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You work hard on a book and throw it out there and then it's beyond your control.

Sara Gruen

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Sara Gruen
Age: 55
Born: 1969
Born: January 1
Author
Novelist
Writer
Vancouver
British Columbia
Work
Throw
Beyond
Control
Book
Hard

More quotes by Sara Gruen

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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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I hate this bizarre policy of protective exclusion, because it effectively writes me off the page.
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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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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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Being the survivor stinks.
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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 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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It's as though I've been sleepwalking and suddenly woken to find myself here
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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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Don't want to get tipsy and break a hip.
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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 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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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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...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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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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Life is the most spectacular show on earth.
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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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Although, pretending not to notice is almost worse than noticing.
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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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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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