![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
The High One turned to flame in his hands, and then into a memory
Patricia A. McKillip has died. I read her so early, I can't remember the first time. Her influence on my writing and on some of my thought is incalculable. We met twice at different conventions. I shared readings with her husband. She wrote the sea like I could breathe it. I was re-reading one of my favorites of her mid-career novels idly last week, hoping that whatever she wrote next would be something I liked. At the moment the stones are still falling out of the sky.
no subject
no subject
As far as I can tell, those books were my introduction to her. Pieces of them are just embedded in my head. I thought of like three different lines when I heard the news. By definition, you can't tell someone that sort of thing when they're alive.