I want to question societal norms, encourage people to think in new ways.

— Carla H. Krueger

Katie soon learned there was a problem with hope.

— Carla H. Krueger

Life isn't over until you're dead. Another ultra-positive, ultra-motivational tweet to improve your day. You're welcome.

— Carla H. Krueger

Lyrics paved my teenage route to loving words. I take those passionate mini-stories with me everywhere.

— Carla H. Krueger

Maxwell D. Kalist is a receiving teller at a city bank, Orwell and Finch, where he runs an efficient department of twenty-two clerks and twelve junior clerks. He carries a leather-bound made cecum everywhere with him – a handbook of the most widely contravened banking rules. He works humorlessly (on the surface of it) in a private, perfectly square office on the third floor of a restored grain exchange midway along the Eastern flank of Koenig’s busy, modern central plaza. Behind his oblong slate desk and black leather swivel chair is an intimidating, three-story wall made almost entirely of beveled, glare-reducing gray glass in art-deco style; one hundred and thirty-six rectangles of gleam stacked together in a dangerously heavy collage.

— Carla H. Krueger

Men circle like bees around honey, buzzing to communicate their sexual despair.

— Carla H. Krueger

Most people assume I write at night because of the kind of books I write, but I can shut out the light with my mind.

— Carla H. Krueger

My best writing happens when I’m fighting to produce it.

— Carla H. Krueger

Nader refused to bring her the feathery dream catcher – her asabikeshiinh – with its willow-web and invisible ‘lady spider’ apparently weaving her spells – an object BEA insisted always hung above her in bed.

— Carla H. Krueger

Names can hide so much.

— Carla H. Krueger