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And the warmth of the music inside her, did she believe, for even one glorious second, that her passion had arrived?

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Mom flipped through the magazines like the pages needed to be slapped.
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I have had with novel writing, and I have put to bed big chunks of work that just didn’t sustain my interest.
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My genes, my love, are rubber bands and rope; make yourself a structure you can live inside. Amen.” – Aimee Bender (Willful Creatures: Stories)
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Many kids, it seemed, would find out that their parents were flawed, messed-up people later in life, and I didn’t appreciate getting to know it all so strong and early.
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I like birthday cake. It’s so symbolic. It’s a tempting symbol to load with something more complicated than just ‘Happy birthday!’ because it’s this emblem of childhood and a happy day.
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Glen Hirshberg’s stories are haunting, absolutely, but not only because of the content.
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I peeled the skin off a grape in slippery little triangles, and I understood then that I would be undressing every item of food I could because my clothes would be staying on.
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Sometimes, she said, mostly to herself, I feel I do not know my children…
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I’m obsessed with adolescence. I love to write about people in their 20s.
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I don’t think so, I don’t agree. The most unbearable thing I think by far, she said, is hope.
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It seemed to happen in springs, the revealing of things.
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You’re the perfect girl’, he said, rubbing his chin. ‘You expect nothing.
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I am the drying meadow; you the unspoken apology; he is the fluctuating distance between mother and son.
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My eyelids are my own private cave, he murmured. That I can go to anytime I want.
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Pouring over me, but it was a different kind, siphoned from a different, and tamer, body of water. I was her darling daughter; Joseph was her it.
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I watched as she added a question mark at the end. Arc, line, space, dot.
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But what I kept wondering about is this: that first second when she felt her skirt burning, what did she think?
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The writing I tend to think of as ‘good’ is good because it’s mysterious.
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I give boring people something to discuss over corn.
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But the sky is interesting, it changes all the time.
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You try, you seem totally nuts, you go underground.
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To see someone you love, in a bad setting, is one of the great barometers of gratitude.
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When the light at Vernon turned green, we stepped into the street and George grabbed my hand and the ghosts of our younger selves crossed with us.
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The wine glasses are empty except for that one undrinkable red spot at the bottom.
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I 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.
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It’s such a fraught and exciting and kind of horrible time.
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