This week I am saddened to say goodbye to Karen Blomain, novelist, poet, playwright, friend, mentor. I first met Karen as an undergrad at Kutztown University in 1994 soon after I decided to major in Creative Writing. I was immediately impressed by her constant optimism and enthusiasm and her passion for literature.
It was in Karen’s short story literature course where I discovered Alice Munro, Amy Bloom, Bobby Ann Mason, Gustave Flaubert, Flannery O’Connor, Katherine Mansfield, John Updike and many other great writers. It was where I first read “Babylon Revisited” and “Hills Like White Elephants” and promptly fell in love with Fitzgerald and Hemingway, as so many of us do. But perhaps my greatest discovery in that course was how to read, really read − with a pencil in my hand, check marking passages and scribbling notes in the narrow margins of our text book, The Story and Its Writer, so that I could process the mechanics of each author’s craft in hope of one day writing my very own story or poem, and one Karen would be proud to read.
There were other firsts. It was Karen who introduced me to the utopian world of writing colonies and residencies, providing valuable letters of recommendation for me when I applied to the Ragdale Foundation and the Virginia Center for the Creative Arts. She was the first person to push me to try my hand at adjunct teaching. And the first to welcome me back to Kutztown, many years after graduation, as her guest to teach a Master Class in Creative Writing.
Then there is her writing. Karen practiced what she preached and had a tremendous influence over me as I continued developing over the years. There is never a wasted word in her work. Her economy of language is stunning, particularly in her 2002 novel, A Trick of Light, which constantly calls our attention to the smallest nuances and gestures that collectively bring a character to life, as I said in my Amazon review of the novel.
It breaks my heart to say goodbye to such a warm and loving and giving person. But Karen left behind a legacy. In her work. In the classroom. And for those who had the good fortune to know her, in our hearts and minds. She will be dearly missed.
To read Karen’s obituary in the Times Leader, please click here.