This past Tuesday, author Michael Crichton died suddenly at the age of 66 due to complications with cancer. With his death comes the loss of one of the great fathers of modern popular fiction, both in print and on the screen.

I give pause to his death for several reasons. I weep for the loss of a man who so clearly defined my childhood; I ponder who could possibly fill the shoes that he has left for young and old writers alike, and I mourn the loss of a creative mind in an already very cookie-cutter world of writing. But mainly, I remember what an influence Crichton has been to me through his writing. Crichton made the scientific and medical fields interesting and palpable to impressionable minds.

He made it possible for people to produce dinosaurs, travel back in time, save lives every day in an emergency room, and generally make the impossible possible, all through seemingly lucid science. While not entirely realistic, it was entertaining, and it made kids like me see the world in a new light and in some ways it drove me to become an engineer.

Again, I feel the loss of Crichton, but it also helps me to embrace his impact on my life. He will be missed.