Octavia Butler

My dad gave me my first Octavia Butler book when he realized I wasn't going to give up this writing thing anytime soon. I remember finishing Dawn in 24 hours and looking at dad, wondering if he knew what he put into my hands. In Octavia Butler's hands, science fiction took on a whole other point and purpose. She wrote about certain Truths as I had never seen them: disturbing, unflinching and uncomfortable. She wrote about characters and situations that you couldn't escape and somehow didn't want to.

Knowing she was teaching the first week of Clarion West was the reason I applied. Then the worst thing possible happened. I got in. Suddenly my chance to meet Octavia Butler became my chance to make a big idiot out of myself in front of 17 other writers for six weeks. Yeah I had been scribbling in notebooks since I was a kid, but that didn't make me a writer. True to form I made a fool of myself her first day, cornering her after the lecture and bungling the worst introduction EVER: the I want to be you when I grow up monologue. I have never wanted to crawl under a couch and disappear into a sorority house carpet so badly in my life.

On Tuesday, she cornered me. I was expecting to skate by that first week on my submission story, figure out what everybody else was writing and just try to keep up for the next five weeks. After all, I was only here for Octavia. I just wanted to be around her, to soak her presence up and hope that some of the glorious Who She Was would rub off on me. I wasn't actually planning on getting any WORK done. Octavia asked what I was going to be turning in this week.

"My submission story." I said.

I can't describe the look on her face but I know it well. Every woman I have loved and admired is capable of that look: the one that says "that's not good enough" and "I know you can do better," in a single glance. The perfect balance of disappointment and optimism that makes you understand it's only *you* selling yourself short. Then she said it out loud so I knew she REALLY meant it.

"That's too bad,"she said. "I'd like to see what else you can do."

Those words hit my "challenge" button with a vengeance. After a little haranguing I traded a Wednesday critique for Friday which gave me approximately 48 hours to write an entirely new story.

Another one of my favorite things Octavia said at CW was, "Never let the truth get in the way of a good story." So I suppose I could tell you that the first story I wrote at Clarion West was a tour de force that escaped critiques without a single red mark and was immediately snapped up by GVG during his week. Of course, there are 17 other people probably lurking right now that would laugh themselves silly if I tried to pass a big lie like that.

The truth is that story wasn't perfect. It wasn't anything like she would have written. It was mine. It was big and cumbersome and beautiful. And most importantly, it had potential. In one stroke she had proved that I belonged at that table to the one person in the room who needed to know it the most - me.

I'll never forget Octavia Butler. In my usual offline weekend style I didn't hear of her passing until the following Monday and it's taken me an entire week to check the flow of tears that starts up every time I sit down to write about her. I guess knew her as well as any of her students ever could and less than her friends. Still her loss hit me core deep. I put her picture above my writing space as a continual reminder and a challenge.

I will never forget her voice when she said, "You know why you're here." Yes, Octavia, now I do. Thank you for helping me see that Truth. May your sprit be at peace. You are loved. You will be missed.

-Eddie