Every universe I’ve created lately, your face keeps popping up in it. And I thought that if you can’t be cool with that, then I wouldn’t hate you, but I might need some time for myself until we’ve had enough distance that I can imagine made-up worlds without you automatically appearing.
Time doesn’t heal all wounds. We both know that’s bullshit; it comes from people who have nothing comforting or original to say.
I’d give in to the grief but make sure I wasn’t loud enough to draw attention from those who think words will make me feel better.
Then there’s the kind of zombie I’ve become now: the one who has lost everything—his brain, his heart, his light, his direction. He wanders the world, bumping into this, tripping over that, but keeps going and going. That is life after death.
But hey, if there’s one bright side to your dying, it’s that you aren’t around to tell me things I don’t like hearing. I’m sorry. That was a dickhead thing to say. I need a condom for my mouth.
Sometimes pain is so unmanageable that the idea of spending another day with it seems impossible. Other times pain acts as a compass to help you get through the messier tunnels of growing up. But the pain can only help you find happiness if you can remember it.
I would do my damn best to be more happy than not.
Every new minute we're alive is a miracle.
I barely know him. I guess that is every relationship. You start with nothing and maybe end with everything.
I'm definitely of the 'Harry Potter'-transfigured-me-into-a-reader-and-writer generation. And that's really all I read throughout my teen years, because I really devoted all my time to writing and reading friends' fan-fiction.
I was very lucky to befriend many authors before even signing with an agent, and they were all so supportive of me when I told them I was in the middle of my first book.
When I really want to be comforted myself, what I look for is a story about how somebody could survive something really difficult.
I'm building this reputation as YA heartbreaker, I know. Some people like 'happily ever after,' but I don't think that's me.
The Strand prides itself for its '18 miles of books,' and they are not kidding - that store goes on for da-a-a-a-ys. There are carts outside with dollar books, all sorts of fun merchandise inside, and an extensive selection of reduced priced books. If you're looking to buy a $30 hardcover for $20, The Strand is your new best friend.
I had definitely missed the literary development game with Paper Lantern Lit, and writing exclusively wasn't giving me complete fulfillment.
It wasn't until I hit 20 that I became an obsessive reader, I think, which feels a little funny considering I was a bookseller for five years and have been reviewing YA novels for four years.
I have OCD and, literally, walking on the left, needing things to be in even numbers with few exceptions. One and seven, any number that ends in seven, that's all me. All the tics like the pulling of the ear and scratching of the palms, all me.
My first book was on the grittier side of life. A week before being published, I realized all of my main characters come from single households. That was something that, when I lived in South Bronx, that's what it was like.
