She glances back before stepping into the alley, and she catches her grandfather looking at her the way he does sometimes – as if she’s already gone, as if he’s practicing sorrow.
She knows that whispers can be useful. Sometimes they contain real information. But usually they’re fairy tales and lies. This is the worst kind of whisper, the kind that draws you in, gives you hope.
Being cross-genre, you can encounter an image and decide not only how to best express it but what form would express it best.
Beauty, you can find it here if you look hard enough.
Memories are like water.
Love is selfless, it is a weakness, a giving in, a constant falling.
My oldest sister was an actress living in NYC by the time I was ten, and desperately wanted to be the one in charge of the words.
I feel too much. It’s like being drummed to death from within. You know?
Sometimes you meet someone and you know that your life will be different from then on.
I’ve never thought there was anything I could hope to get by praying for it.
I prefer a cluttered workspace.
Weakness, like not being able to bury the past. Weakness, like not giving up hope when you know you should.
I prefer true over happy now.
Genres are just bottles for the various boats. The boats matter to me.
She let him go once. Every day demands that she release him over and over again.
Writers aren’t born properly labeled so it is hard to know one when one appears.
No matter what losses happen in a given season, the Red Sox always have next year.
I didn’t start writing so that I could more deeply know myself. I was bored of myself, my life, my childhood, my hometown. I started writing as a way to know others, to get away from myself.
The basic rule of storytelling is ’show, don’t tell.
Writing across genres has made me more prolific. When one is fighting me or simply not cutting it, I turn to another.