Words matter. These are the best J. Courtney Sullivan Quotes, and they’re great for sharing with your friends.
One of the best parts of being a writer is getting to peer into other worlds – even if you aren’t going to stay very long.
Reading poetry gives me a sense of calm, well-being, and love for humanity – the same stuff more flexible women get from yoga.
I read ‘Love in the Time of Cholera’ when I was 19, and I still think about the characters.
I read as much poetry as time allows and circumstance dictates: No heartache can pass without a little Dorothy Parker, no thunderstorm without W. H. Auden, no sleepless night without W. B. Yeats.
I love the smell of a man’s skin.
When I started writing my second novel, I decided that one of the characters would have a passion for dollhouses, which allowed me to do hours of guilt-free ‘research’ online and at the Manhattan Dollhouse boutique inside F. A. O. Schwarz.
For my seventh birthday, my parents gave me a plain, unfinished wooden dollhouse. It had six empty rooms, two floors, a staircase, and a door that swung out onto a little front stoop. The windows opened, and the roof retracted on one side, revealing an attic.
I love making lists.
The first book I bought was ‘Anne of Green Gables,’ an edition that is beautiful and complete – one I hope to read with my son someday, seeing it anew through his eyes.
There’s a Dar Williams song about ‘houses that are haunted, with the kids who lie awake and think about other generations past who used to use that dripping sink.’ I was one of those kids.
I sometimes read on the subway, but I’m a hopeless eavesdropper and get easily distracted by strangers’ conversations.
I’ve always been drawn to older women.
I know a lot of women who embody what it means to be a feminist but do not want to use that word. The misperceptions about what it’s all about have gotten into their heads.
For whatever reason, various outlets and individuals are committed to making the world think that young girls don’t talk or care about feminism anymore, that it’s totally over. But it’s not.
On Saturdays, I get up early, spread out my notes from the week on the kitchen table, and create stories from them.
I call my mother every day for things: ‘How long do you cook an egg for?’ Or, ‘Can you remind me of our dentist’s phone number at home?’
I’m from outside of Boston, and in Boston, people are so passionate about their Irishness.
Fiction will always be my greatest love, with poetry close behind.
I’ve never understood why some people think it’s virtuous and essential to finish every book they start.
I admire the linear and decisive way a certain kind of man thinks, to my curlicue boundless overthinking.
I’ve rejected certain books, then gone back later and loved them.
The hardest part about writing fiction is finding long stretches of time to do it: for me, this means writing mostly on Saturdays and Sundays. But I am always thinking about my characters, jotting down ideas in stolen moments and hoping I’ll be able to make sense of them when the weekend rolls around.
Character development is what I value most as a reader of fiction. If an author can manage to create the sort of characters who feel fully real, who I find myself worrying about while I’m walking through the grocery store aisles a week later, that to me is as close to perfection as it gets.
When you write fiction, you’re like a bird making a nest. You remember every little story ever told you. It’s funny how things come back to you.
In high school, during marathon phone conversations, cheap pizza dinners and long suburban car rides, I began to fall for boys because of who they actually were, or at least who I thought they might become.
Deep down, I have always been 72 years old. In college, my friends used to make fun of me because I would sometimes skip a Friday night party to stay in my dorm room watching Turner Classic Movies.
As a little girl, my dollhouse allowed me to imagine a big, perfect, grown-up life in which I’d be effortlessly domestic.
Early on in the writing process, there is sometimes this temptation to write around the central drama instead of just aiming for the bull’s-eye. The bullseye is harder to hit, of course, but it’s so much more satisfying when you do.
When I was growing up, for example, everybody on our street was Irish. And all the girls did Irish step dancing. It was pre-Lord of the Dance – it was before anybody knew what gillys were – but we did, and there was such pride among the members of my family and people I grew up with.
Every St. Patrick’s Day in my hometown is such a huge thing. You know, it was like Christmas, but in green.
