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and I get refill number three or four and the wine is making my bones loose and it's giving my hair a red sheen and my breasts are blooming and my eyes feel sultry and wise and the dress is water.

Aimee Bender

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Aimee Bender
Age: 55
Born: 1969
Born: June 28
Novelist
Writer
the United States of America
Giving
Eyes
Red
Refills
Four
Dresses
Sultry
Eye
Bones
Sheen
Water
Wine
Blooming
Making
Number
Loose
Three
Hair
Breasts
Feel
Numbers
Dress
Feels
Wise
Drunk
Refill

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It is all about numbers. It is all about sequence. It's the mathematical logic of being alive. If everything kept to its normal progression, we would live with the sadness-cry and then walk-but what really breaks us cleanest are the losses that happen out of order.
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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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I give boring people something to discuss over corn.
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When language is treated beautifully and interestingly, it can feel good for the body: It's nourishing it's rejuvenating.
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That's the thing with handmade items. They still have the person's mark on them, and when you hold them, you feel less alone. This is why everyone who eats a Whopper leaves a little more depressed than they were when they came in. Nobody cooked that burger.
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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? Before she knew it was candles, did she think she'd done it herself? With the amazing turns of her hips, 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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We're all getting too smart. Our brains are just getting bigger and bigger, and the world dries up and dies when there's too much thought and not enough heart.
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As a writer you ask yourself to dream while awake.
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The wine glasses are empty except for that one undrinkable red spot at the bottom.
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...a Dorito asks nothing of you, which is its great gift. It only asks that you are not there.
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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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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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Mom loved my brother more. Not that she didn't love me - I felt the wash of her love every day, 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'm obsessed with adolescence. I love to write about people in their 20s. It's such a fraught and exciting and kind of horrible time.
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Language is the ticket to plot and character, after all, because both are built out of language.
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Mom flipped through the magazines like the pages needed to be slapped.
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Not getting bored of my own story and/or character is one of the main struggles 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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I didn’t mind the quiet stretches. It was like we were trying out the idea of being side by side.
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