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purification in fire. public cremation

Janet Fitch

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Janet Fitch
Age: 68
Born: 1955
Born: November 9
Author
Journalist
Novelist
University Teacher
Writer
LA
California
Janet Elizabeth Fitch
Public
Cremation
Purification
Fire

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A novel is like a dream in which everyone is you. They’re all parts of yourself.
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Find someone who will tremble for your touch, someone whose fingers are a poem.
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Whenever she thought she could not feel more alone, the universe peeled back another layer of darkness.
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Inside every human being, there is unlimited time and space.
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How easy I was. Like a limpet I attached myself to anything, anyone who showed me the least attention.
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What can she possibly teach you, twenty seven names for tears?
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A cliché is like a coin that has been handled too much. Once language has been overly handled, it no longer leaves a clear imprint.
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There is no God, there is only what you want.
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Women always put men first. That's how everything got so screwed up.
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I wondered where he was now whether I would ever hear him again. Whether someone would love him, someday show him what beauty mean't.
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I use my fiction to explore my own unconscious issues. I usually don't even know what's going on with me until I'm writing.
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I felt like an undeveloped photograph that he was printing, my image rising to the surface under his gaze.
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When I start writing, my unconscious, my conflicts, my thoughts all start to come up. So for me, writing is an exploration. I never know how my stories will end.
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A cliche is like a coin that has been handled too much. Once language has been overly handled, it no longer leaves a clear imprint.
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She should think about her own soul, what she was going to do with this funky tattered pond dank item. Dark and stained, a ruined thing.
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To know I was beautiful in his eyes made me beautiful.
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We don't have a unitary society anymore, you know it's very fragmented. I look up and down my block in Silverlake and there is a different universe in every house.
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Being in the library is so addictive for me that I really have to exercise self-control so I can get some writing done at home.
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Girls were born knowing how destructive the truth could be. They learned to hold it in, tamp it down, like gunpowder in an old fashioned gun. Then it exploded in your face on a November day in the rain.
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When I read, I want to be fully transported to another place. I want to feel things, smell things.
Janet Fitch