Sara Gruen
Sara Gruen
Sara Gruenis an author with dual Canadian and American citizenship. Her books deal greatly with animals and she is a supporter of numerous charitable organizations that support animals and wildlife...
NationalityCanadian
ProfessionAuthor
CountryCanada
running what-if three
So what if I'm ninety-three? So what if I'm ancient and cranky and my body's a wreck? If they're willing to accept me and my guilty conscience, why the hell shouldn't I run away with the circus?
three ninety water-for-elephants
I am ninety. Or ninety-three. One or the other.
age three hiccups
When you are five, you know your age down to the month. Even in your twenties, you know how old you are. I'm twenty-three you say, or maybe twenty-seven. But then in your thirties, something strange starts to happen. It is a mere hiccup at first, an instant of hesitation. How old are you? Oh, I'm--you start confidently, but then you stop. You were going to say thirty-three, but you are not. You're thirty-five. And then you're bothered, because you wonder if this is the beginning of the end. It is, of course, but it's decades before you admit it.
conceiving fictional full natural pop seems surround
It seems natural to surround my fictional world with animals because my reality is full of them. When I'm sitting there conceiving a story, they just pop up.
types vicious
I just don't think I've had the desire yet to write a vicious animal - like a dog-gone-bad or anything - where I do feel that I need a balance of all types of humans.
horse children matter
They grew fat and happy--the horses, not the children, or Marlena for that matter.
breathe break cases
i'm afraid to breathe in case i break the spell
sleepwalking
It's as though I've been sleepwalking and suddenly woken to find myself here
betrayal mind body
Even as your body betrays you, your mind denies it
girl elephants sake
How hard can it be to find a girl and an elephant for Christ's sake?
sweet men thinking
Sometimes I think that if I had to choose between an ear of corn or making love to a woman, I'd choose the corn. Not that I wouldn't love to have a final roll in the hay - I am a man yet, and something never die - but the thought of those sweet kernels bursting between my teeth sure sets my mouth to watering. It's fantasy, I know that. Neither will happen. I just like to weight the options, as though I were standing in front of Solomon: a final roll in the hay or an ear of corn. What a wonderful dilemma. Sometimes I substitute an apple for the corn.
pockets littles protect
The thought has cheered me, and I'd like to hang onto that. Must protect my little pockets of happiness.
being-me
When did I stop being me?
real war what-if
My platitudes don't hold their interest and I can hardly blame them for that. My real stories are all out of date. So what if I can speak firsthand about the Spanish flu, the advent of the automobile, world wars, cold wars, guerrilla wars, and Sputnik — that's all ancient history now. But what else do I have to offer? Nothing happens to me anymore. That's the reality of getting old, and I guess that's really the crux of the matter. I'm not ready to be old yet.