Talking by phone from his home in the Seattle area, he says his focus for the workshop can be found in its title: The Art of the Sentence. “A lot of aspiring writers are all ready to write a novel, but they don’t know how to write sentences.
“Like that woman who wrote Fifty Shades of Crap,” he says, referring to E.L. James of Fifty Shades of Grey notoriety. “She has no more aptitude for writing good sentences than a cat has for swimming, but she’s purring and doing the backstroke all the way to the bank.”
It was autumn, the springtime of death. Rain spattered the rotting leaves, and a wild wind wailed. Death was singing in the shower. Death was happy to be alive. The fetus bailed out without a parachute. It landed in the sideline Astroturf, so upsetting the cheerleaders that for the remained of the afternoon their rahs were more like squeaks.
Tom Fucking Robbins, Still Life With Woodpecker (via mmesurly)
Well, you’ve seen people in a relationship that was very strong to them, and when that relationship ended they were never exactly quite the same afterwards. They were never able to fully trust or embrace or invest in another person again. I wonder if it was sort of along those kind of lines. Once you’ve lost that love of your life or that person you are connected to, somehow you’re in a different place the whole rest of your life. You’d be very, very lucky if you had anything like it again. I’ve seen that happen with some friends and people I know. They’re changed forever from a relationship that didn’t work out. I could see that kind of applying to this too, maybe.