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She was not used to being cruel, but he had taught her how.

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
Used
Cruel
Taught

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She laughed so easily when she was happy. But also when she was sad.
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I thought how tenuous the links were between mother and children between friends family things you think are eternal. Everything could be lost more easily than anyone could imagine.
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When you're a little kid, you are small, your life is small - and you're terrifically aware of that. But when you read, you can ride Arabian horses across the desert, you can be a dogsledder.
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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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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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without my wounds, who was I? My scars were my face, my past was my life.
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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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At every moment, each instrument knew what to play. Its little bit. But none could see the whole thing like this, all at once, only its own part. Just like life. Each person was like a line of music, but nobody knew what the symphony sounded like. Only the conductor had the whole score.
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One can bear anything. The pain we cannot bear will kill us outright.
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She would be half a planet away, floating in a turquoise sea, dancing by moonlight to flamenco guitar.
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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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I wish my life could be like that, knotted up so that even if something broke, the whole thing wouldn't come apart.
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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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My house is modern, but I like my writing room to be old fashioned. I write on a little wooden secretary desk.
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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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A womans mistakes are different from a girls
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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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That was what she really wanted. To forget so thoroughly she'd never have another memory again, the bitter so bitter you gave up the sweet.
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Her fingers moved among barnacles and mussels, blue-black, sharp-edged. Neon red starfish were limp Dalis on the rocks, surrounded by bouquets of stinging anemones and purple bursts of spiny sea urchins.
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Women always put men first. That's how everything got so screwed up.
Janet Fitch