Kim Edwards
Kim Edwards
Kim Edwards is an American author and educator. She was born in Killeen, Texas, grew up in the Finger Lakes region of upstate New York, and graduated from Colgate University and The University of Iowa, where she earned an MFA in fiction and an MA in linguistics. She is the author of a story collection, The Secrets of a Fire King, which was a finalist for the PEN/Hemingway Award; her stories have been published in The Paris Review, Story, Ploughshares,...
NationalityAmerican
ProfessionAuthor
Date of Birth4 May 1958
CountryUnited States of America
A moment was not a single moment at all, but rather an infinite number of different moments, depending on who was seeing things and how.
That there were other worlds, invisible, unknown, beyond imagination even, was a revelation to him.
Away from the bright motion of the party, she carried her sadness like a dark stone clenched in her palm.
He carried Paul inside and up the stairs. He gave him a drink of water and the orange chewable aspirin he like and sat with him on the bed, holding his hand...This was what he yearned to capture on film: these rare moments where the world seemed unified, coherent, everything contained in a single fleeting image. A spareness that held beauty and hope and motion - a kind of silvery poetry, just as the body was poetry in blood and flesh and bone.
This is what he knew that Paul didn't: the world was precarious and sometimes cruel. He'd had to fight hard to achieve what Paul simply took for granted.
You missed a lot of heartache, sure. But David, you missed a lot of joy.
He had never even glimpsed her.
This was her life. Not the life she had once dreamed of, not a life her younger self would ever have imagined or desired, but the life she was living, with all its complexities. This was her life, built with care and attention, and it was good.
She didn't love him and he didn't love her; she was like an addiction, and what they were doing had a darkness to it, a weight.
So something had begun, and now she could not stop it. Twin threads ran through her: fear and excitement. She could leave this place today. She could start a new life somewhere else.
Twin threads ran through her: fear and excitement.
His love for her was so deeply woven with resentment that he could not untangle the two.
Music is like you touch the pulse of the world. Music is always happening, and sometimes you get to touch it for a while, and when you do you know that everything's connetcted to everything else.
Her voice, high and clear, moved through the leaves, through the sunlight. It splashed onto the gravel, the grass. He imagined the notes falling into the air like stones into water, rippling the invisible surface of the world. Waves of sound, waves of light: his father had tried to pin everything down, but the world was fluid and could not be contained.