say it again saturday“Say It Again” Saturday was created because…Sometimes when I’m reading a book there are lines that just jump out at me.  They make me want to laugh, cry, or just sit and think for a minute.  Sometimes the lines are just beautifully written.  They are the kind of lines that you want to stop reading, find someone close by, and read the line or passage aloud to them so they can share it with you.  

This week I’m choosing some passages from WINTERGIRLS by Laurie Halse Anderson.  I fell in love with her writing style after reading SPEAK several years ago and I think she is only getting better with each new book.

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So she tells me, the words dribbling out with the cranberry muffin crumbs, commas dunked in her coffee.  She tells me in four sentences.  No, five.  I can’t let me hear this, but it’s too late.  The facts sneak in and stab me.  When she gets to the worst part…body found in a motel room, alone, … my walls go up and my doors lock.  I nod like I’m listening, like we’re communicating, and she never knows the difference.  It’s not nice when girls die. (p.1)

Emma is a mattress who got thrown off the truck when her parents split up…It’s not like you can blame a mattress when people don’t tie it down tight enough. (p.25)

Just because I dish it out, doesn’t mean I have to swallow it.  I am strong enough to do this the potatoes smell so good stay strong, empty empty the potatoes smell strong/empty/strong/breathe/pretend/hold on. (p.64)

I grow the vines up the legs of my chair and weave them into a tight spiral around me until they reach the ceiling.  I can barely see her through the thorns.  They block out most of her words, letting me drift off into a half sleep.  A sharp question brings me back. (p.173)

I failed eating, failed drinking, failed not cutting myself into shreds.  Failed friendship.  Failed sisterhood and daughterhood.  Failed mirrors and scales and phone calls.  Good thing I’m stable. (p.227)

There are so many other passages so I suggest you go out and read the book for yourself.

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