Jonathan Safran Foer, novelist, lives in New York: “I was writing, actually. Needed to look something up on the Internet, and my computer opens to GoogleNews. Made me sad.”

Deborah Jacobs, Seattle’s city librarian: “It was 5:15 am and the papers finally arrived. Coffee had finished dripping. As I took the New York Times out of the blue bag I saw his face upside down and knew why he was on the front page. I immediately poured myself coffee and sat down and read page one and went on to the C section. Didn’t feel like reading any more of the paper; thought about how I wanted to read him again, thought about Saul Bellow’s death two years ago, just about this time; thought about how when Jews and immigrants die their obituaries always include mention of libraries…”

Miranda July, artist, fiction writer, lives in LA: “I was driving from my boyfriend’s house to my house and I got teary-eyed.”

Stephen Elliott, fiction writer, essayist, lives in San Francisco: “I was in a coffeeshop (Ritual on Valencia Street) and I saw it on the front page of the New York Times. It continued in a full page spread in section C. I read the whole thing. I thought a lot about Slaughterhouse Five and what that book meant to me and a lot of people my age and older. I’m pretty sure I’ve read all of Vonnegut’s books. It’s devastating to think about, really.”

Nancy Pearl, action figure, former Seattle librarian, author: “I was driving to the U Book Store this morning and heard it on the radio, and I thought, oh no, another symbol of the 1960s is gone. And I remembered when I first read Welcome to the Monkey House and the rhyme in the first story—I think it’s the first story, I haven’t read it in years: ‘Cover yourself with Jurgen’s Lotion, here comes the one man population explosion.’ Funny what sticks in your head.”

Matt Briggs, fiction writer, lives in Seattle: “I was about to do my morning writing. I have to write for a living as a technical writer, so I try to do not-technical writing in the morning before I wreck myself on technical writing. Vonnegut worked as technical writer. I try not to check my email because then I find myself squandering my time reading obituaries or speculation about new Apple products. So I wasn’t really doing much of anything at all.”

Michael Wells, owner of Seattle bookstore Bailey/Coy Books: “I was in bed. I heard it on NPR when my alarm went off. I feel an affection for Vonnegut that I could never feel for other writers of his generation, even though it’s probably been 20 years since I’ve read one of his books. When Philip Roth goes down I suppose I’ll shrug and go on about my day. Susan Sontag, whatever. But Vonnegut… I’m a child of the ’70s so his weird black comedy sci-fi paranoia mixture really defined the world I was looking at. Reading his books in Normal, Illinois in 1978 made me feel subversive and strange, off-kilter and dangerous. A little crazy. Also, I went to school in Iowa City, where his presence was still felt in the Writers Workshop. Mostly for the famous Kurt Vonnegut Halloween Party which happened every year (at what was supposedly the house where he wrote Breakfast of Champions). It was a rite of passage for us corn-fed Midwestern undergraduate English students and it was a booze-filled, drug-fueled bacchanalia with bonfires and dark shadows and very loud music. It was a blast.”

Stacey Levine, fiction writer, lives in Seattle: “I was in the bathroom. I thought so fondly about Dr. Paul Proteus from Player Piano! It’s like he was an old friend. To read Vonnegut’s books was the raddest thing you could do, a long time ago. I didn’t know anything then and tried to adopt his downer but crazily-creative-in-the-midst-of-all-hell worldview. It was a solid 20th century philosophy.”

Scott Lawrimore, owner of Seattle art gallery Lawrimore Project: “I read it in the P.I. this morning at around 8:00. I was eating a cereal cocktail of Raisin Bran and Special K with Berries, while watching Saved By The Bell with KEXP on in the background playing something from the new Low album. My first instinct was to equate his death with the recent death of Sol Le Witt. I was trying to decide what role each has had in the development of my psyche—what they each contributed to my *personality.* I determined Kurt beat Sol hands down. Since they say death comes in threes, I was also wondering who’s next and how this little triad could possibly be built into some juicy conceptual framework. I’m hoping for Stephen Hawking. Should I feel wrong for saying that?”

Cienna Madrid, Our Worst Enemy^TM at The Stranger: “Sitting at my computer in my pajamas trying to write something funny, but instead dwelling on the fact that my dad was diagnosed with MS yesterday. It seems that everyone I admire will soon be tap dancing with Jesus. I should never read the news for cheering up. On the bright side, I’ve been noshing on a giant Sees chocolate-butter egg for breakfast, and it’s fucking delicious.”

David Rakoff, essayist, lives in New York: “Dreaming of Dresden, oddly enough.”