Ellen Hopkins
Ellen Hopkins
Ellen Louise Hopkinsis a novelist who has published several New York Times bestselling novels that are popular among the teenage and young adult audience...
NationalityAmerican
ProfessionYoung Adult Author
Date of Birth26 March 1955
CityLong Beach, CA
CountryUnited States of America
circles wings legs
I tattered their wings and tore off their legs, joint by joint, watched them crawl in circles, like little lost infants, untill they decide to die.
love-you heart wings
Some people never find the right kind of love. You know, the kind that steals your breath away, like diving into snowmelt. The kind that jolts your heart, sets it beating apace, an anxious hiccuping of hummingbird wings
home wings suffering
Do you ever dangle your toes over the precipice, dare the cliff to crumble, defy the frozen deity to suffer the sun, thaw feather and bone, take wing to fly you home?
alone known
I couldn't have known 'Crank' was going to be published, let alone become a big hit. That book was very personal for me: I had to tell the story for myself.
believe pages sold verse
Believe it or not, I sold my first novel, 'Crank,' with only seventy-five pages complete. It was in verse then, and it was hard-hitting then.
people
There are people who think it's easier to write books in verse, and it's definitely not.
ask individual people
People inspire me. Everyone is such an individual and has unique stories. I'm a voyeur. I eavesdrop. Sometimes I ask questions. And sometimes people just want to tell me their stories.
best bit computers enjoy hot longer phones term
For short term relaxation, I take a hot tub. It's my best way to unblock writers' block, too. For a bit longer relaxation, I enjoy camping. Just being in the wilderness, with no phones or computers or anything I have to do really refreshes my spirit.
innocence nightmare
Innocence eroded into nightmare. All because of very bad touch. Love, corrupted.
coyotes packs hunts
Coyotes hunt in packs, and so do assholes.
memories pain lying
All I can do is lie here, brain turning somersaults. It's nights like these when memories stir, whipping themselves into stiff peaks of pain.
hate love-is fiction
I'm in love. And I like how that feels. And I hate how that feels. Because love is an invention of fiction writers.
winter love-is fever
Clear. Cold. Empty. Like how I feel right now. Love is strange. One minute you’re jungle fever. The next you’re Artic winter.
dark brain want
...Things happened when you were little. Things you don't remember now, and don't want to. But they need to escape, need to worm their way out of that dark place in your brain where you keep them stashed.