Last night of Wiscon

[pegkerr]

I have been prowling the Wiscon parties. It's late, and I'm tired, and I'm going to one of the "living rooms" discussions at 10:00 a.m. that Pat Murphy is leading tomorrow, on being a mid-career writer (limited to 25. Other participants include Louise Marley, Terri Windling, Delia Sherman, Ellen Kushner, Midori Snyder, etc. Oy.) However, I'm restless, and not quite ready to go to bed. kijjohnson disappeared part way through the evening, and I'm wondering where she is. Had long great talks with a number of people. Debbie Notkin and I grabbed a moment to re-connect. I told her that when I saw her, I felt a terrible pang, and she said immediately, "I know exactly what you're talking about. You're thinking of Jenna Felice."

Jenna was an editor at Tor Books, the youngest one in their history. She was an absolutely beautiful woman with a cascade of wildly curly brown hair, whom I met at a Fourth Street convention, when I was just starting to write The Wild Swans. I made a chance remark about AIDS in the course of the evening that we met, she asked me about it, and I mentioned I was starting to research a book on the subject. She took me aside and told me quietly, "Both my parents died of AIDS."

Jenna was orphaned at, I believe, about the age of 12, and she was left to raise her younger sister by herself. I believe (and I'm not sure of the details) that four of her five aunts and uncles also died of AIDS. She had an extremely difficult life, including a period of homelessness, but she got landed a job as an editorial assistant at Tor Books at the age of about 16. I think she was about 20 or so when I met her.

At the time, I was really struggling over whether I should even write The Wild Swans at all. I knew that, unlike any of my other stories, I was writing about a real historical event that had happened to real people. I didn't know anyone affected by AIDS. What gave me the right to write this story? What if I got it wrong? Jenna and I stayed up talking to 3:00 in the morning, and I poured out my ideas about the book to her, and about my doubts about whether I could do it justice--do justice to all the people whose lives had been so hurt by AIDS as she had been. I had never met anyone who had been affected by AIDS more than her. She listened to me, and then told me, "Write it. I think that what you've told me sounds good. Maybe I'm too close to it myself. Maybe I need you to write it for me."

I was so grateful to her for that conversation. She went back to New York, and I stayed in Minneapolis, and I wrote the book. When it came out, I wrote her a letter and sent the book to her, saying, "That conversation meant a lot to me, and here's the book, and I hope you like it." I sent her an e-mail, too, but I never heard back from her.

I came to Wiscon three years ago, and Jenna was there. Debbie was talking to Jenna, and when I walked into a party, Jenna asked Debbie, "Is that Peg Kerr?" (We had only met the once, and it HAD been five years. Debbie said yes, and Jenna told her, "Oh, I feel so bad. We had had a wonderful conversation five years ago, and she sent me her book and sent me an e-mail. But my computer had crashed so I lost her e-mail address, and I moved then, so I lost her letter, and so I never replied to her, and I just feel terrible." Now I had been wondering, when I had never heard back from her, perhaps she read it, and she didn't like it? I got it wrong somehow?

Debbie, of course, knew just what to do. She called me over, and said, "Peg, you do remember Jenna, don't you?" And Jenna and I looked at each other, and we just knew. She had gotten the book, and she had wanted to reply to me, and I wasn't mad at her, and we went out to lunch and talked for hours and hours. She told me that she loved the book, that it was everything that she had hoped it would be, and that I had written her story for her. I am so grateful for that conversation, and so grateful to Debbie for arranging it for me.

A little over a year ago, Jenna died in the course of an asthma attack. I don't remember exactly how old she was, but it was pitifully young, I think possibly only 25 when she died, leaving behind her baby sister, now all alone in the world.

I am so sorry that I didn't have years and years to develop our friendship, which had started out so promisingly. It's selfish, but I am so glad that she had a chance to read The Wild Swans before she died. I am grateful to Debbie for bringing us together.

She was too damn young.

Here's a memorial page for Jenna.

Peg

Comments

[wintersweet.livejournal.com]

I can see it being hard to go to sleep after that. *hug*

Oh, Louise Marley, Terri Windling, Delia Sherman, Ellen Kushner, Midori Snyder, and you all in one room! To be a fly on the wall ...

[fangexploring.livejournal.com]

Wow. *hugs*

[queerasjohn.livejournal.com]

*hugs you, because he cannot think of words to express feelings at the moment*

[oracne.livejournal.com]

Hi, Peg!

My phosphor voice sounds perfectly normal...

[anoisblue.livejournal.com]

Peg, thank you for sharing your memories of Jenna. Once again the world is so small. You don't have them on your friends list but my lover is kenhighcountry who's sister (and now my sister) is eleanor. You may know her in real life. She was very close to Jenna (and is like a mom to Jenna's sister, Vanessa). I remember Vanessa better than Jenna. At a party that Ellie had when we arrived in NYC a few years ago, Vanessa and my daughter, Chey, met and clicked and spent hours in the bedroom talking. It was Chey's 16th birthday and Vanessa made her feel like the young woman she was becoming. I think Jenna must have been very much like her--two beautiful young women giving themselves to making others feel important and necessary.

[baldanders.livejournal.com]

Jenna was a fireball, even at seventeen one of the most energetic and promising people I ever knew. It's getting easier to think about her, but some contexts are still very hard.