I emitted some civetlike female stink, a distinct perfume of sexual wanting, that he had followed to find me here in the dark.
I decided that if I was never going to sell anything as long as I lived, I might as well do what I want to do ’cause then at least I would’ve done what I wanted to do in life. What’s that worth?
I love Derrick Brown for the surprise of one word waking up next to another. One moment tender, funny or romantic, the next, visceral, ironic and relevatory-here is the full chaos of life. An amazing talent.
I’ve told you, nobody becomes an artist unless they have to.
Being in the library is so addictive for me that I really have to exercise self-control so I can get some writing done at home.
If this was a sandalwood pyre she would have thrown herself in and this paper she’d become would have caught fire and she and him could sail away like two birds.
I felt beautiful but also interrupted. I wasn’t used to being so complicated.
I wondered where he was now whether I would ever hear him again. Whether someone would love him, someday show him what beauty mean’t.
It’s not that he was going nowhere, it’s that he’d already arrived.
A womans mistakes are different from a girls.
I couldn’t imagine owning beauty like my mothers. I wouldn’t dare.
Only peons made excusses for themselves she taught me. Never apologize, never explain.
What was beauty unless you intended to use it, like a hammer, or a key? It was just something for other people to use and admire, or envy, despise. To nail their dreams onto like a picture hanger on a blank wall. And so many girls saying, use me, dream me.
What happened to a dream without a dreamer?
I wandered through the stacks, running my hands along the spines of the books on the shelves, they reminded me of cultured or opinionated guests at a wonderful party, whispering to each other.
My loneliness tasted like pennies.
He reminded me of someone who put your fingers in the door and smiled and talked to you while he smashed them.
I could hear the icy winds of Sweden, but he didn’t seem to feel the chill.
I thought how tenuous the links were between mother and children between friends family things you think are eternal. Everything could be lost more easily than anyone could imagine.
Your protagonist is your reader’s portal into the story. The more observant he or she can be, the more vivid will be the world you’re creating. They don’t have to be super-educated, they just have to be mentally active. Keep them looking, thinking, wondering, remembering.