Joe Ducie > Quotes

“Becoming a writer is a polite way of saying you've chosen alcoholism as a career.”
― Joe Ducie

“Perfect endings... they don't exist, 'Phie. Only in stories, where nothing ever really changes. Here, right now, isn't a story. There is no happy ending, because it's not the end. Do you understand?”
― Joe Ducie, Distant Star

“I think certain people resonate in our lives, and no matter how much time or how many worlds stand between us, we often gravitate back to those same people. Call it a weak sort of fate, magnets at the right polarity, but years, distance—even death—were no match to whatever near-inconceivable force I felt at that moment, sitting with Tia at her bar and sipping rocket fuel.”
― Joe Ducie, Broken Quill

“I could do anything—be anything.
I could be a blackberry farmer.
I could worry about phone bills and nipping out to the corner shop for milk and bread of a morning.
Little Declan Jr. could learn to walk and talk with his real father, alive and well, and I could teach him how to wear a waistcoat with just the right amount of tragic charm, take him to school in a few years, maybe makehim a little sister to look out for, someone to keep him on his toes. He could play a sport—tennis, maybe, or football. I’d attend parent-teacher meetings and have after-work drinks with the neighbors, talking about how well so-and-so is doing, and why yes, Declan Jr. is learning to play the piano. Top of his class, you know—he has his mother’s grace…
I could see all of that, as clear in my mind as sunlight on fresh snow, and so much more.
Just living day to day. One morning we could have picnics, my family and I, next to blue glacial lakes. One afternoon my son would be old enough to meet a girl, get in a fight, need to shave. One evening his sister will need help with her homework, and he’ll complain, but he’ll help.
And then one day the Elder Gods would descend from a blood-red sky in chariots lashed together from bone and flame and take away all my blackberries.”
― Joe Ducie, Knight Fall

“Commercial fiction writing – where my bread is buttered – is fairly straightforward. The writing is simply efficiency and story. The more you have of one the less you need of the other.”
― Joe Ducie

“Sometime later, halfway between midnight and dawn, I fell asleep with my head against the polished mahogany and my hand clutching a bottle full of nothing but blue dregs and the morning’s regret.”
― Joe Ducie

“Did you see a future for us, Tal?" I asked, but she only stared. "Did you see us waking up together? Smiling in the morning? Did you see us laughing and growing old? Did you see me loving you even more for every morning as the years flew past?" I took a deep breath and exhaled slowly. "Boy, I sure did.”
― Joe Ducie, Distant Star

“And we were all of us alone, clinging to a rock spinning through the star-strewn darkness and trying desperately to matter. To make some sort of everlasting mark, however true or awful that mark may be. Spinning endlessly alone—until we’re not alone, and we stumble into someone else trying to mark the chaos, and we cling tighter to that person than we ever have to the world itself. That spark in another, that resonation of the soul—a counterpoint in the dark—was more real and more important than the earth beneath our feet.”
― Joe Ducie, Broken Quill

“Annie and I had spun together across worlds and universes and dreams. But the chaos had swallowed her whole, absorbed her warmth, and scattered us apart as easily as we had spun, intoxicated, together.”
― Joe Ducie, Broken Quill

“A third army entered the fray.
They came from below, from the shallow graves that littered the vast ridge. Rotting skeletal arms burst through the dirt and clawed for the surface.
The Earth's spat up a dread legion of the undead.
Fucking necromancy.
Summoning zombies, the soulless, walkers, politicians, the undead – call them what you will – was a desecration against everything I knew to be true and right.”
― Joe Ducie, Distant Star

“I could do anything—be anything.
I could be a blackberry farmer.
I could worry about phone bills and nipping out to the corner shop for milk and bread of a morning.
Little Declan Jr. could learn to walk and talk with his real father, alive and well, and I could teach him how to wear a waistcoat with just the right amount of tragic charm, take him to school in a few years, maybe make him a little sister to look out for, someone to keep him on his toes. He could play a sport—tennis, maybe, or football. I’d attend parent-teacher meetings and have after-work drinks with the neighbors, talking about how well so-and-so is doing, and why yes, Declan Jr. is learning to play the piano. Top of his class, you know—he has his mother’s grace…
I could see all of that, as clear in my mind as sunlight on fresh snow, and so much more.
Just living day to day. One morning we could have picnics, my family and I, next to blue glacial lakes. One afternoon my son would be old enough to meet a girl, get in a fight, need to shave. One evening his sister will need help with her homework, and he’ll complain, but he’ll help.
And then one day the Elder Gods would descend from a blood-red sky in chariots lashed together from bone and flame and take away all my blackberries.”
― Joe Ducie, Knight Fall