I just saw cesperanza
's post about Joanna Russ's death. I am way more upset about this than I would have expected. I'm actually sitting here crying over the news. Damn it. Damn
it. I never got a chance to tell her how much she meant to me, how much I loved her work, how absolutely brilliant I thought she was, how no one wrote stories like she did, how she helped shape who I am. She's always been a necessary part of my world; in the background, of course, because I didn't know her personally, but essential and irreplaceable to me. A one-sided long-distance love affair.
Oh man, this sucks. She hasn't even written much in the last 20 years, but I already miss her like blazes.
Thank you, Joanna. For your incisive eye and inimitable voice and your unflinching ability to cut through bullshit. For your intensity and breathtaking smarts and love of women. For your ability to make me laugh out loud. I'm glad you existed; I can't even imagine the void it would have left in my youth if there had been no you. It makes me desperately unhappy that there's no possibility now of further books from your hand. I hate it that you're dead. I hope you're at peace.