Quotes from Aimee Bender

When I crossed the street, according to my mother, I still had to hold someone's hand. At ten, I would be able to cross streets unhanded. I'd held on to Joseph's many times before, for many years, but holding his was like holding a plant, and the disappointment of fingers that didn't grasp back was so acute that at some point I'd opted to take his forearm instead.

I started tearing at my mouth. Get it out! I roared.

peeing into a cup.

We colluded in this way: as long as I didn't announce that I was a kid, he wouldn't rise up as a parent, and for an hour, we could both have a little respite from our roles.

An old man with overalls walked by; I don't think old people should wear overalls; it makes them look like shrivelly toddlers.

Dad lost his job. Then he got a new job. Then he got his old job back and went back to it. They were all in the same building.

I bit into the oatmeal. Same levels- now the oats, well dried, but not so well watered, then the raisins, half tasteless, made from parched grapes, picked by thirsty workers, then the baker, rushed. The whole cookie was so rushed, like I had to eat it fast or it would, somehow, eat me.

our changes in height remained unmarked on the door frames, so we grew up tall on our own without proof

It's unsettling to meet people who don't eat apples.

By her estimation, the woman had probably been five years old during the height of the war. Listening to panicked voices in the next room. The majority of the living memories now owned by then-children.

She thought of how she had never sat and had a long conversation with her father because he, too, refused to talk about himself. "Someone else should speak instead," he said. "If I don't speak, it means someone else will," which did not always turn out to be true.

But the fact was, Sherrie Marla trusted him already. When he took the ice off, and showed to her his new symmetry, she didn't flinch. His face was him to her now. It was not a map or an indicator of some abstract idea. Turned out it was only the first impression he needed to alter.

I noticed, when I taught elementary school, how true the squeaky wheel thing is, and how endearing squeaky wheels can be! Because when you're being a squeaky wheel, you're also really letting people know who you are.

I like birthday cake. It's so symbolic. It's a tempting symbol to load with something more complicated than just 'Happy birthday!' because it's this emblem of childhood and a happy day.

I don't eschew autobiographical writing, but I'm not interested in mine to be so straightforward. The things that tend to move me the most are often those that I have to figure out its meaning for myself. The human being's ability to make a metaphor to describe a human experience is just really cool.

Generally, I think most of my writing tends to have some kind of magical element to it. That's the way I can access the emotional life of the character.

At readings, audience members sometimes ask if I keep writing past the two hours if I'm on a roll, but I don't. I figure that if I'm on a roll, it's partially because I know I'm about to stop.

Language is the ticket to plot and character, after all, because both are built out of language.

I'm obsessed with adolescence. I love to write about people in their 20s. It's such a fraught and exciting and kind of horrible time.

For me as a person, friendships are incredibly important to me, but in writing, they can distract me.

Some creative writing programs seem evil, but my experience at Irvine was totally the opposite, where I feel like they were really good at focusing in on each writers voice and setting. When I felt like I was obligated to write a story that was more typical, no one really liked it.

Writing can be a frightening, distressing business, and whatever kind of structure or buffer is available can help a lot.

My genes, my love, are rubber bands and rope; make yourself a structure you can live inside. Amen." — Aimee Bender (Willful Creatures: Stories)

With my hand in his, I looked at all the apartment buildings with rushes of love, peering in the wide streetside windows that revealed living rooms painted in dark burgandies and matte reds.