diane middlebrook

Diane Middlebrook died this weekend. It is always a strange experience to lose an author that was particularly important or formative in some way. I didn't know her, of course, although I had sent her a letter when I was awarded a prize that she funded, and she sent me a postcard in return that was utterly exquisite and sweet. I told her about her influence on me, in particular an episode in college where I stayed up all night laying on the bed in my dorm room reading her Anne Sexton bio, and then of another experience about five years later where I was standing at a bookstore in New York City trying to decide whether to spend my last thirty dollars on groceries or on her new book about Plath and Hughes. (Chose the book.) Although writers live beyond themselves, it is hard to imagine that there won't be any more from her now. I am glad, though, that I got the chance to thank her while I still could.