Sacrifice can be this totally joyful choice that people make, which is something that I've come to terms with more, recently.
I definitely take inspiration from the skies, like I mentioned, flowers, even food: strawberries, raspberries, those kinds of things.
I wanted to bring water into these places that are sterile or dry or drought-ridden.
A horror novel should hold my attention sooner than eighty percent of the way through the book.
It seems that our brave little robot is actually part of a much larger political-ecological revolution.
Nora learns “gaijin” when she hears the teenagers say it. She’s not heard an adult use it, and when it’s said in her proximity the eikaiwa manager turns stern and scolds the student. So while she knows that it means “outsider,” it must mean something else, something a little shameful, the kind of word said only at home.
The book spins a vibrating tension between silken, lyrical imagery, and anxiety-inducing plot.
Crisp, icy air fills our lungs, whispering, pulling us inward into the fauna-choked landscape of Forks, Washington. Residing inside this quaint town, someone of equal brilliance: perfectly tousled hair, cold skin, brooding saunter, piercing eyes, and a slightly outdated fashion sense. Sound familiar? We’ve stepped into the glorious world of Twilight filled with fantastical vampires, bloody violence, and of course, romance.