly, truly, I would encourage you to dig out your own diaries if you kept them because, as bonkers as they are, the sense of wonder is contagious.
Notes on armchair detectives...
Halfway through BEFORE WE WERE INNOCENT, eighteen-year old Bess and Joni are arrested for the murder of their friend Evangeline in Greece. Despite the fact they are released without charge, Bess finds that armchair detectives are still ripping them apart on forums, ten years later. While this dissection of their morality is done under the guise of solving the mystery of Evangeline’s death, I think that the same thing would have happened if they’d died along with her that night. While Ev is easy to paint as pure and innocent (reductive in another way), Joni and Bess’s tendencies toward cruelty and danger are closer to the surface and (critically) their sexual histories are infinitely juicier. It wouldn’t have made a difference whether they were the accused or the victims because they would have still been guilty of being anything less than perfect.
I’ve thought a lot about this ugly desire to victim-blame, and (insidious as it is) I figure it comes from a place of fear. People want to believe that the victim somehow courted their fate because it makes them feel safer. They want to think that this type of violence is avoidable if only they make the ‘right’ choices in their own lives. Ultimately, they want to believe in cause and effect because it means they might just be able to control the future. But all the armchair sleuthing and judgment in the world won't change the fact that life doesn’t work like that.
Notes on vacations gone wrong…
I recently wrote an essay about my obsession with the ‘vacation gone wrong’ trope - an entire genre in itself at this point. I try to avoid labelling it as a trope in the essay but this literary convention (a nicer way of saying trope?) has sustained many of my favourite books and two seasons of The White Lotus. A dreamy but flawed protagonist filled with hope and expectation arrives in a stunning location only to discover they are still the exact same person they were at home. What could possibly go wrong? I’ll link to the essay once it’s published, but please get in touch with your favourite books (or films/shows) that you think fulfil this promise well too. Some of mine are: Bonjour Tristesse by Françoise Sagan, The Talented Mr Ripley by Patricia Highsmith, Leave The World Behind by Rumaan Alam, plus many more. I’m tempted to conclude by saying that death feels even more senseless when it’s preceded by beauty but I’m pretty sure this isn't a good take and won’t hold up under the slightest amount of pressure.
A tenuous visual treat:
Notes on Nora Ephron…
I’m still researching my third book as I write it, and part of that involves delving into the careers of prolific female writers in the 60s and 70s. Most recently, I have devoured anything I can find on the life of Nora Ephron. I’ve always loved Heartburn (that final page never fails to make me cry) and When Harry Met Sally is possibly my favourite movie, but I think I might love the stories about Ephron almost as much as her own essays. A few weeks ago, I rewatched the documentary of Ephron's life made by her son, Jacob Bernstein, called Everything Is Copy. Described by the New York Times as a ‘pickle slathered in whipped cream’, it’s a riveting portrayal of the famously spiky Ephron, but it’s also so warm and intimate (much like Ephron’s work) that it feels as if you too are remembering an old friend. My favourite line? When Meg Ryan says of Ephron “I feel like her allegiance to language was sometimes stronger than her allegiance to someone’s feelings.” I can’t relate in the slightest but that’s probably why I love her so much.
Notes on book launches (and friendship)…
We’re all already living in the metaverse*! Recently, my lovely publisher asked whether I thought I could fill a room at a hypothetical book event in New York, and it got me thinking about what the pandemic has done to the more peripheral friends in our lives. While my network of close friends has stayed blessedly consistent, the number of people I see semi-regularly has drastically gone down over the past three years. While I was used to connecting with these less intimate (but still treasured) friends a few times a year at the usual annual events, the lack of physical contact during two years spent apart has made it feel like certain lines have been drawn. I still love and support these people from my sofa at home (another baby! A TV deal! A female embodiment/tarot hybrid course offering!) but sending a few heart-eye emojis doesn’t always translate to showing up in each others’ real lives unconditionally. All this to say, I’m pretty sure I cannot fill a room in New York, no.
*I know that the above has little to do with the brilliant (linked) piece in The Atlantic about how we’re all losing our grip on reality (and humanity), but I truly have nothing to add to this perfect(ly chilling) piece.
Final Thoughts…
The new issue of my friend Ben’s brilliant queer poetry anthology, fourteen poems, is ready! Featuring poems about loss and unrequited love, poems about childhood and family connections, poems about masculinity, poems about dancing. Plus a guide on how to cope when Nicole Kidman doesn’t love you. PERFECT.
You’re the best!
Can't wait for April 4! I absolutely devoured The Comeback