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Something stirred beneath my skin, some being inside I'd only suspected existed, demon or angel, I couldn't say.

Ellen Hopkins

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Ellen Hopkins
Age: 69
Born: 1955
Born: March 26
Novelist
Writer
Long Beach
California
Ellen Louise Hopkins
Skin
Skins
Angel
Couldn
Stirred
Inside
Suspected
Something
Existed
Beneath
Demon

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I know he wants to get serious. He's definitely not a player, not a poser, not a loser, not a user.
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Detailed descriptions, abstract ambitions, relevant observations, your's and mine.
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Memory is a tenuous thing, like a rainbow's end or a camera with a failing lens.
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The problem with resolutions is they're only as solid as the person making them.
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Cleansed, chlorinated to the point of chemical peel, sore muscles relieved, I felt almost human again. Tiptoe to my room, up a darkened hall, past closed doors, I wondered if I'd ever feel completely human again.
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My happiest memories have no place in the past they are those I have yet to create.
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Many readers share their stories with me and if one speaks to me (or if the same theme keeps coming at me), I will research it and decide if it would make a good book. But, straight down to it, people inspire me.
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Have to Find ...life ...is ...a— ...gamble ...after ...all.
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One kiss, I was totally hooked.
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I really have to wonder who or what made Daddy become this way. Babies aren't born cruel or filled with sick desire. Evil is not intrinsic. It's fashioned.
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Anger requires energy, something I don't dare waste on what cannot be altered.
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Communication Was never big in my house. We sat together over dinner, but the only sound you'd hear was crunching and chewing and the little ones asking for more, please. We lived, all boxed up in invisible containers. We hardly knew the people we called sister or father. Jackie and I were the exceptions to that rule.
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One foot in front of the other, counting tiles on the floor so I don't have to focus the blur of painted smiles, fake faces.
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The first time I kissed you. One kiss, and I was totally hooked. Addicted to you. I could never love anyone the way I love you. I'd follow you across the universe.
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Smile. Nod. Say something witty before he finds out what an incredible geek you are.
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Every high has an equal, measurable low.
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Nonfiction speaks to the head. Fiction speaks to the heart. Poetry speaks to the soul. It's the essence of beauty. The essence of pain. It pleases the eye and the ear.
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I am different. And I don't understand exactly how. And I don't understand just why.
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Now that I have opened that bottle of memories they're pouring out like wine, crimson and bittersweet.
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It wasn't my first kiss, maybe it wasn't my best kiss, but it was pretty fine, and the fact that he had asked will forever make that kiss stand out in my mind, touch my heart, make me remember a kiss so tender it made me cry.
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