They Just Keep Dying
I try really hard to read contemporary authors. It's important to me to feel that the art of writing is still strong and thriving. That people can still make a living, or as much as they ever really could, as a writer.
As such, I really do try to read 'living' authors. But they just keep fucking dying. I mean, they do die old... Vonnegut was 84 (it'll be a year on the 11th, day before my birthday) and now Clarke (age 90). Not a big shock. Still, it sucks to look at the collection of books on my shelf and know that i'll never just happen to run into them on the street or some random coffee shop, and to know that they'll have nothing more to say.
I was actually wikipediaing Clarke just yesterday having just finished Odyssey Two.
Ursula K. Leguin better not die anytime soon, or I'll just lose it.
Maybe I'll run into Neil Gaiman on the street this week. That would make up for it.
As such, I really do try to read 'living' authors. But they just keep fucking dying. I mean, they do die old... Vonnegut was 84 (it'll be a year on the 11th, day before my birthday) and now Clarke (age 90). Not a big shock. Still, it sucks to look at the collection of books on my shelf and know that i'll never just happen to run into them on the street or some random coffee shop, and to know that they'll have nothing more to say.
I was actually wikipediaing Clarke just yesterday having just finished Odyssey Two.
Ursula K. Leguin better not die anytime soon, or I'll just lose it.
Maybe I'll run into Neil Gaiman on the street this week. That would make up for it.