Fellow writer

 

 

A writer died today. He was 86. I didn’t know who he was; his name didn’t sound familiar at all, and now I can’t even remember it. He was somewhat famous, yet I had never heard of him.

 

In school they teach you about local heroes, and how they’ve given something to your culture, to your history. But I never heard of his work, never read one of his books. Never had a class to discuss anything about him.

 

So should I feel sad he died? Should I try to find out who he was, and what he did? All I know is what I heard on the radio. But that was enough to bring me here. Maybe he died in his sleep, maybe he had some sort of disease. I could check the papers for news on what happened. I could care and I would gain some perspective on this unknown character. But am I worrying too much? Perhaps he wasn’t that good for me to mind, and some of his work might linger on but he was probably pushed into oblivion by a culture that doesn’t like reading that much anymore. I am possibly one of the few that still likes to read books.

 

So I wonder about his style: was he into science fiction? Perhaps he was a great novelist, or more of a column writer. Maybe he wrote these amazing romantic stories… maybe he liked political satire. But now he’s gone, and here I am wondering whether I’m missing something in my life or not. It’s funny how an isolated death makes us ponder our own mortality. Now I wonder about my faith as a fellow writer. Will I be forgotten? Will some kid from a future generation care about my work? And this deceased gentleman…did he leave any family, anyone that cared about him? Anyone that praised his work, or that still does now that he’s departed?

 

It looks as if anyone can hit literary success these days… a Supermodel hires a biographer to write about her life struggle with bulimia, and it becomes a best seller…and I wonder if that should be considered art, or just an pitiful addition to ‘pop’ culture. It’s not a matter of quality, but of quantity with the written word sometimes, and I find it both sad and demeaning.

 

But this man was something special, this guy meant enough to be mentioned on the radio. So now I’m stuck with all these doubts and questions. I guess I worry too much. I guess I’ll never know where fellow writers go.