Pulitzer prize winning author Frank McCourt died yesterday evening after a long battle with melenoma. He was 78.
I’ve lost track of how many times I’ve read Angela’s Ashes. Coming across that book when I was in high school changed the way I looked at reading and writing. More importantly, reading his stories remided me of listening to my Pop-pop’s stories and inspried me to learn more about half of who I am (Irish Catholic).I never got around to seeing the movie, but it wasn’t the plot I was so enamored with. It was the way he wrote: always convorsational, as if he was talking to a friend.
Last year, I missed an opportunity to go to a writing workshop that he spoke at… I had to work, and I was crushed. He seemed, by all accounts, to be a great man. One of the writers at EW knew him as a friend, and wrote this lovely tribute.
