Quotes from Chris Offutt

Linda waited, knowing Knox would fill the silence. On average, men tended to interrupt a woman after eight seconds. If a woman didn't talk, most men couldn't last four seconds, according to social scientists with government funding and a stopwatch.

Her chest felt like a shaken snow globe.

MY FATHER was a brilliant man, a true iconoclast, fiercely self-reliant, a dark genius, cruel, selfish, and eternally optimistic. Early in his sales career, a boss called him an "independent son of a bitch," which Dad took as the highest compliment he'd ever received. He wanted me to be the same way. Dad had no hobbies, no distractive activities. He didn't do household chores, wash the car

He decided to try television, but it was all sex and zombies, serial killers and sad cops. The comedies weren't funny.

Still writing tales?" he said. I told him yes and he nodded once, returning his attention to the snake. Very few of the boys I grew up with had finished high school, but they accepted that I was a writer. I was merely doing what other men did—following in my father's footsteps. Sonny was a plumber. The son of a local drunk was the town drunk in two towns. Sons of soldiers joined the army. That I had become a writer was perfectly normal.

Ma'am, we're past lying to each other. I'm trying to help you." "Why would you do that?" she said. "You helped me last night." "That don't make us friendly." "No, but it makes us even.

Every child had learned the words: "As we forgive those who trespass against us," a strong and generous message that neglected to include a timeframe. In the hills it was handier to forgive trespassers after killing them.

He'd be all right if a man was to stretch a cow pussy over his head and let a bull fuck some sense into him.

The desktop held a patina of hieroglyphs representing years of student boredom—names and initials gouged into the wood, blackened by grime and pencil, shellacked over, then cobwebbed again with another generation's imprint.

Linda closed the door without answering. She searched the car again to ensure she hadn't missed anything before the State Police arrived. A tattered highway atlas. Three empty packs of cigarettes, a lighter, a packet of ketchup, four stale French fries, and a corpse.

Most grandiose gestures are suspect—the couple who renew their vows just before divorce or the politician who publicly swears he's clean, then enters rehab.

It's how we communicated.' 'I like old-fashioned language.' 'With cussing,' he said. 'Fuck, yeah. Cussing makes you live longer. Did you know that? It gets shit out of your system.

Books offered the promise of a world in which misfits like me could flourish.

The state called it recidivism, but as the old cons said, Baker was doing life on the installment plan.

Encountering Mick playing with a Slinky was a sight as shocking as seeing his dying uncle.

Searching interfered with the ability to find.

If you've used adverbs, look at them carefully. Adverbs are the weakest words; verbs are the strongest. Many, many times I've found that I have the wrong verb so I'm attempting to cheat and modify the wrong verb by using an adverb.

I'd forced myself to interact with so much pornography, I no longer regarded my wife in a sexual manner. Each time I tried, my mind filled with images of fetish porn. I could admire her dress, legs and hips, but the response was aesthetic and intellectual, as if studying art I couldn't afford.

Trouble came their way like sideways wind in winter.

Tucker had missed the sheer expanse of sky at night, the tiny cluster of seven sisters, Orion's sword, and the drinking gourd that aimed north. The moon was a gibbous, barely there, as if chewed away. The sky stretched black in every direction. Clouds blocked the stars, lending an unfathomable depth to the air. The tree line was gone and hilltops blended with the black tapestry of night. It was country dark. He closed his eyes, feeling safe.

they still made the feather tick bust a seam once or twice a month