Jandy Nelson
Jandy Nelson
Jandy Nelsonis an American author of young adult fiction. Prior to her career as an author, Nelson worked for 13 years as a literary agent. She holds a BA from Cornell University as well as MFAs in poetry and children's writing from Brown University and Vermont College of Fine Arts. Nelson lives in San Francisco, California...
NationalityAmerican
ProfessionWriter
Date of Birth24 June 1965
CountryUnited States of America
wall grief sleep
grief is a house where the chairs have forgotten how to hold us the mirrors how to reflect us the walls how to contain us grief is a house that disappears each time someone knocks at the door or rings the bell a house that blows into the air at the slightest gust that buries itself deep in the ground while everyone is sleeping grief is a house where no on can protect you where the younger sister will grow older than the older one where the doors no longer let you in or out
world kind worst
What kind of world is this? And what do you do about it? What do you do when the worst thing that can happen actually happens?
safe world safe-places
The. World. Is. Not. A. Safe. Place.
fall thinking air
The architecture of my sister's thinking, now phantom. I fall down stairs that are nothing but air.
library dies
Each time someone dies, a library burns.
mom thinking secret
This is the secret I kept from you, Bails, from myself too: I think I liked that Mom was gone, that she could be anybody, anywhere, doing anything. I liked that she was our invention, a woman living on the last page of the story with only what we imagined spread out before her. I liked that she was ours, alone.
feels happens left
I suddenly feel left out of a future that isn't even going to happen.
sorry sad-life steps
I could step out of this sad life like it's an old sorry dress.
artist hands wish
We wish with our hands, that's what we do as artists.
saws splits want
In one split second I saw everything I could be, everything I want to be. And all that I'm not.
thinking expression secret
All her knowledge is gone now. Everything she ever learned, or heard, or saw. Her particular way of looking at Hamlet or daisies or thinking about love, all her private intricate thoughts, her inconsequential secret musings – they’re gone too. I heard this expression once: Each time someone dies, a library burns. I’m watching it burn right to the ground.
heart what-if break
I always imagined music trapped inside my clarinet, not trapped inside of me. But what if music is what escapes when a heart breaks?
sister stars lying
There were once two sisters who were not afriad of the dark because the dark was full of the other's voice across the room, because even when the night was thick and starless they walked home together from the river seeing who could last the longest without turning on her flashlight, not afraid because sometimes in the pitch of night they'd lie on their backs in the middle of the path and look up until the stars came back and when they did, they'd reach their arms up to touch them and did.
light sky rope
Remember how it was when we kissed? Armfuls and armfuls of light thrown right at us. A rope dropping down from the sky. How can the word love and the word life even fit in the mouth?