A Quote by Audrey Niffenegger
The pain has left but I know that it has not gone far, that it is sulking somewhere in a corner or under the bed and it will jump out when I least expect it.
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Remember when you were a kid, you'd jump on the bed, and you'd have no worries in the world, and you'd just jump on it? The idea of that now scares the hell out of me. I don't even know what would happen.
My characters talk to one another, and when it reaches a certain pitch of excitement I jump out of bed and run and trap them before they are gone.
Well, I woke up one morning around Christmas, went as far as the shops, and when I got to the corner I felt this violent pain in me left leg. I mentioned it to my daughter and she took me instantly to the hospital. It turned out it was vasculitis. In other words, you can have your leg off.
I was seeing everything through pain. I would roll out of bed and do my exercises. I had to do that to work out the remainder of the pain pills. I would drink coffee and go to the set and plunge myself so far into my work.
Soon the sun beams will smile through. Before you jump out of that bed, just know, the thought of you was the first thing that hit my head. Good morning my darling.
Life is only complete when your loved ones know you. When they know your true feelings, when they know who and how you love. Life is simple when your secret is gone. Gone is the pain that lurks in the stomach at work, the pain from avoiding questions, and at last the pain from hiding such a deep secret.
If things are going well, if the writing's coming along, I jump out of bed happy. And if the previous day has been bad, I get out of bed disgruntled.
As far as a theoretical point of view for my generation, I'm probably the most successful theoretician. I mean, double albums and concepts and dresses and major disasters and wonderful successes and yet you don't see the critical review of my work. Why? Because it's all focused on the persona. Billy Corgan. But I get to sort of jump in and be Billy Corgan. But then I get to sort of jump back out and be like, sensitive man in the corner.
If you need to know in advance that everything will 'work out' before you jump in, you'll never jump into anything.
My mother told me when I was a kid that each time we get to what feels like the edge of a cliff, we have two choices: to turn around and run, or to jump. I have learned over time to jump - and though it is scary, I know somewhere inside me that I will be caught.
People who write finely must not expect to be left in repose; they will be molested with thanks, at least.
Are you sulking?” “Me? No. I don’t sulk.” “You sound like you’re sulking.” “I’m just waiting for the violent urges to subside.
Where does Terry live? Somewhere deep inside. So I just let that come out and try to make something out of it without worrying about techniques or rules or any of that stuff. Just do it, you know. As long as it doesn't burn or get deleted, you know, then somebody will find it someday and I will have left something that I think is beautiful.
And, at such a time, for a few of us there will always be a tugging at the heart—knowing a precious moment had gone and we not there. We can ask and ask but we can’t have again what once seemed ours for ever—the way things looked, that church alone in the fields, a bed on belfry floor, a remembered voice, a loved face. They’ve gone and you can only wait for the pain to pass.
Once you’ve lived a little you will find that whatever you send out into the world comes back to you in one way or another. It may be today, tomorrow, or years from now, but it happens; usually when you least expect it, usually in a form that’s pretty different from the original. Those coincidental moments that change your life seem random at the time but I don’t think they are. At least that’s how it’s worked out in my life. And I know I’m not the only one.
But the fevers are on me now, the virus mad to ravage my last fifty T cells. It's hard to keep the memory at full dazzle, with so much loss to mock it. Roger gone, Craig gone, Cesar gone, Stevie gone. And this feeling that I'm the last one left, in a world where only the ghosts still laugh. But at least they're the ghosts of full-grown men, proof that all of us got that far, free of the traps and the lies. And from that moment on the brink of summer's end, no one would ever tell me again that men like me couldn't love.
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