Mourning the Loss of an Artist Unapologetically

My post this week on the Spellbound Scribes’ blog. I had to go back and add a bit about Alan Rickman and it’s really not enough. But I know how much that man meant to me so I’ll leave it as it is. I’ll probably watch Dogma, or Galaxy Quest, or even Robin Hood quite soon. But I don’t know if I’ll ever be able to sit through Snape’s death scene without completely losing it. It is difficult enough to watch it just because he was my favorite character, but now? Oof. I can’t even think about it without getting choked up.

Spellbound Scribes

Sunday night we lost a great artist. The ripples that went around the world as people found out about David Bowie’s death built into a current that pulled so many of us down. It’s always a little strange when a celebrity dies, someone who you probably don’t even know, but their death touches you as much as losing a friend. Sunday I lost an idol I never got to meet.

I saw so many people openly express their grief, myself included, while others seemed to apologize for their feelings. Embarrassed for being sad over the death of someone they didn’t even know. I get it, it’s kinda of like heading off the teasing before anyone can say something to you like, “You’re a little too upset over this.”

But you know what? No, we aren’t.

I wrote about my experience of hearing the news and while I took the time…

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It’s only forever, not that long at all.

“Today is a sad day.” That’s what my husband said to me when I woke up this morning. He’d been up for about an hour and had already heard the news. He knew it would be hard for me to hear so he wanted to tell me before I saw it on social media or some bubbly newscaster pretending to be sad as they read the prompter.

When my husband said, “David Bowie died last night,” I just stood there, my mouth hanging open like and idiot and stared at him. After a few moments all I could say was, “No.”


No. Not David. Not Ziggy. Not Jareth.

Can’t be.

He couldn’t have died.

I was just wearing my new “I move the stars for no one” shirt, so happy and proud to show my love for the man, the legend.

Celebrity deaths are just as sad as any death, but some celebrities are more important to a “regular” person than others. David Bowie is – was important to me.

I don’t remember a time in my life when I didn’t love David Bowie. I was just three years old when The Labyrinth was released (I tweeted earlier that it had come out the year of my birth, a mistake, probably due to the fact that I can’t remember it not being my favorite movie). I still have my Sir Didymus doll. Jareth the Goblin King formed my love of David Bowie and all misunderstood villains. I even carved his likeness in a pumpkin for Halloween last year because I am that big of a fangirl for this man. To this day, a good villain, a heart-broken misfit, the one who is just trying, will get me.

There is so much I want to say about this amazing man but I don’t think I have the words. He inspired me as a writer and he always will. I’ll be sad the next time I watch The Labyrinth (which will probably be later today). I am sad as I sit here listening to his music, grateful he managed to give us one last gift in his new record. But I am happy that I was alive when he was. I am happy that he’s been an influence for me.

We love you David, Ziggy, Jareth. We miss you already.

It’s only forever… Not that long at all.




Back from the holidays

I am typing! This is amazing. I know, if you follow me, the idea that I’m typing shouldn’t be a big surprise or cause for celebration, but today it is.

On New Years Day I took a tumble.


Okay, it wasn’t a tumble. It was an OMFGIAMFALLINGHOLYCRAP fall. It was a fall that I was lucky to stand up from. It was a fall that I was lucky not to have a broken arm or cracked skull from. But it wasn’t a fall that left me unscathed.

My hubs works from home just like me, and he had an intake interview with a couple of potential new clients who wanted to meet on New Years Day. When you work for yourself, holidays are not the same as they are for many other people, kinda like working retail. So of course we said, “yes! Come on over!” And we started cleaning the house and grounds, putting the holiday back in the boxes and making the place presentable for new people.

One of the things that had to be done was retying one of our sun sails over our outdoor space. We’d taken it down when there were 60mph wind gusts the other week. So I climbed up on our pick-nick table to reach for the rope and tie the thing off. Now, the key to surviving anything like this is to watch where you’re stepping.

I did not.

I ran out of table.


Unfortunately, I already had hold of the rope in my right hand when my foot stepped onto the nothingness. When you stumble you instinctively grip whatever you’re holding. Sadly, I hadn’t started to anchor the rope, so it was a just loose and happy to let me fall and slide my hand down the braided fibers.

I fell off the table, my leg going between the table and bench, to bounce off and land flat on my back on the cement pavers our table is centered on. It was fast and slow all at once. I don’t remember hitting the bench (though the massive bruises and swelling prove I did), but I remember having a moment to think, “You’re going to land on your back in a second,” when I hit the bench. I managed to pull my arms in and tuck my chin before I hit the ground. If I’d flung out my hands to break my fall I’d’ve broken something. If I hadn’t tucked my chin, I’d’ve cracked my head on the cement.

My husband rushed to me as I lay there telling him I was okay, just needed a second. The funny thing was, I had no idea there was something wrong with my hand. I lay there, giving my mind a moment to think about my body and listen for cues that something was wrong, but nothing screamed back with pain.


So I sat up and laughed for a second.

Then I saw my hand. My right hand. My dominate hand.

I said, “Hey, look at my thumb. It looks weird.” I said that because it didn’t hurt. Yet. The rope had burned my palm and ripped off some skin, making it look like a puncture wound. But my thumb. Oh holy gods, my thumb. Between the knuckle and my palm I’d ripped off so much skin that I could see the vein that runs through your thumb just below the last layer of skin. If I’d taken that layer, I’d’ve been in the ER.

Because I looked at my palm and thumb, the shock wore off and the pain set in. My hand was on fire. It truly was a full burn from the rope. My hand shook and I finally cried, panicked and freaked out over what my hand looked like. And I started babbling about not being able to write today or finishing the beautiful scarf I was knitting for myself. These are the crazy, panicked things you say when you hurt yourself.

So, here I am, Monday morning, able to type and it is awesome. I promised myself, whether my outline was done or not, I was starting the New Project today, so the idea that I wouldn’t be able to added to my panic and tears. But it’s cloudy and rain is on the way and I can move my fingers and I can hit the space bar with my thumb without causing searing pain. Who knows, I might be knitting by the end of the week.


So happy new year my loves! I survived and will have new words!


I have one slot left for January for a new Critique project. If you’d like to steal that spot, please email me at – you can always sign up for a Feb or March slot, but hurry, I only take a couple each month. Check out my critique page to learn more about what I do.