Author and poet Dorothy Allison died at her Guerneville, CA home on November 6, 4:11am, at the age of 75.
Dorothy and I were close in the 80s and 90s. —Because of a small revolution happening in the lesbian community. Our friendship lasted as we became working writers.
She has meant so much to her readers. Her friends loved Dorothy like hard rock candy. She was something else. I’m still quoting things she taught me, being my elder by eight years. She reminded me of that fact, many times!
I remember the day— mid-80s something— I ran into her, groceries on my arms, on Guerrero St., and she whispered, disbelieving: “I sold my book! I sold Bastard.”
Jeffrey Escoffier got someone to bite. None of us had been published before outside our own basement printing presses. For decades. She was one of my first friends to write for On Our Backs.
The last time we talked was almost exactly this time, autumn last year. Our dear friend Amber Hollibaugh died. They were so close. We were close. Dorothy thought she’d be first. She was certainly more willing! Getting old is so fucking hard.
She wrote me back: “HARD TIMES. hard times.”
Below, a straight shot, from Our Dorothy: “A Question of Class”