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Their silence comfortable. Something unfolding. But what? Not love, which wrenched and wounded. Not love, which came only once.

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
Came
Something
Love
Wrenched
Unfolding
Wounded
Comfortable
Silence

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I wish I knew how to quit you.
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...all them things I don't know could get you killed if I come to know them
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No wonder, he thought, that the panhandle people were a godly lot, for they lived in sudden, violent atmospheres. Weather kept them humble.
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Ordinary parties, he thought, were subtle games of sexual and social badminton.
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If life was an arc of light that began in darkness, ended in darkness, the first part of his life had happened in ordinary glare. Here it was as though he had found a polarized lens that deepened and intensified all seen through it.
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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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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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If you can't fix it, you have to stand it.
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I think it's important to leave spaces in a story for readers to fill in from their own experience.
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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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Writing comes from reading, and reading is the finest teacher of how to write.
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There was some open space between what he knew and what he tried to believe, but nothing could be done about it, and if you can't fix it you've got to stand it.
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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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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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If you are looking for smart judging based on merit, skip the Academy Awards next year and pay attention to the Independent Spirit Awards.
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Wonderful ... I was up all night reading it, laughing and crying out in horror.
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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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It's easier to die if others around you are dying.
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Develop craftsmanship through years of wide reading.
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