NORA ZELEVANSKY is the author of Will You Won't You Want Me? and Semi-Charmed Life. Her writing has appeared in ELLE, T Magazine (The New York Times), Town & Country, the Los Angeles Times, The Wall Street Journal and Vanity Fair, among others. She lives with her husband and daughter in Brooklyn, New York.
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Would You Rather...
with Nora Zelevansky
with Nora Zelevansky
Chips, chocolate or cheese?
Chips. All salt, all the time.
Bridget Jones, Becky Bloomwood or Carrie Bradshaw?
Bridget Jones (or Elizabeth Bennet).
Wine, beer or vodka?
Beer. Preferably dark.
Camping or spa vacation?
Spa, please. I have this weird affinity for beds and working bathrooms. Lavender-scented massages are good too.
Water or mountains?
Both. Water with mountains―like Big Sur.
Zombies or vampires?
Neither, please. No monsters.
Dogs or cats?
Cats. My cat, Waldo, specifically.
Coke or Pepsi?
Coke. A million times, Coke.
Coffee or tea?
Herbal tea. Cause I’m wild like that.
Dine out or take away?
Depends on the night. Is The Bachelor on in this scenario?
High heels, sneakers or flip flops?
All three. But, in my heart of hearts, high heels.
Physical Book or ebook?
Physical book, if I can help it.
Paperback or Hardcover?
Paperback, so I can throw it in my bag and read on the train.
Pen or pencil?
Pen. Indelibly.
Mad Men, Downton Abbey or Breaking Bad?
Downton Abbey, for glimpses of Mary Crawley’s wardrobe alone.
Drama or comedy?
Comedy, with a little drama.
Twilight or Hunger Games?
Hunger Games. I love a makeover and a badass girl.
Lipstick, lipgloss or chapstick?
Lipgloss of any shade but peach.
Facebook or Twiter?
Facebook. The better for cyberstalking ― I mean, keeping up with friends.
Plot your entire novel or fly by the seat of your pants?
Definitely the seat of my pants. I find outlines constraining. Write with abandon!
Chips. All salt, all the time.
Bridget Jones, Becky Bloomwood or Carrie Bradshaw?
Bridget Jones (or Elizabeth Bennet).
Wine, beer or vodka?
Beer. Preferably dark.
Camping or spa vacation?
Spa, please. I have this weird affinity for beds and working bathrooms. Lavender-scented massages are good too.
Water or mountains?
Both. Water with mountains―like Big Sur.
Zombies or vampires?
Neither, please. No monsters.
Dogs or cats?
Cats. My cat, Waldo, specifically.
Coke or Pepsi?
Coke. A million times, Coke.
Coffee or tea?
Herbal tea. Cause I’m wild like that.
Dine out or take away?
Depends on the night. Is The Bachelor on in this scenario?
High heels, sneakers or flip flops?
All three. But, in my heart of hearts, high heels.
Physical Book or ebook?
Physical book, if I can help it.
Paperback or Hardcover?
Paperback, so I can throw it in my bag and read on the train.
Pen or pencil?
Pen. Indelibly.
Mad Men, Downton Abbey or Breaking Bad?
Downton Abbey, for glimpses of Mary Crawley’s wardrobe alone.
Drama or comedy?
Comedy, with a little drama.
Twilight or Hunger Games?
Hunger Games. I love a makeover and a badass girl.
Lipstick, lipgloss or chapstick?
Lipgloss of any shade but peach.
Facebook or Twiter?
Facebook. The better for cyberstalking ― I mean, keeping up with friends.
Plot your entire novel or fly by the seat of your pants?
Definitely the seat of my pants. I find outlines constraining. Write with abandon!
Will you won't you want me?
Marjorie Plum isn't your average washed up prom queen. After all, her New York City prep school was too cool for a royal court. Yet, ten years after high school graduation, she is undeniably stuck in the past and aching for that metaphorical tiara.
But when her life takes an unexpected turn, she is forced to start over, moving in to a tiny box of an apartment in Brooklyn with a musician roommate who looks like a pixie and talks like the Dalai Lama. Desperate to pay rent, she starts tutoring a precocious 11-year-old girl-who becomes the unknowing Ghost of Marjorie Past, beginning a surprise-filled journey towards adulthood, where she learns about herself from the most unlikely sources: a rekindled childhood love, a grumpy (but strangely adorable) new boss, even her tutee.
But when her life takes an unexpected turn, she is forced to start over, moving in to a tiny box of an apartment in Brooklyn with a musician roommate who looks like a pixie and talks like the Dalai Lama. Desperate to pay rent, she starts tutoring a precocious 11-year-old girl-who becomes the unknowing Ghost of Marjorie Past, beginning a surprise-filled journey towards adulthood, where she learns about herself from the most unlikely sources: a rekindled childhood love, a grumpy (but strangely adorable) new boss, even her tutee.
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