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Ordinary parties, he thought, were subtle games of sexual and social badminton.

Annie Proulx

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Annie Proulx
Age: 89
Born: 1935
Born: August 22
Author
Journalist
Librettist
Non-Fiction Writer
Novelist
Screenwriter
Norwich
Connecticut
E. Annie Proulx
E.A. Proulx
Edna Annie Proulx
Edna Ann Proulx
Social
Thought
Badminton
Parties
Sexual
Subtle
Ordinary
Games
Party

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If a piece of knotted string can unleash the wind, and if a drowned man can awaken, then I believe a broken man can heal.
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And it may be that love sometimes occurs without pain or misery.
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It is my feeling that a story is not finished until it is read, and that the reader finishes it through his or her life experience, prejudices, worldview and thoughts.
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You should write because you love the shape of stories and sentences and the creation of different words on a page. Writing comes from reading, and reading is the finest teacher of how to write.
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Wonderful ... I was up all night reading it, laughing and crying out in horror.
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If you get the landscape right, the characters will step out of it, and they'll be in the right place.
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Their silence comfortable. Something unfolding. But what? Not love, which wrenched and wounded. Not love, which came only once.
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Walking on the land or digging in the fine soil I am intensely aware that time quivers slightly, changes occurring in imperceptible and minute ways, accumulating so subtly that they seem not to exist. Yet the tiny shifts in everything--cell replication, the rain of dust motes, lengthening hair, wind-pushed rocks--press inexorably on and on.
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Develop craftsmanship through years of wide reading.
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But the only rhyme he could summon for 'out' was 'sauerkraut,' which lacked poetic glory. He let it go. The right line would come in time. That was the thing about poetry. It crept up through the draws and coulees of the brain.
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I find it satisfying and intellectually stimulating to work with the intensity, brevity, balance and word play of the short story.
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What we fear we often rage against.
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All the travelin I ever done is going around the coffeepot looking for the handle.
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I wish I knew how to quit you.
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Everybody that went away suffered a broken heart. I'm coming back some day, they all wrote. But never did. The old life was too small to fit anymore.
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In a rough way the short story writer is to the novelist as a cabinetmaker is to a house carpenter.
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Archie was an expert at dividing the affairs of life into men's business and women's business. An empty cupboard and a full plate were the man's business, a full cupboard and an empty plate the concern of the woman.
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We're all strange inside. We learn how to disguise our differences as we grow up.
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He pressed his face into the fabric and breathed in slowly through his mouth and nose, hoping for the faintest smoke and mountain sage and salty sweet stink of Jack but there was no real scent, only the memory of it, the imagined power of Brokeback Mountain of which nothing was left but what he held in his hands.
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I rarely use the internet for research, as I find the process cumbersome and detestable. The information gained is often untrustworthy and couched in execrable prose. It is unpleasant to sit in front of a twitching screen suffering assault by virus, power outage, sluggish searches, system crashes and the lack of direct human discourse.
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