I emitted some civetlike female stink, a distinct perfume of sexual wanting, that he had followed to find me here in the dark.

She should think about her own soul, what she was going to do with this funky tattered pond dank item. Dark and stained, a ruined thing.

As a person with terrible handwriting, I love the computer. I've waited all my life for the computer.

this was the wonderful thing about strangers. they were big blank pieces of paper, you could draw watever you like on their impresionable surfaces

I was tired of men. Hanging in doorways, standing too close, men who made you love them then changed their minds.

She was sitting cross-legged on her bed in her white kimono, writing in a notebook with an ink pen she dipped in a bottle. 'Never let a man stay the night,' she told me. 'Dawn has a way of casting a pall on any night magic.' The night magic sounded lovely. Someday I would have lovers and write a poem after.

I use my fiction to explore my own unconscious issues. I usually don't even know what's going on with me until I'm writing.