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Desperate? so what? i'm desperate, too!" fenoglio snapped at her. "my story is foundering in misfortune, and these hands here," he said holding them out to her, "don't want to write anymore! i'm afraid of words meggie! 'once they were like honey, now they're poison, pure poison! but what is a writer who doesn't love words anymore? what have i come to? this story is devouring me, crushing me, and i'm it's creator!
-Cornelia Funke
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Desperate? So What? I'm Desperate, Too!" Fenoglio

Cornelia Funke
Desperate? so what? i'm desperate, too!" fenoglio snapped at her. "my story is foundering in misfortune, and these hands here," he said holding them out to her, "don't want to write anymore! i'm afraid of words meggie! 'once they were like honey, now they're poison, pure poison! but what is a writer who doesn't love words anymore? what have i come to? this story is devouring me, crushing me, and i'm it's creator!
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Crush Writing Hands

More From Cornelia Funke

Dustfinger inspected his reddened fingers and felt the taut skin. ‘he might tell me how my story ends,’ he murmured. meggie looked at him in astonishment. ‘you mean you don’t know?’ dustfinger smiled. meggie still didn’t particularly like his smile. it seemed to appear only to hide something else. ‘what’s so unusual about that, princess?’ he asked quietly. ‘do you know how your story ends?’ meggie had no answer for that.
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Meggie folchart: having writer's block? maybe i can help. fenoglio: oh yes, that's right. you want to be a writer, don't you? meggie folchart: you say that as if it's a bad thing. fenoglio: oh no, it's just a lonely thing. sometimes the world you create on the page seems more friendly and alive than the world you actually live in.
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And when the sun rises we are afraid it might not remain when the sun sets we are afraid it might not rise in the morning when our stomachs are full we are afraid of indigestion when our stomachs are empty we are afraid we may never eat again when we are loved we are afraid love will vanish when we are alone we are afraid love will never return and when we speak we are afraid our words will not be heard nor welcomed but when we are silent we are still afraid so it is better to speak remembering we were never meant to survive
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What on earth have you packed in here? bricks?" asked mo as he carried meggie's book-box out of the house. you're the one who says books have to be heavy because the whole world's inside them," said meggie.
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This world,' she said. 'do you really like it?' what a question! farid never asked himself such things. he was glad to be with dustfinger again and didn't mind where that was. it's a cruel world, don't you think?' meggie went on. 'mo often told me i forget how cruel it is too easily.' with his burned fingers, farid stroke her fair hair. it shone even in the dark. 'they're all cruel,' he said. 'the world i come from, the world you come from, and this one, too. maybe the people don't see the cruelty in your world right away, it's better hidden, but it's there all the same.
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