So much wanting and longing, clutching, desiring, passion and hatred and terrible need. Here, death was suitable, there was room for it, the grip of life's relentless urges slackened, replaced by this icy simplicity. This wasnt her death. It was his. That was the sad and honest truth. Though it would stay with her, it would be more like a black onyx heart on a silver chain, worn privately, under her clothes, close to her body, all her life. The guilt, the beauty, everything. It wasnt over, it had only begun. Well ok then, Okay.
Janet FitchThis was the life I was going to be living, everybody separated from everybody else, hanging on for a moment only to be washed away.
Janet FitchYour protagonist is your readerโs portal into the story. The more observant he or she can be, the more vivid will be the world youโre creating. They donโt have to be super-educated, they just have to be mentally active. Keep them looking, thinking, wondering, remembering.
Janet Fitch