When it comes to celebrities, the honest truth is, I don't usually care much. I mean, of course I don't wish them harm, but I also don't usually get torn up over the things that go on in their personal lives (or deaths). The reality is, they're just people like anyone else, and like any other stranger, I don't actually know them.
Nora Ephron is different though. I felt like I knew her, not only because I've enjoyed so much of her work over the years, but also because of the recent publication of my novel, "Momnesia," which includes passages from Ephron's book, "I Feel Bad About My Neck."
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| One of my favorite books of all time! |
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Here's a tip for writers: If there's any way possible to NOT quote other people's books and/or songs in your book, avoid it like the plague. It is a HUGE ordeal to get permission to reprint these things, and if I had known, I never would have included them. In "Momnesia," they were such an integral part of the storyline, I couldn't remove them. So I invested months and months (and months) of grueling paperwork and inumerable phone calls to ensure I secured the permissions necessary.
Except for Nora Ephron. Of the five I sought, permission to quote her book was the simplest, quickest, and least painful. Of course I realize that I was not dealing with her directly; however, the guidelines are set forth by the artist and it meant a lot to me that I didn't have to write that part out of my novel.
In my story, the main character is trying to come to terms with the "new her"... the woman she is now after having had kids. Who is not in high school anymore, has a muffin top, and will likely never fully return to her formerly-smooth, non-pendulous physique.
Not surprisingly, this passage is meaningful to me not only as an author, but also as a woman. A woman who, um... is a mom, has a muffin top, and will likely never fully return to my formerly-smooth, non-pendulous physique.
In honor of Nora Ephron's life, career, and all of the pleasure and wisdom she has shared, I'd like to say, "thank you." I hope she hears me from up in heaven, where she will hopefully be entertained as much as she entertained us throughout her lifetime!
In celebration of Ephron's life, here is the excerpt that quotes "I Feel Bad About My Neck," as it appears in "Momnesia": Enjoy!
(Context: The main character is going through a difficult period in her life and has turned to books and music as a source of inspiration. To see what other books and songs are quoted in "Momnesia," see bottom of this post.)
One such book was Nora Ephron’s “I Feel Bad About My Neck,”
which is written from Ephron’s first-person, outrageously honest, hilarious
perspective. Throughout the book (in between wiping my tears of laughter), I
realized that the reason it’s so funny is because everything she says is
uncategorically true.
One portion
that really stood out was when she was speaking from the perspective of a
sixty-four-year-old woman, looking back at her younger self:
“Oh, how I regret not having worn a
bikini for the entire year I was twenty-six. If anyone young is reading this,
go, right this minute, put on a bikini, and don’t take it off until you’re
thirty-four.”
Laughing
(and thirty-six), I chuckled to myself, That
is so true.
Then it
occurred to me that something else I’d read a few pages earlier penetrated even
more prominently as an undeniable truth. Flipping back to the passage, I
reread, “Anything you think is wrong with your body at the age of thirty-five
you will be nostalgic for at the age of forty-five.”
Now, of
course I realize that in my overwrought state I was particularly vulnerable to
be influenced by a statement that most would have simply thought was funny. But
the combination of those two passages made it dawn on me that she was right.
And more importantly, that I should apply this concept to my own life before it
was too late.
I’ve always been the type of person
who tries to learn from other people’s experiences. I am not one who personally
needs to smell the milk if someone has just told me it’s gone sour—their
wrinkled expression of distaste is enough for me. Whether as simple as milk or
as complex as a life issue, I find it decidedly unnecessary to personally
suffer through each and every malady life throws my way.
I accepted
the fact that it was indubitably too late for me to go back to when I was
twenty-six and appreciate my figure by wearing a bikini all year long. But it
definitely wasn’t too late for me to try and appreciate my current
thirty-six-year-old body. Despite my Chicken Belly Flap Thing, my bevy of
purple stretch marks, or the fact that the only way of me having any cleavage
at all was by using my Miracle Bra to hoist my boobs up as high as they would
go, the undeniable truth was this: It was highly unlikely that I would look
back in ten years and think I look any better then.
Realizing
the impact this could have on my overall thought processes, I contemplated it
further, analyzing my current physical state.
Did I need
to lose a significant amount of weight? No. While I did weigh about fifteen
pounds more than when I was twenty, I was unquestionably within the window of a
healthy weight for my stature. Which translates to mean (by today’s media and
fashion industry standards) that I’m a heifer simply by virtue of being average
rather than emaciated. But since I’m neither a runway model nor the hostess of
a high-end morning show, I deemed my weight acceptable. Of course, I would
still love to lose those fifteen pounds but the fact was, I wasn’t twenty
anymore. I was thirty-six and I’d had two kids.
Did I have
hideous hair? Disfiguring facial scars? Any other impediment to legitimately
hamper the possibility that I might try to consider myself a somewhat
attractive woman? Nothing on those fronts either. While I was certainly not
perfect, I did recognize that I should at least try to think of my appearance
as less-than-grotesque.
Then I
thought about my Chicken Belly Flap Thing and all fantasies of embracing my
newfound non-grotesqueness went right out the window. The more cynical me—the
one who is not wearing a Miracle Bra, doesn’t have on an empire-waisted blouse
to hide those unsightly bulges, and constantly has a “muffin top” due to the
lack of availability of jeans that actually come up to your waist—was not able
to withstand such scrutiny.
Knowing
there was not a thing I could have done to prevent those afflictions, I
resentfully acknowledged that nothing would make them go away completely. No
amount of exercise (of which I already did plenty), no amount of starving
(ditto), no amount of anything. There was not one thing I could do that would
ever make those aspects of my body go back to their formerly smooth,
non-pendulous state. Nothing short of plastic surgery that is, and since I was
in no position to undergo the knife at the moment (and honestly, I felt that
I’d just be trading one scar for another anyhow), I realized that the original
fact still held true: In ten years it would be extraordinarily unlikely that I
would look back and think that I look any better then than I did right now. The
Chicken Belly Flap Thing and all the other imperfections would undoubtedly
still be there, but there would also be innumerable other blemishes; physical
woes I hadn’t even thought of yet.
I decided
then and there that I wasn’t going to be so critical of myself anymore. Sure, I
would continue to do my one-hundred abdominal crunches every day, walk five
miles with the neighborhood women three times a week, follow a healthy diet,
and wear clothing that disguises my flaws. But as of that moment I promised
myself that I would try to appreciate the good things about my appearance and
stop berating myself for my shortcomings. Because I truly recognized, in my
heart of hearts, that someday I would regret it if I didn’t.
I hope you enjoyed the excerpt, and that you've enjoyed Nora Ephron's work as much as I have over the years!
Curious about other books and songs quoted in "Momnesia?" Here they are:
Jane Porter's "Flirting With Forty": Received permission. (Thanks Jane!)
Metallica's "Holier Than Thou": Received permission. (Thanks Metallica!)
Rush's "Freewill": Received permission. (Thanks Rush!)
Evanescence's "Bring Me to Life": Denied permission. (Yes, seriously!)
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