Occupation: Novelist Birth: June 28, 1969
I didn’t mind the quiet stretches. It was like we were trying out the idea of being side by side..
With my hand in his, I looked at all the apartment buildings with rushes of love, peering in the wide streetside windows that revealed living rooms p….
But the sky is interesting, it changes all the time..
When the light at Vernon turned green, we stepped into the street and George grabbed my hand and the ghosts of our younger selves crossed with us..
I knew if I ate anything of hers again, it would lkely tell me the same message: help me, I am not happy, help me -- like a message in a bottle sent ….
Large meadows are lovely for picnics and romping, but they are for the lighter feelings. Meadows do not make me want to write..
…kissing George was a little like rolling in caramel after spending years surviving off rice sticks..
You can ruin anything if you focus at it..
You try, you seem totally nuts, you go underground..
We hit the sidewalk, and dropped hands. How I wished, right then, that the whole world was a street..
That's the thing with handmade items. They still have the person's mark on them, and when you hold them, you feel less alone. This is why everyone wh….
I watched as she added a question mark at the end. Arc, line, space, dot..
and I get refill number three or four and the wine is making my bones loose and it's giving my hair a red sheen and my breasts are blooming and my ey….
As a writer you ask yourself to dream while awake..
You're the perfect girl', he said, rubbing his chin. 'You expect nothing..
We're all getting too smart. Our brains are just getting bigger and bigger, and the world dries up and dies when there's too much thought and not eno….
Mom flipped through the magazines like the pages needed to be slapped..
Sometimes, she said, mostly to herself, I feel I do not know my children... It was a fleeting statement, one I didn't think she'd hold on to; after a….
Listen. Look. Desire is a house. Desire needs closed space. Desire runs out of doors or windows, or slats or pinpricks, it can’t fit under the sky, t….
Glen Hirshberg's stories are haunting, absolutely, but not only because of the content -- the stories themselves haunt, they stick around, they linge….
That at the same time of this very intimate act of concentrating so carefully on the details of our mother's palm and fingertips, he was also removin….