Diane really wanted to read this before it needed to be used, and here I am dealing her my first disappointment.
It’s my tribute to her life and our friendship.
Diane loved to know how much she meant to her friends. I’m so sorry that she won’t see this with mortal eyes, but I lean on the comfort that she always knew how completely I valued her. This postscript to her life barely does her justice.
My friendship with Diane Curtis Marcou goes back nearly 20 years, to the days when I was a stringer for the Pinellas NEWS and she was its de facto editor.
Diane had an incredibly adept red pen: she is one of only two editors I’ve ever written for who could make her changes so seamlessly that I actually had to look at my original text to figure out where she trimmed my excesses and wove the edges of my reportorial fabric back together.
I was always a little in awe of Diane, so when I called her one day after we no longer worked together, I was amazed when she sounded as excited as I about getting together for lunch.
I didn’t realize it at that time, but I was making my first steps toward seeking her out as a mentor, and I couldn’t have chosen anyone better.
Diane had a breadth and depth of life experiences that gave her an incredible advantage in dealing with difficult people and touchy situations. She had been a mediator, she embraced four or five different religions with equal enthusiasm and faith, she was an exceptional editor and writer, and she had ghost-written about five books back then (now it’s closer to 17).
Despite all these accomplishments, Diane hated to promote herself. She didn’t even have business cards, for heaven’s sake!
“I don’t want to tell people how good I am,” she used to tell me. “I want other people to tell people how good I am.”
It worked.
Although Diane was never flush, she never lacked for writing/editing gigs. She was crummy at budgeting, so she lived on the ragged edge of financial ruin throughout most of our friendship. She never wanted to compromise her own life choices for the sake of financial security. “Whatever I really need shows up whenever I really need it,” she observed more than once, and it seemed she was right.
Diane was one of the least pretentious people I ever met, but she was proud of her family’s heritage and even more proud of her daughter and grandkids—all of whom are independent thinkers with many skills to be admired.
Oh, you should have heard her talk about strong-willed Octavine (named for one of Diane’s grandmothers) who, quite by accident, drew Diane into her first political protest. Grandson Alex (about 17 now) has been running his own (profitable!) blog about the NBA since he was 9 years old! And granddaughter Veronika is already a world traveler, putting her college years to good use for herself and others.
Diane was at once humble and proud. She didn’t put a lot of stock in physical appearances, and she laughed at me once when I asked what “appropriate attire” was for a business meeting she’d invited me to attend.
“Billie,” she said. “Our clothes don’t matter. We’re writers, and most people expect us to be a little … off beat. We get to do something every day, for a living, that many people wish they could do. Revel in it!”
When we got together at Panera Bread down near Tyrone Mall for our occasional Tuesday morning breakfast gabfests, our conversations ranged far and wide, from the estate she was managing after her ex-husband died, to the magazines she wanted to publish in cyberspace, to the various writing groups she enjoyed (some she founded, some she confounded), to our Mutual Admiration Society.
She left me speechless the first time she allowed me to read her poetry: she wanted to know if it was any good, because she didn’t consider herself a poet. She wanted my opinion because I was the ringleader of a poetry troupe that included three of her favorite poets: Bob McCann, Paul Watkins, and … me.
I read her poetry and couldn’t believe that Diane was unaware of how good it was. She flew the language the way an ace fighter pilot guides his craft: with deadly precision. Was it any good. Jeez.
Nearly every time we got together, there was someone who stopped to say hello, rave (Really. They raved.) about something she’d written or a presentation she’d made, or thank her for a connection she’d helped them make to a new friend, colleague, or business.
Diane loved to help people realize their dreams, and one of her special skills was in helping people write their memoirs.
Not for her clients the stuffy, full-of-themselves recitations of days gone by. Oh, no.
Diane helped bring people’s memoirs to life, casting their experiences almost as novels—and rollicking ones, at that!
“Once Upon an Evil Time” is the story of a little boy who grew up in Hitler’s Germany, became part of the Hitler Youth, and only late in life learned what that dark time meant outside his Fatherland.
“Pitched From the Past” is a story for baseball fans of all ages.
And her most recent book, “The Smuggler’s Ghost,” written with/for Steve Lamb, tells the story of an infamous teen-aged pot smuggler who was a key member of the Steinhachee Seven, caught with the then-largest haul of marijuana ever confiscated.
The signing party at Haslam’s Books in St. Petersburg was the largest signing in the store’s history–the line of autograph-seekers snaked through the rows of bookshelves, and people waited well past the announced authors’ hours to buy the book and have it signed.
Diane also felt drawn to recognize the heroic efforts of our service men and women, first co-editing the patriotic magazine Proud Hailer, and more recently leading a writing class for the residents at Bay Pines Veterans’ Administration.
She had plans to publish a magazine featuring these heroes’ stories, and to publish other magazines telling the extraordinary stories of ordinary people.
I never thought much about the difference in our ages: Diane was born in the same year as my mom, but she seemed more like a contemporary who embraced change and wanted to try as many new experiences as possible.
It came as no surprise to me when I learned that she often dated men many years her junior, men who appreciated her youthful spark and who had dimensions to their lives that complemented the tangents her own life touched upon.
Diane was so full of life, so excited by that fullness, that it always came as a surprise when our conversations sometimes turned to our own mortality.
