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You evah hear of a magic screw?' I cough back a laugh. 'No. No, sir.

Libba Bray

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Libba Bray
Age: 60
Born: 1964
Born: March 11
Novelist
Writer
Texas
United States
Laughing
Hear
Back
Cough
Screw
Screws
Laugh
Magic

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Please, I'm a transgender former boy-bander. You think I don't know how to defend myself?
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Things aren't good or bad in and of themselves. It's what we do with them that makes them so.
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No? Part girl, part wolf? Do they lick their butter knives?
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...because really, sometimes the irony gods just get drunk.
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Any book that can help you survive the slings and arrows of adolescence is a book to love for life 'The Catcher in the Rye' did just that, and I still do love it.
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Yes, go on. Leave. You're always coming and going. The rest of us are stuck here. Do you think he'd still love you if he knew who you are? He doesn't really care—only when it suits him.
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When she can't bring me to heal with scolding, she bends me to shape with guilt.
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It's possible to pretend I'm someone other than who I am, and if I pretend long enough, I can believe it.
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She loved attention. It was like a glass of the best champagne—bubbly and intoxicating—and as with champagne, she always wanted more of it. Still, she didn’t want to seem like an easy mark. “If you must know, I’ve come to join a convent,” Evie said, testing him.
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I don't have time to feel sorry for myself. I've got to think.
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My misery is reaching epidemic proportions.
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How can my ankles and arms be obscene?
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I'm sorry,' he says simply. 'People make mistakes, Gemma. We take the wrong action for the right reasons, and the right action for the wrong reasons.
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Power changes everything till it is difficult to say who are the heroes and who the villains.
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You are working up to Mr. Fantastic Fiction levels of Zombie Expert, which is like playing Guitar Hero on some level that actually melts the guitar controller, burning your fingers with searing hot plastic till you scream in pain. Only with words. And zombies.
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This is the world we live in, Gemma, for better or for worse. Make of it what you can, he says, and I pull him to me.
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To those who will see, the world waits.
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So much of the literature we had to read for high school English class was filled with victimized, tragic, symbolic women who spurred the plot forward with their inevitable shunning/death/shunning-followed-by-pregnancy-followed-by-death timelines.
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And for a moment, I understand that I have friends on this lonely path that sometimes your place is not something you find, but something you have when you need it.
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The hand you hold the longest is your own.
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