Chila Woychik Quotes

Enjoy the top 56 famous quotes, sayings and quotations by Chila Woychik.

Chila Woychik Quotes

This world rubs me raw, scours me smooth like an SOS pad put to a grease-caked skillet. And pain: it stabs and scrapes and pulls me back to earth, my final B&B, that worm-spun cot of cool black sod.
— Chila Woychik —

The no-booze rule is one of several shams perpetuated by certain religious groups, presumably to keep their flocks in line. After all, what's a shepherd to do with drunk sheep?
So take your medicine, but leave the booze on the shelf. We have a label to keep, and it's not Jack Daniels. Don't mourn for me. Just tell me what to do rather than teach me what to be. Slam another pill, pop that one last sedative ... you'll find me in the kitchen, washing my glass.

— Chila Woychik

At least I could relate to Rose's sense of adventure and Harriet Jones' wacky determination and ingrained sense of responsibility. I can stomach the Tardis when my heroines are in place.

— Chila Woychik

The unrelenting grip of Soldier's Syndrome slips finger by slow finger. The marrow's been affected-emotional leukemia at the deepest level. Transplants of love and friendship aid healing, yet time is still key, and the clock never ticks fast enough. Eternity gains perspective when seconds feel like years. How long have I been gone? Six eternities and counting.

— Chila Woychik

I've learned to lick
my own foul wounds
and prize the taste of ache.

— Chila Woychik

Sunset and evening star hunching and bending sleeping and slipping virus pneumonia coughing and crying hope in the small things heaven looks brighter aching and falling earth is still darkness slip into sleeping sleepings of death dead now and buried cold now and crumbling dust now and hope-filled heaven is hope (and loneliness lingers in those left behind)

— Chila Woychik

PLEASE TELL ME YOU KNOW OF SYLVIA PLATH
Conventions bleed my soul
squeeze me old
wear me grey
like a headstone in transit.
It's tradition and form
fear of the unknown
driving me dead
in tight spaces darkly.
I cry aloud
but who can hear
when I stand alone
in the middle of an art show ... .

— Chila Woychik

Today I fed him right off the bat, and only checked Facebook twice.

— Chila Woychik

I'm engaged in the dance of the ages and the search for a song to go with it. Though Templeton's A Veritable Smorgasbord is a well-deserving classic, it's a stanza too short for my morphing existence. So I write my own.

— Chila Woychik

I die with the dying light, yet shine brighter as the darkness approaches. Soon I'll be whittled to bone and stripped clean through, nothing left but a skeleton on which to hang a hat. But have no fear, I look good in hats.

— Chila Woychik

Texting is a sex toy: pleasurable but a substitute for the real thing. Love has a face. Video chatting is good, but who's comfortable enough to share their "bed hair"? Love isn't about pat answers.

— Chila Woychik

Nonfiction. I didn't choose it as much as it chose me. It squatted and birthed me one raw winter day then jerked me up and set me to scribing.

— Chila Woychik

Every once in a bestseller list, you come across a truly exceptional craftsman, a wordsmith so adept at cutting, shaping, and honing strings of words that you find yourself holding your breath while those words pass from page to eye to brain. You know the feeling: you inhale, hold it, then slowly let it out, like one about to take down a bull moose with a Winchester .30-06. You force your mind to the task, scope out the area, take penetrating aim, and ... read.
But instead of dropping the quarry, you find you've become the hunted, the target. The projectile has somehow boomeranged and with its heat-sensing abilities (you have raised a sweat) darts straight towards you. Duck! And turn the page lest it drill between your eyes.

— Chila Woychik

I've had a fountain pen surgically implanted in my left index finger to save trouble. My body is tattooed with line upon line of truth, fiction, and a not-always-pleasing mix of the two.

— Chila Woychik

I don't need to write. Madness or suicide are other options, though not nearly as compelling. But I want to create; I hope to create worlds in my own image, admittedly a self-centered plan. I want others to understand me better, pay more attention to me, like or love me for who I am. Maybe that's it. Or maybe I should simply learn to say, Let's have lunch.

— Chila Woychik

This piece of earth I billet grows small. Bullets of time dart past, dropping shards of opportunity at my feet. And until the rift that surrounds my decaying body clamps shut-swallows me up like so many remains-I army on, simultaneously ignoring and saving my comrades in the hole.
Such is a writer's life.

— Chila Woychik

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