Woke up this morning in preparation for my flight to hear that Carrie Fisher had left at the ripe “old” age of 60.
Carrie Fisher. GODDAMNIT 2016 STAHP.
I’m angry and I’m sad. I don’t usually comment on celebrity deaths (I prefer to keep my grief private) but holy crap, really, 2016? Carrie Fisher?
When I was a kid, Carrie Fisher was Princess Leia. She was one of the strongest women I knew, a princess who went out and DID things. A deft politician, a commanding general. She was capable of holding a blaster as much as the other guy. In a way, she made it okay for girls to be bloodthirsty too. And to get their hands dirty doing so.
As an adult, Carrie Fisher was an inspiration to me trying to be a writer. She was unapologetic, open, forthright and perhaps most importantly, herself as she wrote. I didn’t realise that there was such a thing as a script doctor, and knowing that such a role existed gave me a sense of relief – on the surface, the idea of a fixer-writer (as opposed to simply an editor) seems to be anathema to the idea of writing.
Goodbye, Carrie Fisher. Thank you for the stars. Watch out for that moonlight though.