So are there any asshole guys here I can start dating?' she says. 'That's, like, my pattern.
Gillian FlynnJust got to keep on keeping on
Gillian FlynnEvery phrase had to be captured on paper or it wasn't real, it slipped away. I'd see the words hanging in midair--Camille, pass the milk-- and anxiety coiled up in me as they began to fade, like jet exhaust. Writing them down, though, I had them. No worries that they'd become extinct. I was a lingual conservationist. I was the class freak, a tight, nervous eighth-grader frenziedly copying down phrases ("Mr. Feeney is totally gay," "Jamie Dobson is ugly," "They never have chocolate milk") with a keenness bordering on the religious.
Gillian FlynnTags: writing dialogue invisible-things
Adora changed her color scheme from peach to yellow. She promised me she'd take me to the fabric store so I can make new coverings to match. This dollhouse is my fancy." She almost made it sound natural, my fancy. The words floated out of her mouth sweet and round like butterscotch, murmured with just a tilt of her head, but the phrase was definitely my mother's. Her little doll, learning to speak just like Adora.
"Looks like you do a very good job with it," I said, and motioned a weak wave good-bye.
"Thank you," she said. Her eyes focused on my room in the dollhouse. A small finger poked the bed. "I hope you enjoy your stay here," she murmured into the room, as if she were addressing a tiny Camille no one could see.
Tags: dolls insecurity families parental-approval scary-houses
The quotes were good, if overpolished. I find this common, and in direct proportion to the amount of TV a subject watches. Not long ago, I interviewed a woman whose twenty-two-year-old daughter had just been murdered by her boyfriend, and she gave me a line straight from a legal drama I happened to catch the night before: I'd like to say that I pity him, but now I fear I'll never be able to pity again.
Gillian FlynnWe have some great museums. You'd love the lake."
"I don't know that I can enjoy any kind of water anymore."
"Why not?" I already knew.
"After that little girl, little Ann Nash, was left in the creek to drown." She paused to take a sip of her iced tea. "I knew her, you know."
Amma whined and began fidgeting in her seat.
"She wasn't drowned though," I said, knowing my correction would annoy her. "She was strangled. She just ended up in the creek."
"And then the Keene girl. I was fond of both of them. Very fond." She stared away wistfully, and Alan put his hand over hers. Amma stood up, released a little scream the way an excited puppy might suddenly bark, and ran upstairs.
"Poor thing," my mother said. "She's having nearly as hard a time as I am."
"She actually saw the girls every day, so I'm sure she is," I said peevishly in spite of myself. "How did you know them?"
"Wind Gap, I need not remind you, is a small town. They were sweet, beautiful little girls. Just beautiful."
"But you didn't really know them."
"I did know them. I knew them well."
"How?"
"Camille, please try not to do this. I've just told you that I am upset and unnerved, and instead of being comforting, you attack me."
"So. You've sworn off all bodies of water in the future, then?"
My mother emitted a quick, creaky sound. "You need to shut up now, Camille." She folded the napkin around the remains of her pear like a swaddling and left the room. Alan followed her with his manic whistling, like an old-time piano player lending drama to a silent movie.
Tags: families
A town so suffocating and small, you tripped over people you hated every day. People who knew things about you. It's the kind of place that leaves a mark.
Gillian FlynnNo one saves an e-mail, because it's so inherently impersonal. I worry about posterity in general. All the great love letters - from Simone de Beauvoir to Sartre, from Samuel Clemens to his wife, Olivia - I don't know, I always think about what will be lost -
Gillian FlynnI take a giant breath, roll my anger up into a red rubber ball, and mentally kick it out into space.
Gillian FlynnShe had an unnecessarily loud voice, a bit of a bray, like some enchanted, hot donkey.
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