Why does Nigel Findley have to be dead, and dead so young? If I was a better poet, I’d write a poem about it, all full of grief and outrage, even after 16 years, and end it with something haunting and memorable like “how do you like your blue eyed boy Mister Death?” But I’m certainly no e e cummings.
He’d be 51 now; I just realized after posting this that tomorrow would be his birthday. Nigel Findley, not e e cummings, or Buffalo Bill. If you were confused.
I’m mainly sad, of course. I don’t want Nigel Findley to be dead. But I also don’t want to *be* Nigel Findley myself. 35 is way, way too early (I keep lapsing into thinking that age is 15 years away for me, and not 10; the last 5 years have really not registered in my mind) and it’s tragic that he’s gone. He had a lot left to give. Shadowplay is my favorite SR novel, and always will be.
P.S. Thanatophobia is probably something people think of as a silly phobia. Like I think of ballistophobia. Everyone’s afraid of death/bullets, right? Wrong. What makes it a phobia is the inability to stop thinking about, say, death and its terrible finality, and actively dreading and fearing it, to the point where it severely hampers your ability to enjoy life. (Not to be confused with Nyctophobia, which is the name of the unfinished trilogy of horror novels I’ve been working on slowly for the past ten years and probably the next ten.)
A trigger for me, personally, is when I hear about anyone who has anything in common with me being dead. Explaining, I think this post. Well, I’ve known about Nigel Findley for quite some time now, although I do get these occasional spates of fervently wishing he wasn’t and being really sad. It was actually a certain heartwarming dedication to Lisa Elbert, another SR fan, also tragically dead at 35 (and in this case after a long battle with cancer starting at just 28), that actually triggered me.
Eh, fuck this morose bullshit. Next post will be about GAMES.