I commented to her, once, that when it was time for me to leave the planet, I hoped it would be with little fuss and bother. “Not me,” Diane said. “I want my friends to miss me a LOT. There should be weeping and gnashing of teeth! And my friends should go on and on about how wonderful I was!”
Don’t you worry, Diane. We will.
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Billie, beautifully done. You captured her spirit with your words.
I’ll miss Diane a lot too.
Patricia
Thanks to Diane, I was part of the Pinellas News writing team. She was the finest editor I have ever worked with, always steering me in a better direction.
Diane was a mentor and one of the most important people in my writing career. I wouldn’t be a professional writer with work today if not for her.
Thanks Billie.
Suzanne
Beautifully written, and a heartfelt tribute to a good lady!
Hi Bllie,
Loved your written memorial to Diane!
Nobody could have written it as well
Best,
Dick Servis
Beautiful tribute: In the many years I knew Diane, I can’t recall her ever speaking ill of anyone. Never judgemental, she attributed no blame to those who had stumbled down life’s darker halls. She saw that life through their eyes, recognized the humanity accepted it and deftly guided their story with honest compassion. Friend, mentor, editor and teacher, she played “Devil’s Advocate,” then traveled with me for background on my difficult and unpopular project, then encouraged me to pursue it in spite of its many obstacles.
How wonderful that you had Diane as such a heartfelt mentor, such a charming friend!
The many writers whom she nurtured, the vastness of the stories that she told – the world is a better place because she was here and because she cared so much.
Thanks for sharing the story that y’all shared.
Beautiful, as I knew it would be. Diane is reading and happy to know her friend is gushing! Thanks for sharing. Sending a hug!
This news came as quite a shock to me. It’s the last thing I expected. I had only today written to refer her to a gentleman who wanted her to work with him.
This news came as quite a shock to me. I had only just written to her today to refer her to a client who wants a collaborator for his book. I didn’t know her well, but enjoyed her stories and her humor. Also, she was a beautiful writer. She will be sorely missed.
Beautifully written tribute to Diane. I am shocked to hear and will miss her. She had a way of looking at things that was both off beat and refreshing. I enjoyed knowing her even a little.
A lovely tribute piece to Diane, Billie. I can only imagine how much you’ll miss your dear friend and mentor. Thank you for sharing your experiences of her.
what a wonderful tribute to a exceptional woman.
What an amazing tribute! Thank you for sending it to me. It makes me miss so very much a woman I never met. Her life and worked changed the lives of many. She will be deservedly missed.
Few people change a life direction. Diane did mine. Dear friend, mentor and editor, Diane Marcou left quietly sometime in the predawn hours on Sat., July 16, 2011. I think that all she could give was given: it was her time and maybe deep down she knew it.
There was a place in her heart for the down-and-out, the cast-offs of privileged society.
Everyone has a story, Diane would say; and those of us who have the ability have a duty to tell that story. Whether she was writing about people in a small town church community or the wild exploits of drug traffickers, each person was equal in her eyes and each merited dignity.
A friend to outcasts and strays of all kinds, her empathy was woven in short stories, poems and novels characterizing the humanity of the friendless and least sympathetic among us. She saw drug dealers, Nazi sympathizers, and alleged terrorists as people caught up in worlds they had not created; and as society’s victims, she stood by them, listened and fashioned them into compelling stories.
When I proposed an idea to write about an alleged terrorist, Diane questioned facts and played “Devil’s Advocate,” forcing me see all sides. When she felt sure of my conviction, she went with me to meet the imprisoned subject society had abandoned.
Just and fair-minded, Diane had a unique “sixth sense” about people. Never judgmental, in the twenty years I knew her, I never heard a disparaging word or a put-down of anyone. The unpopular, the “down and out” and misunderstood, stood as equals to royalty in her eyes.
My drafts are heavy with her red ink and I hear her voice when I read again her corrections. It seems like yesterday and yet, it was many years ago that she pushed me to become a journalist for the Pinellas News. We spent countless nights on the phone as she edited my first articles, guided my features and encouraged the creation of my own column, “Our Heritage.” Highlighting the multi-cultural makeup of Tampa Bay, Diane gave me the jump-start to become a journalist. And when as a reporter oversees, I sent her my articles, she gave me courage to continue.
The following was sent to Doris privately after she told of Diane’s passing. She asked me to post it here, following her post, above.)
Dear Doris: May God’s peace and blessings be with you.
Nahla and I are very sorry for your loss. I remember her as a very sweet, understanding and compassionate person. May God have mercy on her soul.
Please convey our condolences to all her friends, and our best regards to all our friends.
All our best,
~Sami and Nahla
This is lovely!
Thank you Billie for writing it.
Thank you for writing this, Billie. I didn’t know her very long, but she always encouraged me in my writing and even did some beta reading for me. She was always, always a professional editor, writer, poet and one of the kindest souls around. She will be sorely missed!
I met Diane at the Suncoast Writers Conference in 1993 where we volunteered at the registration table. Over a number of years she shared with me whispers of who was who in the new-to-me world of writing, mostly old friends of hers. As I struggle to learn the craft, she was always ready with a bit of well-needed criticism to get me back on track. I will miss her.