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I tend not to think about the reading public at all, or the business, when I'm writing.

Sara Gruen

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Sara Gruen
Age: 55
Born: 1969
Born: January 1
Author
Novelist
Writer
Vancouver
British Columbia
Tend
Public
Reading
Business
Writing
Think
Thinking

More quotes by Sara Gruen

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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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Don't want to get tipsy and break a hip.
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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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Life is the most spectacular show on earth.
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Must protect my little pockets of happiness.
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...if you expect people to try to do things your way, you're going to have to give some hints as to what that way is.
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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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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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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.
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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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They grew fat and happy--the horses, not the children, or Marlena for that matter.
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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 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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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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Being the survivor stinks.
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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 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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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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It's as though I've been sleepwalking and suddenly woken to find myself here
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You work hard on a book and throw it out there and then it's beyond your control.
Sara Gruen