Dark Letters

I suffer from insomnia. And I love the works of Robert A. Heinlein.

Vividly I recall the night I learned of Mr. Heinlein's death. Already in bed and practically asleep, the telephone rang. My friend, herself not particularly a Heinlein fan but knowing my love for the man and his work, had heard the news on the television and wanted to break it to me, gently. I remember sobbing myself to sleep, the sense of loss so deep and total, tinged with more than a little regret. The regret was purely selfish...

Whenever insomnia struck, I would while away the time writing, in my mind. There, in the dark, I could do it well... Once I had it perfect, the next day I would write it down. If I couldn't remember it, then it wasn't good enough. An ongoing project was always a letter of thanks I yearned to write to the Grand Master...but it was never good enough; words simply did not seem to adequately express my feelings. This opus I could always count on to occupy my mind till sleep overtook me, and upon hearing of his death the regret was simply that I had never finished it. I didn't kid myself; I knew that my little letter would be but one of many, nothing special or unique about it - but it was important to me. Other than buying his books and recommending them to my friends (which I did, and do), it was the only way I knew to give voice to my feelings.

That letter haunts me occasionally; the perfect words are still lurking on the edges of my psyche but I can't quite catch hold of them. But I need to release what little I've achieved so far...and I hope that you will bear with me as I indulge myself most selfishly.

Dear Mr. Heinlein:

I am a huge admirer of your work and wish to say "thank you". I have not been able to compose a letter which adequately expresses my feelings about your writings and the balance herein basically expounds (at great length) upon that first sentence. But I felt compelled to write this letter and do not expect you to waste your valuable time reading it - my needs are fulfilled simply in writing it.

While you have repeatedly insisted that your reason for writing is financial, you cannot deny that your money-making talent has the ability to move people, and to touch their lives. Your words helped mould me, lent inspiration and suggested alternatives. In many ways I look to you as a father figure, because I feel that much of who I am is shaped, in part, from lessons learned from you. Of course, the "you" I envision is a combination Jubal/Lazarus/Professor/etc. character, but that's only natural, I suppose. In any case, you put the words into their mouths and gave life to the personalities I so love.

At each stage in my life I found a friend in your books. The children's books inspired me to learn how to think, to imagine worlds different than that around me, and to search for truths on my own instead of simply accepting that which was fed to me. As an awkward teenager, Podkayne was someone with whom I could identify, later Friday and I learned together about self-confidence and inner strength. Maureen is so wonderfully earthy, lovable and sensible; a questionable role model from some people's point of view but I just love her from every angle. As a parent now, I appreciate the various child-rearing techniques expressed throughout your books, and I believe that as I age, I will find continued inspiration and wisdom in the feisty oldtimers who populate your works. And throughout each stage, there was always the strength of the man I pictured to be you, be he Lazarus or Jubal or whatever character, he was always there to lend his insight. I tend to romanticize my own father as being very Lazarus-like, but the truth is in many ways they are not unlike. And I am lucky to have had so many such influences in my life.

Again, I repeat, this letter falls short of the depth of my feelings regarding your writings. You have left a legacy of wisdom, humour and inspiration and all I can say is, thank you.

Sincerely,
Isabelle N.