Bruce Brooks
Bruce Brooks (born September 23, 1950) is an American author of young adult and children's literature. He was born in Washington D.C., but spent most of his time growing up in North Carolina as a result of parents' being divorced. Although divorce is never easy for a child, Brooks credits moving around a lot between the two locations with making him a keen observer of social situations. Switching schools often and having to make new friends evolved his ability to tell good stories. He graduated from the University of North Carolina at Chapel Hill in 1972, and the Iowa Writers' Workshop in 1980. Before earning a living as a writer, Brooks had worked as a letterpress operator and a journalist for magazines and newspapers. Brooks has reported a very diverse list of influences, like Charles Dickens, Henry James, P.G. Wodehouse and Raymond Chandler. Brooks has three sons: Alex, 23, Spencer, 15, and Drake, 1. He lives with his wife Ginee Seo in Park Slope, Brooklyn.
“She was not someone's sister, she was not someone's child. She was Dolores and Dolores was the good guys.”
“But I knew deep down that the stuff behind could not just be dropped like it had nothing to do with what was ahead...There was just too much, too many strange angles and things left jaggedy open so you did not know they would ever shut right.”
“One nice thing about my momma is, she never gets on you for what you are not doing. I mean, she never looks away from the things you do only to notice what isn't on the plan. This is the most important thing in getting along with...anybody, and I can tell you because I copy it from her and it makes good sense. You don't go looking at the things people don't do, when they already be doing plenty in other areas. If your son collects stamps, why you want to go fussing at him because he doesn't play the clarinet? Check out his stamps, man.”
“It's a gift, that's all. And when you get a gift, you feel good. Doesn't matter if you haven't got a gift ready to give in return. Something as fine as love from someone as nice as you—well, knowing about it means a lot. It can mean everything.”
“This is what he was good at, he realized. This is what he did. He placed himself in the world, and the world drew his thoughts outside himself, where they multiplied and spiraled and led him in silent, thrilling flights. And as he expanded into the world, he expanded inside. At these moments an endlessness beyond thought opened inside him. Outside, his mind was whizzing through things, but inside, he was silent, still; sometimes, he knew he was not even breathing.”
“He realized the things he had left behind were already hiding inside him; now, for the first time, his life had a past, a past that would not get any bigger, that would always be shrinking but would never disappear. Something else: he had always assumed there was only one way for his life to happen. Now he realized there were alternatives. A feeling, an object, a person could seem like one thing but be another; an action could seem as if it were taking one turn, but veer off another way. Anything could happen at any time. He was not on tracks.”
“You think you’re so cool.”“As a matter of fact, you have absolutely no idea what I think,” Dolores said. “But if you’ll allow me to rephrase that comment in the form of a question, the answer is that in fact I do not think I am ‘so cool’ in the least. For all I know, I may be cool, or perhaps I may be irretrievably nerdy. But that’s for other, wiser, trendier minds to decide.”
“When we love someone it is because we built that feeling, bit by bit. It's a choice. It's what we make only for ourselves...”