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Because now, I didn't care what they thought. It wasn't new, this realization that I would never be like them. What was different now was that I was glad. Macy page 199
Sarah Dessen
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Sarah Dessen
Age: 54
Born: 1970
Born: June 6
Novelist
Writer
Evanston
Illinois
Different
Realization
Never
Page
Would
Glad
Like
Pages
Wasn
Didn
Thought
Care
Macy
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I wondered again why the right thing always seemed to be met with so much resistance, when you'd think it would be the easier path. You had to fight to be virtuous.
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Writing a novel is like childbirth: once you realize how awful it really is, you never want to do it again.
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No one could tell you: you just had to go through it on your own. If you were lucky, you came out on the other side and understood. If you didn't, you kept getting thrust back, retracing those steps, until you finally got it right.
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That was the hard thing about grief, and the grieving. They spoke another language, and the words we knew always fell short of what we wanted them to say.
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I just can't ever be a free spirit and just relax. When it comes to work, this is good. I'm very disciplined, which with writing is often half the battle, or more. But it also means that if I want to, say, play hooky and chocolate and watch Bravo all afternoon, I feel horribly guilty. I wish I could find a nice balance.
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I used to worry I was entirely uninteresting, but the truth is I think if my life was more exciting I'd never have any time to write.
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I sat up, sliding them off, and the quiet around me did not, for once, seem empty and vast. Instead, for the first time in a while, it felt like it already was full.
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I was bored. Sad. Lonely. It was only a matter of time before I cracked.
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Just because we don’t see eye to eye on everything doesn’t mean we can’t be close.
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Pretend to be a delinquent? I asked clarifying. You can do it, Dave advised me. Just don't smile, and try to look like you're considering stealing something.
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It's funny how someone's perception of you can be formed without you even knowing it.
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All you could do was take on as much weight as you can bear. And if you're lucky, there's someone close enough by to shoulder the rest.
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So much had happened that morning. Yet it was this image, this moment, that i kept going back to hours later, after we'd made it safely to the walkway and gone our separate ways to classes. How it felt to have the world moving beneath me, a hand gripping mine, knowing if i fell, at least i wouldn't do it alone.
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I didn't want to talk about what happened, so it seemed safest not to talk at all.
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