Hi, folks!
It’s newsletter time!
I’ve noticed lately that my correspondence from new people is often tagged with: “I hope you’re surviving these terrible times,” or “the world is awful, but I hope you’re good.” As I read these, I often feel guilty, like: Yeah! I’m pretty good! Or. . . I’m meh! Why do you ask? Did another awful thing happen? Which thing?!?!
It feels to me like the glut of information has made us all feel responsible for the entire fate of the world/humanity/global warming/ poverty/ war/ people who don’t like other people for bad reasons.
But all we can do is the best we can. We are not morally obliged to be unhappy. There is, in fact, a good argument for the contrary.
What an intro!
I recently read BRAWLER by Lauren Groff. I’ve read everything she’s written and this one’s a cut above. What I envy about Groff is her construction – she begins stories in unexpected places, and tells them in meandering ways that mimic human thought and lived experience. She always ends on a surprising note, too. I think her work will last for decades to come.
It is sometimes frustrating, to see less ambitious novels receive critical acclaim. They scratch a cultural itch and they’re accessible. They touch on topical issues, but their depth of feeling is peeled back so readers aren’t rattled.
Because critics aren’t paid a living wage, the onus of criticism is placed on other writers – we’re supposed to blurb one another (despite the conflict of interest), then readers are supposed to rate us on Good Reads. The rubric is unknown – it’s not in Good Read’s best interest to post specific guidelines—but it feels like most books are evaluated by how a reader feels about themselves when they’re finished. Did they feel smart? Happy? Satisfied? One wonders how Shirley Jackson’s BIRD’S NEST would have performed under those circumstances.
My complaints here – OR AM I WHINING? – are disproportionate. The online aspect of book publishing may be more noisy than impactful. Anyway, I was glad to see BRAWLER on the LA Times Bestseller list. Reading great work and seeing it succeed makes me genuinely happy. I love to be inspired.
In my own publishing news, TRAD WIFE is up for pre order in the UK and US. I feel very good about TRAD WIFE. I remember having this same feeling when I published The Missing—I thought: Well, it’s pretty good. The plot is airtight. If people have criticisms, it’s not about the value of the novel, it’s about taste. It’s a nice way to go into publication.
I’ve been pulling together photos for social media posts. It’s me! Dressed up like a trad wife! Anyone who knows me personally is probably amused by this. And also having all the feels for my husband, who bakes our bread every week, and makes breakfast for the kids every morning. I surprised myself by enjoying this aspect of promotion. Dress up is fun!
I’m back working on my next novel, PARENT TRAP. I have no idea how this has happened, but it appears to be a black comedy.
In viewing news, I so far love “The Comeback,” Season 3. Episode 1’s a little rocky, but after that, it hits its stride. The conceit here is that Valerie Cherish is back starring in a sitcom, only it’s written by AI.
I got the chance to see a rough cut of Chloe Okuno’s next film, “Brides,” last week. She directed a favorite of mine, “Watcher,” which is streaming on Netflix. “Brides” is wild and gleeful and like nothing I’ve seen before. I was with several directors for the screening, and we were all exhilarated.
Finally, I’ve partnered with a friend and together we’ve been pitching TRAD WIFE as a television show. Since we both live in LA, we’ve been doing it in person, getting to see all the offices, getting lots of coffees and waters. It’s been a lot of fun and a learning experience. We talk for nearly a half hour – pitches are like that. Every once in a while, I get nervous in the middle of the pitch. I think: This is too long. They’re bored. I’m not making sense. Are the words I’m using even English? My technique has been to remember Don Draper’s famous Hershey’s Pitch, where he starts crying in the room. I think: what if I just started crying? And for whatever perverse reason, this makes me laugh, and suddenly the pitch is fun again.
I mean, it can’t be as bad as Don Draper, crying in front of his whole team, can it? And if it does go that bad, it would be a little funny, wouldn’t it?
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