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I looked at my hand resting on the shelf of the prop cabinet, thinking of the scars that were there whether anyone could see them or not.

Sara Zarr

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Sara Zarr
Age: 54
Born: 1970
Born: October 3
Novelist
Writer
Cleveland
Ohio
Hand
Resting
Anyone
Cabinets
Whether
Shelf
Hands
Props
Thinking
Scars
Shelves
Scar
Prop
Looked
Cabinet

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It's like a Venn diagram of tragedy.
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My first published book, Story of a Girl, was the fourth book I wrote.
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Remember that no matter where I am or what I'm doing I've got a special place inside me that's all for you. It's been there since the day we met.
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Sometimes rescue comes to you. It just shows up, and you do nothing. Maybe you deserve it, maybe you don't. But be ready, when it comes, to decide if you will take the outstretched hand and let it pull you ashore.
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the mark we've left on each other is the color and shape of love. That's the unfinished business between us. because love, love is never finished.
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I'm not really a plot writer - I'm more interested in the characters and sort of small events that propel the story forward.
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My books usually end where they began. I try to bring characters back to a point that is familiar but different because of the growth that they have gone through.
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My whole life has been one big broken promise.
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Sometimes you want to hear your own mother's voice.
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This was a memory I wanted to keep, whole, and recall again and again. When I was fifty years old I wanted to remember this moment on the porch, holding hands with Cameron while he shared himself with me. I didn’t want it to be something on the fringes of my memory like so many other things about Cameron and myself.
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I didn't 'decide' to write YA, per se. But every time I thought of a story, it featured characters 15, 16, 17.
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Everyone has an identity crisis when they are 16 or 17 years old.
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No one measures a life in weeks and days. You measure life in years and by the things that happen to you.
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There's a lot that is awful. That's the struggle of getting old. To make sure you don't let what's hard...obscure the beauty.
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Because love, love is never finished. It circles and circles, the memories out of order and not always complete.
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That's how life feels to me. Everyone is doing it everyone knows how. To live and be who they are and find a place, find a moment. I'm still waiting.
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. . .There are certain people who come into your life, and leave a mark. . . Their place in your heart is tender a bruise of longing, a pulse of unfinished business. Just hearing their names pushes and pulls at you in a hundred ways, and when you try to define those hundred ways, describe them even to yourself, words are useless.
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It's hard to say when my interest in writing began, or how. My mother read to my sister and me every night, and we always loved playing make-believe games. I had a well-primed imagination. I didn't start thinking about writing as a serious pursuit, a career I could have, until after college.
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Ethan couldn’t possibly understand it, what Cameron and I meant to each other and how different it was from anything like a romance or a crush.
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Forgetting isn't enough. You can paddle away from the memories and think they are gone. But they will keep floating back, again and again and agian. They circle you, like sharks. Until, unless, something, someone? Can do more than just cover the wound.
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