Heather McElhatton is perhaps more taken aback by her literary stardom than anyone, even the leaders at her alma mater, Minnehaha Academy, who she says are shocked: They exclude the salty writer from academy alumni events.
Why the ban?
It could be the drug-and-drink-fueled sexcapades in her first book, the 2007 do-over, fractured-fiction adventure "Pretty Little Mistakes" (in its 15th printing and counting). Or it might be offense at the equally risque "Jennifer Johnson Is Sick of Being Single." (Settle down, school board: Skip the bachelor party and dog-finds-feminine product scene and you'll be fine.)
It's their loss, because McElhatton, 38, is even more engaging than her books. Also, true to Minnesota form, she's self-effacing about her ascent.
"It's surreal," says the former Minnesota Public Radio producer. "And there's a part of me that still doesn't believe it. I've gone to therapy to learn how to enjoy it."
"Jennifer Johnson" is at home among the prototypical, girl-frenetically-chases-boy-while-dieting "light reads," and McElhatton has made peace with being branded a writer of chick lit.
"Sure, I'd rather have everyone classify this book as literary fiction, but I realize I'm lucky to have a genre and be on an established train. The readers are smart and getting smarter all the time, and I'll take it -- although I do have a preferred classification."
Which is?
"Bitch Lit."
Disarmingly honest in her writing, McElhatton creates heroines who never aim to inspire envy or feign flawlessness. They cop to jealousy, debt, slovenliness, marital problems, overspending, gluttony, pettiness and substandard hygiene.
"I don't have any use for perfection," she says. "I don't find it interesting, honest or loving. If you pretend [you've got the world by the tail], you're alienating all the women around you. It's like armor; how do I connect with anyone if I have my armor on? I like to expose my awkward moments and my flaws and, believe me, there's a long list of ungraceful, unsexy things I've done."
She admits to a certain kinship with semibitchy protagonist Johnson, who leapfrogs over a lightning array of reptilian dates (including a lawyer who defends pedophiles) to snag the scion of the Minneapolis-based, Dayton's-like department store where she works.
To say McElhatton is not similarly goal-oriented is to put things mildly (which she never does). Though in a long-term, live-in relationship with a Minneapolis banker, she considers matrimony a hideous concept. ("Two people committing is great, but I don't think there should be paperwork. Plus, the white dress creeps me out.")
Or, in the words of her "bitch lit" alter ego: "Nuptials is a word I despise. ... It reminds me of rupture and nipple. There's also something sinister and sexual about it, like coitus." Not surprisingly, then, the real trouble for Jennifer Johnson will start after the overspending, Cinnabon-addicted, Lunesta-hoarding, frequently drinking, perennially dieting, cubicle-trapped heroine gets a ring put on her finger.
But Jennifer Redux will germinate after -- and only after -- McElhatton meets her commitment (and September deadline) for yet another anticipated sequel, the lottery-themed "A Million Little Mistakes." Like "Pretty Little Mistakes," it will offer 150 pick-your-own endings. She's also outlining a novel for teenage girls and is writing the optioned screenplay for "Jennifer Johnson."
With this workload, it's a good thing McElhatton thrives in solitude. Citing the Seinfeld icon, she describes herself as "a marble rye" -- "a very social person with a deep streak of introspection. I need both isolation and stimulation, and I find if I don't get enough of either, I don't do well. Finding that perfect blend is an ongoing challenge."
So although the extrovert answered questions over coffee with her high-beam charm, the solitary writer was eager to beat it (traffic) to her cabin in Grand Marais, Minn.
"I'm a binge writer," she says. "I neurotically fret and worry for four days, and then write solidly for three."
But she has no aspirations to binge on either coast.
"I love traveling, but there's nowhere else in the world but Minnesota where I can recharge my batteries. I think of it as the world's library: It's cold, quiet, calm, peaceful, thoughtful -- and there's plenty of parking."
Kate McCarthy is a Minneapolis freelance writer.
