Scott Christopher Beebe died on the 14th or 15th of July, 2021. He was a poet and indie author, a friend, and an encouraging beacon within the Twitter writing community. After joining Twitter in 2018, he soon became a prolific presence in the microfiction and poetry circles there. Scott loved the community centered on the daily #vss365 writing prompts and made many friends there who now mourn his loss.
He transitioned from his original Twitter account to the @Poetryin13 account created in 2020 to host his popular daily #Poetryin13 writing prompt. Thereafter, he became the host of the #TransWords, #7wordspoet and #10wordjournal prompts as well. He assisted several more events beyond those and took part in pretty much every writing prompt hashtag running.
Scott’s poetry impressed and inspired me with its clarity, brevity, and imagery. He employed a reoccurring cast of characters that came and went in cycles. Given the volume of his output, the cast list is long. From his own recounting in the introduction to his collection of #Vss365 poems, …and then, came #vss365, these include Ballerina, the Demure Girls, Fortune Boy and Braid, Violet, Tiffany the Mermaid and The Handsome Fair-Haired WWI Soldier, Seku The Miniature Painted Turtle, Corona, Prince Yearning, Chimera Cunning, Cat Flowers, and… well, many more.
Simply put, Scott was everywhere in the Twitter poetry and microfiction community. And everywhere he went, he was kind and encouraging to writers both new and established. He gave helping hands and pats on the back. Scott lifted and boosted moods and people and brought boundless enthusiasm to any virtual room he entered.
Scott was a prolific writer, period. According to his Amazon Author’s Page, he’d written eighteen books well before getting involved with Twitter. He published almost ten more in the three years after he joined it.
In his About the Author bio for his short story collection What’s Become of Me, Scott wrote the following about himself:
Mr. Beebe was born in Lake Forest, Illinois and had lived in Chicago, Milwaukee, New Orleans, Cleveland, and suburban locations in most of those cities by the time that he was 22, but his heart will always remain with his cherished Midwest. An 11-year detour to Denver didn’t sway him in the slightest from his passion for hanging out at bus stops during dreadfully long, boring, bitter winters in the Windy City and her little sister and especially the most beautiful summers that he has experienced anywhere in all of his travels throughout his life to all four corners of the United States and just about everywhere in between. It only makes sense that his life—his true life—only happens for him in that happy middle ground. He wouldn’t have it any other way.
On his Amazon Author’s Page, it’s written that Scott “had poetry and short stories published in the first two editions of Fevers Of The Mind Art & Poetry Digest along with their abbreviated Just The Poetry edition. His piece Jailbait 8 was published on September 16, 2019 by Penmen Review, which is a press from Southern New Hampshire University.”
I first met Scott through #vss365, where we soon became friendly followers of one another. Although we never met in person, a rare day had dawned that I did not read at least one of his poems, or he wasn’t liking or commenting on my micros. We’d comment back and forth, and Scott became a familiar presence. He’d cheer on my accomplishments and check in with me when I made a sad announcement. He was sincere, and he cared.
Scott didn’t fancy himself much of a Science Fiction author, but he told me many times that reading my microfictions and seeing how I can write in both Fantasy and Sci Fi inspired him to try. He started writing in — and became a regular showcase participant of — my #SciFanSat writing event open to any flavor of speculative fiction. Scott called me his science fiction role model. He loved the #SciFanSat prompts and the community they fostered, and we loved having him with us every weekend.
In another blurb for his book What’s Become of Me, Scott ties that work into his past saying this:
Here you will find my first book which includes seven short stories of the autobiographical, semi-autobiographical and completely fabricated variety, as well a few other introductory “nuggets” that can’t be categorized as short stories, and some poetry. No matter what happens in each of these stories with family, friends, the hardships of growing up gay in a Midwestern town in the late 1970s-mid 1980s that embraced the proper labels in children and outcast those with labels that made them uncomfortable, and the addictions, rolls in the hay, noncommittal boyfriends, and growing up way too fast, one thing remains true: If I got one thing out of this life, just one thing, I would die a very happy person. And many years into this life, I finally did find it. But as with all good things, it came with a price. And the high price tag was one that I was willing to pay.
Scott and I never talked about his personal history or background. He never brought it up. All I saw — what I suspect almost all of us saw — was his outward face of unrelenting positivity and energy. And that was an authentic part of him. But after his death, when I look closer with hindsight, I can see him as a man carrying his burdens too. Like all excellent poets, Scott was empathic and used his emotions to craft his art. They ran deep, and he could put them into words.
He wrote of melancholy and loneliness, and overcoming the same. He wrote of love and transcendence. He wrote of finding freedom.
We don’t know how he died. We don’t know the depths of his pain. But we do know the last four words he posted before his prolific account fell silent:
We love you too, Scott.