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I've been struggling with my own writing lately and when that happens I often pick up the book of a favorite writer to help me get back in the groove. These days, I've needed an injection of humor. I wrote this piece in January of 2010. I figure if you haven't read it, then it counts as a new post. On the other hand if you did read it way back then and your memory is as bad as mine, then it's probably still a new post. Either way, it's a win-win for me until I find my funny again.
Nora Ephron is one of my very favorite writers. In my book, nobody does humor writing better.
Well known for such hit comedies as “When Harry Met Sally” and “You’ve Got Mail,” her newest movie, this year’s “Julie & Julia,” is probably my favorite of all her work. I actually got all teary-eyed at the end and eliciting tears from me, especially in public, is no easy feat. Crying was something I was taught should be done in private, like moving one’s bowels.
My favorite book of hers, “I Feel Bad About My Neck…” is a collection of drop-dead-funny essays about growing older as a woman. If I’d written it the title would have been “I Feel Bad About My Arms…” It’s not that I have wings that hang down and flap in the breeze when I wave to a neighbor. I actually have thin arms and fairly well-toned ones at that. It’s just that the skin on them no longer fits. I don’t know what the hell happened. It’s kind of like how jeans get after you’ve washed them one too many times and the Lycra is all worn out. Yeah, you get the picture. My arms need to be shrink-wrapped. Why hasn’t someone invented a machine for that – where you could stick your arms into plastic wrap sleeves, hear a loud sucking sound and voila! Tight, toned arms of a 20-year-old. Someone could make a bundle off such a machine. But I digress…Nora and I have a lot in common and I firmly believe we would be great friends. We share a similar view of the world, are of the same generation and we’re both writers, though I in no way, shape or form delude myself by thinking we are in the same league. In fact, if we were sisters, she’d be the talented one and I’d be the one awkwardly attempting to follow in her footsteps that everyone would feel they had to be nice to. Still, I’d get to hang out with her and that, in itself, would make it all worthwhile.
I tried to friend her on Facebook last year. At that time she only had seven friends and one of them is Hillary Clinton, so how cool would that have been? But she ignored me. I know! I was shocked, too.
Then I entered an essay contest that she was judging through Elle magazine. The winner would have had her essay included in Ephron’s newest play, “Love, Loss and What I Wore,” AND gotten flown to NY to meet her and see the show. Those of you who’ve read my post, “The Reluctant Traveler…” know how I feel about flying, but I figured if I could meet Nora Ephron, fuck it – I could die happy. Well, I didn’t win, but I can’t tell you how special it makes me feel to know that my idol Nora held my work in her very own hands and personally rejected me.
Now that our paths have crossed I’m going to attempt to “friend” her again and I’ve composed the following message:
Dear Nora,
Thank you so much for considering my Elle essay entry, “That Special Dress.” While I didn’t win, I want you to know that I bear you no grudge as I’m sure that must be weighing on you heavily.
To show you how magnanimous I am and out of a friendship that I know, once developed, will be deep and meaningful and span the rest of our lives, I invite you to be my “friend” here on Facebook -- and if you should ever need a kidney, look no further.
Your bff, Jayne
How could she possibly resist?
