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It was my fifth grade teacher who introduced the idea that writing could be more than a hobby for me.

Lauren DeStefano

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Lauren DeStefano
Age: 40
Born: 1984
Born: October 13
Author
Novelist
Connecticut
United States
Grade
Grades
Teacher
Idea
Ideas
Hobby
Writing
Introduced
Hobbies
Fifth

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I want to make the world into something better so that he can be okay.
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What have you done? What have you given up?' So many things, Cecily. More than you know.
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There was a desperate undercurrent to our marriage--a feeling of being in a dream from which I couldn't seem to awaken. A nagging sense that my life, laid out so neatly like the clothes Deirdre left on my divan, was no longer my own.
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I watch the ashes swim around like dandelion puffs, making swirls where bodies and walls once stood.
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You've been captive for so long that you don't even realize you want freedom anymore.
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But I know all the things you're too sweet to know.
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He looks at me, and I don't know what he sees. I used to think it was Rose. But she's not here with us now, in this room. It's just him and me, and the books. I feel like our lives are in those books. I feel like all the words on the pages are for us.
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He sits next to me, careful to avoid my hair that's splayed out around my head like blood. A bullet to the forehead, boom, blond waves everywhere.
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Poor kid,' Jenna says, and rolls her eyes toward me for a moment. Then she returns to her book. 'She doesn't even understand what kind of place this is.
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When I was 11 or 12, I was really bored with everything on my summer reading list. It was all happy, middle-grade kinds of books. I was getting frustrated, because I liked to read. My mother went to the library and got me a copy of 'The Other Side of Midnight' by Sidney Sheldon. It was my first adult book.
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Ah, love. That’s what the world has lost. There’s no more love, only the illusion of it.
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I wish I had a memory of that first violent shove, the shock of cold air, the sting of oxygen into new lungs. Everyone should remember being born. It doesn't seem fair that we only remember dying.
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Life is much different from the days when there were lilies in my mother’s garden, and all my secrets fit into a paper cup.
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My sisters were in that van.
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Even things that aren't broken can be fixed.
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It doesn't matter how much his mother loves him love is not enough to keep any of us alive.
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I can hear my brother's voice in my head. Your problem is that you're too emotional. But how can I not be emotional, Rowan? How can I not care?
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There is warmth shooting through my broken body where there should be pain, and I put my arms around the back of his neck and I hold on to him. I hold on because you never know in this place when something good will be taken away.
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It's quiet for a while, and then Rowan says We could talk now. We're alone out here. No walls. There are always walls. I say.
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