O Death, Won't You Spare Me Over For Another Year?

Yesterday, I found out that Malene Arpe has died. The details are here (http://www.thestar.com/entertainment/2015/05/21/stargazing-writer-malene-arpe-dead-at-50.html), and I'm still kind of having trouble processing it, as a concept. I realize I don't talk very much about eye Weekly anymore, mainly because bitterness has tarnished the experience in hindsight, but Malene was--and remains--one of the brightest spots in the whole experience. I'll be eternally grateful to her for keeping me employed as long as she could, as well as warning me about things I literally wouldn't have seen coming otherwise; I didn't understand just how many people there disliked me, and while it was hard to hear, I respect her for caring enough to point it out long before the axe began to fall--if it didn't end up making much of a difference, in the end, that's mainly my fault too. One way or the other, she was an amazing lady, amusing and sharp without ever being mean or gratuitous. Satire's a hard row to hoe, creatively, but she did it with a lot of grace.

That's how it is, though, with public figures, isn't it? They touch us long-distance, yet we don't really think of them as people, 'til death teaches us better. And this from a person who'd actually MET her, many times. God knows, when I die, maybe somebody somewhere will think the same of me. (I can only hope.)

Anyhow. The week otherwise has been somewhat for crap, though I did finally break through my fanfic block last night, posting a long section in two chunks. Today I've volunteered to sing at the memorial service for an Echo Choir member who died over the weekend, which makes for a double-shot of mortality on my mind. At least I'm fully recovered from having sung Wednesday night in a greenhouse (Allan Gardens) full of wood mould, which might not have been the world's best idea. And I'll get to work out in a few minutes, so that's something, too.

Back to it.