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How is it that everyone on this train has so much alcohol? We always head to Canada at the beginning of the season, she says taking her seat again. Their laws are much more civilized. Cheers.
Sara Gruen
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Sara Gruen
Age: 55
Born: 1969
Born: January 1
Author
Novelist
Writer
Vancouver
British Columbia
Always
Laws
Cheer
Beginning
Seats
Taking
Civilized
Says
Season
Head
Canada
Law
Alcohol
Everyone
Seasons
Cheers
Much
Train
Seat
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I stare at her for a long moment. I want to kiss her. I want to kiss her more than I've ever wanted anything in my life.
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I scan the room. Catherine is writing quickly, her light brown hair falling over her face. She is left-handed, and because she writes in pencil her left arm is silver from wrist to elbow.
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I look after those who look after me. He smacks his lips, stares at me, and adds, I also look after those who don't. - Sara Gruen (Water for Elephants)
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You work hard on a book and throw it out there and then it's beyond your control.
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But it all zipped by. One minute Marlena and I were up to our eyeballs, and the next thing we knew the kids were borrowing the car and fleeing the coop for college. And now, here I am. In my nineties and alone.
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The thought has cheered me, and I'd like to hang onto that. Must protect my little pockets of happiness.
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Keeping up the appearance of having all your marbles is hard work, but important.
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Dear God. Not only am I unemployed and homeless, but I also have a pregnant woman, bereaved dog, elephant, and eleven horses to take care of.
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I roll onto my side and stare out the venetian blinds at the blue sky beyond. After a few minutes I'm lulled into a sort of peace. The sky, the sky--same as it always was.
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They grew fat and happy--the horses, not the children, or Marlena for that matter.
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I hate this bizarre policy of protective exclusion, because it effectively writes me off the page.
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With a secret like that, at some point the secret itself becomes irrelevant. The fact that you kept it does not.
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I want her to melt into me, like butter on toast. I want to absorb her and walk around for the rest of my days with her encased in my skin. I want.
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I tend not to think about the reading public at all, or the business, when I'm writing.
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Even when I look straight into the milky blue eyes I can't find myself any more. When did I stop being me?
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