My eyelids are my own private cave, he murmured. That I can go to anytime I want.
AIMEE BENDERMy eyelids are my own private cave, he murmured. That I can go to anytime I want.
AIMEE BENDERIt’s a pleasure to dive into Hirshberg’s storytelling skills in American Morons.
AIMEE BENDERThere’s a gift in your lap and it’s beautifully wrapped and it’s not your birthday.
AIMEE BENDERIt’s such a fraught and exciting and kind of horrible time.
AIMEE BENDERNot getting bored of my own story and/or character is one of the main struggles.
AIMEE BENDERIt was like we were exchanging codes, on how to be a father and a daughter, like we’d read about it in a manual, translated from another language, and were doing our best with what we could understand.
AIMEE BENDERMom loved my brother more. Not that she didn’t love me – I felt the wash of her love every day.
AIMEE BENDERThe wine glasses are empty except for that one undrinkable red spot at the bottom.
AIMEE BENDERI could feel the tears beginning to collect in my throat again, but I pushed them apart, away from each other. Tears are only a threat in groups.
AIMEE BENDERI give boring people something to discuss over corn.
AIMEE BENDERSometimes, she said, mostly to herself, I feel I do not know my children…
AIMEE BENDERIt seems the best work I do is when I am really allowing the unconscious to rule the page and then later I can go back and hack around and make sense of things.
AIMEE BENDERAs a writer you ask yourself to dream while awake.
AIMEE BENDERIt seemed to happen in springs, the revealing of things.
AIMEE BENDERBut the sky is interesting, it changes all the time.
AIMEE BENDERBut what I kept wondering about is this: that first second when she felt her skirt burning, what did she think?
AIMEE BENDER