Cinda Meets Ella: Why It Was Time to Re-do Cinderella Through a Queer Lens
Fairy tales teach you how to interact with the world, and the world isn’t always a friendly place. Originally dark parables for behaving better—and being a very pretty white girl while doing it—these tales have been retold so often they’ve become warm, familiar faces. They make conversations more approachable about tricky topics like “don’t eat someone’s candy house” or “leave those bowls of porridge alone.”
One of these OG familiar faces is Cinderella. Long before and after the Grimm brothers put pen to paper for their version (Aschenputtel) this story of family dysfunction + a fun night out had been told and retold for centuries. Specifics have fluctuated between eyes getting pecked, fish getting killed, and dead mothers haunting trees, but for the most part, each story has a subservient young woman at its center flanked by a rotten step-family.
Once upon a time, all I knew of Cinderella was the Disney version rinsed in sunlight and songs. I was thrilled by the wickedly fabulous stepmother (still am), her ridiculous daughters, and the menagerie of friends surrounding the titular character. I found the whole Cinderella part dreadfully ho-hum though, and Prince Charming was far less interesting to me than the bumbling, bubbly fairy godmother.
All I saw in the main character was someone who simply asked for help and never confidently took ownership of her own situation. Also, come on, Cinderelly, I don’t want to yuck your yum but can you seriously say you’d rather end up with a prince who can only recognize you by how tiny your foot is? Yeesh. But still, it had something. . .
So, when it came time to tackle a new re-telling for my fairly queer tale series, I knew I wanted to come back to this one. The foundation was there (main character has change of address and outlook on life after an incredible party) but the details were ripe for redecorating. As a gay man who loves dressing up for a social event and gravitates toward any narrative with a menagerie, I saw a big opportunity to finally shine a rainbow light on this little story.
If you aren’t queer, you might not realize that the LGBTQIA+ audience has to squint our eyes a lot to maybe kind of sometimes see a blurred version of ourselves in stories (just imagine being a pescatarian in a town full of burger joints). Books, film, and scripted series have largely gotten away with sidestepping gender non-conformity for a long time. We’re having a moment of dissolving that one-way street more and more, so I think it only makes sense to keep widening the scope of narrative perspectives to include someone even younger. Why should diverse media be saved for when you’re old enough to vote?
I wrote Cinda Meets Ella (Little, Brown Books for Young Readers, 2023) as a tribute to younger me who didn’t know seeing myself on a page was even possible. I wrote it for current me who wants to show a queer perspective to my nieces and nephew so they can appreciate the magic of my LGBTQIA+ community better. I wrote it for future versions of me who can relish the fact that they’re front and center in a story, not a background maybe-they-are / maybe-they-aren’t afterthought. And with drag queens being some of today’s bravest and most beautiful storytellers, I wanted to have a book for them to read aloud that would connect with the community they’re a part of.
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That word connect is really where it all started in this re-telling. When I sat down to tackle the manuscript, I kept stumbling around the whole romance aspect of it. Part of it was because I’m very comfortably single (unless Mo Rocca is looking for a bf) and part of it was because romance wasn’t quite the tone I wanted for a picture book. I called a good friend, confessing this hang-up and he simply said, “Cinderella is a story about finding a connection.” Connection. CONNECTION. That word clicked with me like a big ol’ bippity boppity boom. From there, I realized I wanted my title character to ultimately find a connection through her own determined journey of compassion and self-confidence—while wearing an incredible jumpsuit of her own design.
Now, I know in my version there’s no glass slipper, it’s a rodeo instead of a ball, and rather than a magical fairy there’s a gigantic talking boar. Oh, and Prince Charming, you’ve been replaced by a non-binary equestrian visually inspired by the musician St. Vincent. But at its core this is still the story of Cinderella: a kiddo feeling all alone who finds a way to live happily ever after in a new community.
So if you’re a fan of the classics and open to a renovation, Cinda Meets Ella is your book.
It’s a dedication to queer readers—kids and adults—who want to see versions of themselves in print. It broadens the scope of perspective for readers anywhere.It doesn’t sidestep the topics of gender non-conformity and self-expression. It’s a universal hug to anyone feeling isolated by being different. And it’s proof that you can find yourself in stories, and that you will find your community. You just have to be open to the adventure.
Giddyap.
Picture books are one of the most delightful—and important—genres in all of literature. In this course, you’ll learn how to write a winning picture book narrative, envision it with illustrations, and put together a picture package that a publisher will really notice. Plus, you’ll receive feedback on each assignment from your instructor and have the chance to participate in the peer critique section of the course with other classmates.
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