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It was only natural to want to destroy something you could never have.

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
Oleanders
Destroy
Natural
Something
Never

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I've been depressed many times in my life. But under it all I'm an optimist.
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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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She laughed so easily when she was happy. But also when she was sad.
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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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Dawn tinted the darkness like water ink.
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I understood why she did it. At that moment I knew why people tagged graffiti on the walls of neat little houses and scratched the paint on new cars and beat up well-tended children. It was only natural to want to destroy something you could never have.
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Although she was giddy with exhaustion, sleep was a lover who refused to be touched.
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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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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 was always mortified.Didn't they know they were tying thier mothers to the ground? Weren't chains ashamed of their prisoners?
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Panic was the worst thing. When you panicked, you couldn't see possibilities. Then came despair.
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No matter how unappealing, each of them imagines he is somehow worthy.
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Do you ever want to go home?' I asked Paul. He brushed an ash from my face. 'It's the century of the displaced person,' he said. 'You can never go home.
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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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If sinners where so unhappy, why would they prefer their suffering? But now I knew why. Without my wounds, who was I?
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purification in fire. public cremation
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Depression, suffering and anger are all part of being human.
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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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Remember it all, every insult, every tear. Tattoo it on the inside of your mind. In life, knowledge of poisons is essential. I've told you, nobody becomes an artist unless they have to.
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His voice was cloves and nightingales, it took us to spice markets in the Celebs, we drifted with him on a houseboat beyond the Coral Sea. We were like cobras following a reed flute.
Janet Fitch