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Monday, February 27, 2006 Author Tananarive Due remembers Octavia Butler ![]() All that you touch You Change. All that you Change Changes you. The only lasting truth Is Change. God ls Change. -Earthseed: The Books of the Living (from Octavia E. Butler’s Parable of the Sower) Even for writers, words can fail us. It has taken me twenty-four hours to find the words. I met Octavia in person in 1997, when Clark Atlanta University sponsored a conference entitled “The African-American Fantastic Imagination: Explorations in Science Fiction, Fantasy and Horror.” There, I also met a science fiction writer named Steven Barnes, who would soon become my husband. Steve had known Octavia for years. That conference at Clark was a remarkable family reunion. At the time, I had published only one novel, The Between. I floated on air as I was asked to pose in a photo with such prolific writers as Octavia, Steve, Jewelle Gomez and Samuel R. Delany. In 2000, visiting Octavia’s home with Steve to interview her for a piece we wrote for American Visions magazine, I was surprised to see that photo from Clark hanging on her wall. “My other family,” she explained. Octavia was well that day. She would not be well in subsequent meetings. She was fighting a cold when I saw her in Seattle at the “Black to the Future” science fiction conference in June of 2004, when she was happy to meet our new baby, Jason, but she didn’t want to give him germs. She was sick again when I saw her in New York for the Yari Yari Pamberi International Conference of Literature by Women of African Ancestry in October that same year. I cautioned her to be careful about too much travel. Subsequently, I have learned that Octavia was far more ill than I knew. The New York Times reported Monday that she could only walk a few steps without having to stop to catch her breath. Like most people, I cannot say that I knew Octavia well. But in the too-brief time I knew her, I saw many sides of her. Her fierce disappointment with mankind’s worse habits. Her girlish side. Her goddess side. Her insecure side. Last summer, Octavia asked me to write a quote for her upcoming novel, Fledgling. I was on my own deadlines, trying to juggle the jobs of new mother, novelist and fledgling screenwriter, but I said YES. I was honored even to be asked. Octavia sounded almost apologetic, as if the book embarrassed her. She explained that her medication made it difficult to write. “I’m sure it’s brilliant,” I assured her. (I don’t regret leaving too much unsaid, at least). This past Christmas, we sent Octavia a photo of Jason on Santa’s lap and said we hoped she was feeling better. Octavia could not have been feeling well when she sent out her own cards this year, but hers were always among the first to arrive. She wrote to us: Have a creative, prosperous New Year down there in California where it’s WAY too warm. I must call her soon, I thought many times these past two months. I must call Octavia. But what if she is writing?
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