Michael Craft > Quotes

“Actually, they’re available, special order.” She grimaced. “But that’s tacky.” This from the woman who’d had the bumpers of her Range Rover gilded—now that’s tacky. But when it came to issues of music, the woman did indeed have high standards, and this was an intriguing new piece to the puzzle that was Barb Bilsten. At first blush, she seemed jaded and smart-mouthed to the point of being coarse. It was easy to overlook her deeper intelligence, her analytical precision. As for her family’s cultured background and her own refined musical talents—who’d have guessed?”
― Michael Craft, Boy Toy

“The play’s plot is highly self-reflective, centering on a conflict between two teenage actors involved in the production of an original play, itself titled Teen Play. Said Diggins, “It’s an unusual conceit, one truly meant to challenge its audience. What I intend to deliver,” he added in a tone well known to longtime radio listeners, “is an utterly mah-velous evening of theater.”
― Michael Craft, Boy Toy

“Thad took Neil’s advice and discovered talents that had lain dormant. The bug, as they say, bit, and he appeared in all three plays at school that year, each time mastering more challenging roles. Come summer, he was loath to let the long, hot months pass without honing his newfound craft. Again it was Neil who suggested the remedy—community theater. And it was Neil, throughout, who coached Thad in the lore and taboos of the art of Thespis; it was Neil who spent patient hours helping Thad memorize lines; it was Neil who knew exactly how to quell Thad’s doubts and butterflies.”
― Michael Craft, Boy Toy

“You’re part of the extended family, Sheriff,” Barb told him, tweaking his ear. She was cooling down. “And besides, we may need you on Saturday. If the little bastards get rowdy, you can legally off’m with your Uzi.” She pointed to the small revolver Pierce sometimes carried in a discreet (I daresay tasteful) shoulder holster of burnished tan leather.”
― Michael Craft, Boy Toy

“Hey,” said Thad, “since we’ve got a few minutes, I want you to meet some people.” He started leading us down the aisle toward the activity near the stage. “Are you sure?” asked Neil, laughing. “We’re just a couple of old farts.”
― Michael Craft, Boy Toy

“He paused, looked Thad in the eye, and told him through a sarcastic smirk, “I see you brought your two daddies tonight. Are they proud of their boy toy?”
― Michael Craft, Boy Toy

“Neil freshened our coffee and passed her the platter of picked-over pastries, offering, “Have some.” She noticed, as I knew she would, that the bagels were untouched. She asked everyone, “What’s the matter? You don’t like Jew food?” I would normally bristle at such a comment, but as Barb herself was Jewish, she could say such things with impunity—and often did.”
― Michael Craft, Boy Toy

“What kind of brainwashing has transformed these probably decent people into a mob of narrow-minded zealots? These questions, Manning knows, are purely rhetorical. He knows exactly what force has robbed these people of their innate ability to think straight. He knows exactly what force has clouded their reasoning and stolen a slice of their very humanity. They have been infected by the force of religion.”
― Michael Craft, Eye Contact

“It has been that long since all the moral crises of his youth were washed clean. Suddenly gone were all the ethical dilemmas and doctrinal controversies and denominational nitpicking, all the guilt and doubts and complications that had cluttered his life. Years and years have passed since the realization formed in his brain and finally screamed to him with the voice of reason and logic and common sense—the voice that would be heard—that he simply no longer could believe in the existence of God. He’s been free that long. Why, he wonders, did it not happen sooner? Santa Claus died for him when he was six. The unwelcome knowledge that the benevolent old giver of gifts was merely a myth came as a disappointment, of course, but he soon got over it, knowing even then, even that young, that a grasp of reality—seeing things the way they are, not simply as one would like them to be—was ultimately far more satisfying, more liberating than living a game, living a lie. Things fit. If Santa died so painlessly when Manning was six, how did God manage to linger for another twenty years?”
― Michael Craft, Flight Dreams