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They grew fat and happy--the horses, not the children, or Marlena for that matter.

Sara Gruen

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Sara Gruen
Age: 55
Born: 1969
Born: January 1
Author
Novelist
Writer
Vancouver
British Columbia
Grew
Happy
Matter
Children
Horses
Fats
Horse

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I have to convince myself that this is not a pointless life, even the body is telling me so.
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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 don't like outlining, because books are organic things. Sometimes a book doesn't want to be written in a certain way.
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Keeping up the appearance of having all your marbles is hard work, but important.
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Sometimes I think if I had to choose between an ear of corn or making love to a woman, I'd choose the corn.
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I'm truly grateful for my microwave, which allows me to easily clarify butter, steam vegetables, and - when I am really lazy - feed my three kids in less than five minutes.
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Although, pretending not to notice is almost worse than noticing.
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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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Although there are times I'd give anything to have her back, I'm glad she went first. Losing her was like being cleft down the middle. It was the moment it all ended for me, and I wouldn't have wanted her to go through that.
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I am further back, surrounded on all sides by wailing men, their faces shiny with tears. Uncle Al promised three dollars and a bottle of Canadian whiskey to the man who puts on the best show. You've never seen such grief-- even the dogs were howling.
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Honey, I plan to marry you the moment the ink is dry on that death certificate.
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Why the hell shouldn't I run away with the circus?
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Must protect my little pockets of happiness.
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The only thing that makes me crazier than writing is not writing.
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Being the survivor stinks.
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Then I lie down on the horse blanket and drift into a dream about Marlena that will probably cost me my soul.
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I hate this bizarre policy of protective exclusion, because it effectively writes me off the page.
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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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I stroke her lightly, memorizing her body. 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 lie motionless, savoring the feeling of her body against mine. I'm afraid to breathe in case I break the spell.
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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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