I’ve been up since 4:30 this morning thanks to the baby, who, thankfully, is NOT awake right now, and as always, once I’m up, I’m up. The wheels start spinning, and all things I normally process while asleep are right at the front of my mind, needing exploration, cogitation, and in some cases, expression. It’s a regular occurrence for most writers, I think, and it often results in some of the best ideas. I used to keep a notebook by the bed in case I woke up from a dream with the greatest idea since beer and had to write it down before I forgot. Writers often sacrifice sleep to satisfy the muse, to exorcise the demon, to agonize over the thoughts that can take you to places too dark to sleep. I woke up this morning because of the baby. I’ve stayed awake because of the death of someone I know.

To say I knew Logan well would be a gross overstatement. We had mutual friends in high school, and we were I the same room together a few times. I knew the people he knew better than I knew him, and vice versa. When we met as adults, he didn’t even remember any of this, but, for some reason, I did. He had stuck in my head at some point, I can’t even really tell you why, but he did. And to say that we became fast friends as adults would also be doing a disservice to those who could truly call themselves his friends. I wouldn’t presume to do so. I’d say that we became peers. Both writers, performers, lovers of strangeness and neither of us entirely comfortable in the world yet coping with it the only way we knew how, by putting it out there, telling stories, trying to reshape the world thru our words. Trying to make some sense of our pain. Logan was a champion of the work I was doing with my theatre company, and I began to follow his fiction career. Both struggling artists, doing our best to say what we had to say. I respected Logan and what he was trying to do with his life. God knows living a creative life isn’t easy. Ever tried. Ever failed. No matter. Try again. Fail again. Fail better. Samuel Beckett said it. Logan would approve.

But sometimes it becomes too much.

Logan and I weren’t that close, I’ve made that point. Yet I’m at an age in life when the deaths of peers affect me. People matter, whether they know it or not, and I grieve Logan’s loss because he should be grieved. His death has affected me, and I’m dealing with it the only way I know how, by writing about it. Again, I’m sure Logan would approve. I knew him well enough to know that words mattered to him, his words mattered to him. He used them to tell stories that mattered to him. He has left an indelible mark on the world by using his words, and I felt the need to honor him for that service. I’ve meant to do it for a while, and it’s too little too late, but I’m buying his book, Ravencroft Springs, on Amazon today, so that his words will have a place on my shelf. And if you would, consider donating to help his wife with necessary expenses. Here’s the link:

I can’t speak as to Logan’s pain. I just didn’t know him well enough. But the title of this post is the name of his own blog, and, as I said, Logan knew what he was doing with words. It’s all there, in that one word. Simple, devastating truth. Beckett would approve.

Rest in peace, Logan.

Postscript: Anyone who reads this blog (admittedly only a few) have realized by now that the birth of my second child has more or less stalled any activity on this account. But he’s three now, and I intend to change that, especially given the state of the world and the country right now and my own feelings about where we’re all at. I intend to devote future posts to diving into those thoughts and feelings, but while reviewing what I haven’t done in years, I came across this entry that I never published. I doubt the GoFundMe link works anymore, and it’s shameful of me to admit that I never posted this, but I’m doing it now, because Logan deserved it.

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