Rebecca Rowland > Quotes

“Every time I think about it, it makes me happy. Do you think I’m a monster?”
― Rebecca Rowland, White Trash and Recycled Nightmares

“Human bodies wear down," he continued . "They give out. No one is immortal, not without help. All writers wish to live forever, don't they? Even if they won't admit it. They vomit up these sacred parts of themselves, wrap those shards in paper, and pray the remnants will exist long after they are decomposing in the grave.”
― Rebecca Rowland, Shagging the Boss

“That afternoon, she thought momentarily of those 1950s B-movies with alien invaders who inhabited unsuspecting human hosts.”
― Rebecca Rowland, White Trash and Recycled Nightmares

“It wasn’t a perfume that she smelled, either. No, it was the odor of something larger: the scent of secrecy, of newness, and of rediscovered youth.”
― Rebecca Rowland, White Trash and Recycled Nightmares

“Marriage is not a frozen tableau, however. It is always moving, even if the participants don’t sense its motion.”
― Rebecca Rowland, White Trash and Recycled Nightmares

“A predator after her own heart.”
― Rebecca Rowland, White Trash and Recycled Nightmares

“I will grow monsters.”
― Rebecca Rowland, White Trash and Recycled Nightmares

“However, all writing, all writers who wish to be
published, it, they are the same at the core. All of them want to be read, remembered, cherished.”
― Rebecca Rowland, Shagging the Boss

“When she told you this, when she told you about what she had done to the girl with the blue hair, the soccer player, all of them, you nodded and forced a smile. And your body did not wait for the bedpan.”
― Rebecca Rowland, Evil Little Fucks

“His mother died when he was in junior high, a single car crash on her way home from work after a shortcut through the local pub. By the time the firetrucks arrived with the jaws of life, her pale blue Volkswagen Beetle had fervently fucked a large oak tree, the orgasm of twisted metal, blood, and Mom body parts shot in a load along the edge of the road and into the brush.”
― Rebecca Rowland, The Rack: Stories Inspired By Vintage Horror Paperbacks