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We're the same! Even Sonya says we are. We've always been the same, and we're both acting the same stupid way now! We hold ourselves to higher standards than everyone else. ↗
#last-sacrifice #romance #rose-hathaway #sonya-karp #rose-hathaway
Lissa and I had been best friends ever since kindergarden, when our teacher had paired us together for writing lessons. Forcing five-year-olds to spell "Vasilisa Dragomir" and "Rosemarie Hathaway" was beyond cruel and we'd -or rather, I'd- responded appropriately. I'd chucked my book at our teacher and called her a fascist bastard. I hadn't known what those words meant, but I'd known how to hit a moving target. ↗
Se non ti conoscessi bene, direi che hai appena difeso l’onore di Christian? Ma non è un rompipalle?" "Già" risposi, leccandomi la glassa dalle dita. "Lo è eccome. Solo che per le prossime sei settimane, sarà il mio rompipalle. ↗
Ella no comprendía lo que te hace sentir estar lleno de un amor tan fuerte que hace tu pecho doler un amor que tan solo podias sentir, pero nunca expresar. He aprendido que mantener un amor enterrado se parece mucho a mantener contenida la ira. Te consume por dentro hasta que te dan ganas de gritar o de patear algo ↗
I always started studying with the best intentions, telling myself that today just might be the day it all fell into place, and everything would be different. But more often than not, though, after a couple of pages of practice problems, I'd find myself spiraling into an all-out depression. When it was really bad, I'd put my head down on my book and contemplate alternate options for my future. "whoa," I heard a voice say. It was muffled slightly by my hair, and my arm, which I locked around my head in an effort to keep my brain from seeping out. ↗
I started the first drafts of the book during my sophomore year of college. I wasn’t thinking at all about kids at the time. But I was thinking. A lot. About everything. I wish I could capture that head-space again; everything meant something to me in college. Every leaf, every sound, every lecture, every textbook. It’s like I was on drugs, 24/7. I am glad I was able to pair that ceaseless pondering with plenty of time to write. What came of that time was the first draft of the novel, a lengthy, unnecessarily angst-driven pile of crap. Years later, with Zoloft, I approached the novel with a more level head, and came away with a much, much better novel. My advice to writers, I suppose, is write your novel when you feel like shit; edit when you feel great. ↗
For better or worse, he was my soul mate. The other half of me. In many ways, he was my reflection. ↗
