Hey, I saw the news at work today. It was a surreal moment, seeing the article that I always knew would appear at some point– I sort of felt he’d live to 108, for some reason– but never being ready for it, and I guess it shows the importance of this writer’s life and work on me that I feel as if I’ve lost someone really close. His words hung in my mind in such an intimate fashion, it felt like he was a friend and companion (illusion though it may be). A world without J.D., even the reclusive, leave-me-alone J.D., seems a more lonely place. Since I last wrote here, I reread some of his short stories with admiration. What I most liked about him was he really went for it– he was writing about important things, authenticity, the meaning of life, what is a meaningful life; you wanted to be in his living room and be able to speak to him, what was on your mind, casually, like you could hang out with him and be his occasional buddy. That was also his nightmare, though.
As I said in my last post, I hope he has indeed been writing some great stories that we’re going to be able to read in the not-too-distant future; it wouldn’t surprise me. It will probably be nearly all Glass family material. On the other hand, he might have had a change of heart and decided not to publish at all, even on his death, and that would be a great tragedy. I wish to write more on him here in the future; this writer meant a great deal to me, both his writing and in the manner in which he lived his life. Let us celebrate this man, quirks and all, and be glad he did manage to share with us the body of work that we have seen so far. Rest in peace, J.D., in whatever form your future essence may take.