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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
Whether
Shelf
Hands
Props
Thinking
Scars
Shelves
Scar
Prop
Looked
Cabinet
Hand
Resting
Anyone
Cabinets

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I'm remembering how this works. How life doesn't have to be only anxiety about what's gone wrong or could go worng, and complaints about the world around you. How a person you're excited about can remind you there's stuff going on beyond... routine oil changes and homework. Stuff that matters. Stuff to look forward to.
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Because love, love never finishes.
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I tried his cell over and over but he never answered. Then I’d call just to hear his voice on the outgoing message, until eventually that was gone too.
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the past only had whatever power you gave it life was what you made it and if you wanted something different from what you had, it was up to you to make it happen.
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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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Family or love or romance, whatever it is, is not restricted to perfect people. If it were, it wouldn't exist. All of that comes out in my work in some way.
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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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A know a place called New Beginnings, but I don't think it works quite like that. You can't just erase everything that came before.
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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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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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I wonder how you're supposed to know the exact moment when there's no more hope.
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Everyone has an identity crisis when they are 16 or 17 years old.
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Katy skipped over, her low-rise jeans threatening to fall off her skinny hips. With some girls, that was a sexy look. With Katy, it made you nervous.
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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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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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And he left. I watched him walk out – he didn’t say good-bye, he didn’t even look back. It scared me, how easy it was for him to do that.
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The one thing that could never die or be buried was my loyalty to Cameron for everything he’d done for me and what we’d been through together, even if that loyalty was a ghost.
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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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I get a message from my dad. In the mood I'm in, I tear up to see his name in my inbox, and imagine him down the hall in bed, propped on pillows, emailing me. Hon,Enjoyed our gelato date the other night. I just want to say I'm proud of you for a lot of reasons. Also, I've attached a picture of my foot.He's such a weirdo goofball. I love him.
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My first job is to write the characters as full and authentic people as well as I can.
Sara Zarr