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You paid for every second of beauty you managed to steal.

Janet Fitch

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Janet Fitch
Age: 69
Born: 1955
Born: November 9
Author
Journalist
Novelist
University Teacher
Writer
LA
California
Janet Elizabeth Fitch
Every
Managed
Steal
Stealing
Paid
Second
Beauty

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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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like a kid kicked out of class. humiliated and free.
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Your protagonist is your reader’s portal into the story. The more observant he or she can be, the more vivid will be the world you’re creating. They don’t have to be super-educated, they just have to be mentally active. Keep them looking, thinking, wondering, remembering.
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Find someone who will tremble for your touch, someone whose fingers are a poem.
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Once you get below the floor of our personal identities, we're all connected. Perhaps that's why we can move into others' lives.
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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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If I get ideas independently of the act of writing, they never really fit. So for me, there's no hanging out, waiting for inspiration.
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Panic was the worst thing. When you panicked, you couldn't see possibilities. Then came despair.
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The sound of her laughter was sticky as sap, the smell of night-blooming jasmine soft as a milk bath.
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I imagined my soul taking in these words like silicated water in the Petrified Forest, turning my wood to patterned agate. I liked it when my mother shaped me this way. I thought clay must feel happy in the good potter's hand.
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The word rattled in my head like rocks in an oatmeal box.
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I was tired of men. Hanging in doorways, standing too close, men who made you love them then changed their minds.
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She would buy magic every day of the week. Love me, that face said. I'm so lonely, so desperate. I'll give you whatever you want.
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It was only natural to want to destroy something you could never have.
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That kind of tenderness couldn't be permitted to last. You only got a taste, enough to know what perfection meant, and then you paid for it the rest of your life. Like the guy chained to a rock, who stole fire. The gods made an eagle eat his liver for all eternity. You paid for every second of beauty you managed to steal.
Janet Fitch
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I almost said, you're not broken, you're just going through something. But i couldn't. She knew. There was something terribly wrong with her, all the way inside. She was like a big diamond with a dead spot in the middle. I was supposed to breathe life into that dead spot, but it hadn't worked.
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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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Beauty was empty as a gourd, vain as a parakeet. But it had power. It smelled of musk and oranges and made you close your eyes in a prayer.
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I could hear the icy winds of Sweden, but he didn't seem to feel the chill.
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Dawn tinted the darkness like water ink.
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