The problem with only looking up your favourite authors every so often is that you might suddenly find out they’ve passed away.
I discovered Diana Wynne Jones (by way of “The Lives of Christopher Chant”) when I was around eleven or twelve. I’ve since read almost every single one of her books since then. (It was, I think, her ability to combine wit and humour and interesting characters in the most practically fantastic of worlds that kept taking me back.) It saddens me to think I’ll never be able to hear more about Christopher and the Goddess and Howl and Sophie the myriad other characters she brought to live.
Rest in peace, Diana. And thank you.