Annie Proulx
Annie Proulx
Edna Ann Proulxis an American journalist and author. She has written most frequently as Annie Proulx but has also used the names E. Annie Proulx and E.A. Proulx...
NationalityAmerican
ProfessionNovelist
Date of Birth22 August 1935
CountryUnited States of America
done handle
All the travelin I ever done is going around the coffeepot looking for the handle.
pain may misery
And it may be that love sometimes occurs without pain or misery.
ifs
If you can't fix it, you have to stand it.
heart broken fit
Everybody that went away suffered a broken heart. "I'm coming back some day," they all wrote. But never did. The old life was too small to fit anymore.
party games ordinary
Ordinary parties, he thought, were subtle games of sexual and social badminton...
rage
What we fear we often rage against.
views feelings stories
It is my feeling that a story is not finished until it is read, and that the reader finishes it through his or her life experience, prejudices, world view and thoughts.
language
I am influenced by words and the chewiness of language
suffering atmosphere hustle
I rarely use the Internet for research, as I find the process cumbersome and detestable. The information gained is often untrustworthy and couched in execrable prose. It is unpleasant to sit in front of a twitching screen suffering assault by virus, power outage, sluggish searches, system crashes, the lack of direct human discourse, all in an atmosphere of scam and hustle.
reading night laughing
Wonderful ... I was up all night reading it, laughing and crying out in horror...
flames crafts metamorphosis
Change itself is what fascinates me. I am drawn, as a moth to the flame, by edge situations, by situations of metamorphosis.
smart independent awards
If you are looking for smart judging based on merit, skip the Academy Awards next year and pay attention to the Independent Spirit Awards.
house insightful stories
In a rough way the short story writer is to the novelist as a cabinetmaker is to a house carpenter.
silence unfolding wounded
Their silence comfortable. Something unfolding. But what? Not love, which wrenched and wounded. Not love, which came only once.