We lost a very special woman when Jackie Collins succumbed to breast cancer. Ordinarily, I don’t personally feel the loss of a celebrity, but Jackie Collins is different. Jackie kept me entertained, inspired me, and gave me hope through some of my darkest days. Unlike actors, who entertain us pretending to be someone they are not, Jackie’s writing talent brought her fans inside her head, and every one of her readers got to know at least a part of her through her work.

I remember that Hollywood Wives was a big hit when I was still just a little too young for it. I discovered it, and Lucky, at Barnes & Noble when I was about 21, and I was hooked. I’d been reading a steady diet of romance novels, wherein all the heroines were virginal good girls who did the right thing. Jackie’s heroines behaved recklessly, had affairs, and even did drugs, but they still managed to wind up on top. Finding Jackie Collins opened a whole new world for me, and I gobbled up every one of her novels, then anxiously awaited the release of her next.

Jackie Collins wrote about big-name celebrities without worship or envy, but rather with pathos and humor. International celebrities were accessible, real people through the pages of her novels. Jackie wasn’t an adoring or envious fan; she was an insider, right there in the middle of everything happening in Hollywood. I learned a lot about the entertainment industry reading her books, as well as being thoroughly entertained by the suspenseful, sex-soaked plots. And my favorite: the Epilogues. Jackie Collins was a master of irony, and every character had an ironic wrap-up in the epilogue. A lot of the time, characters didn’t end up the way I thought they would, and I loved it.

I have a lot of favorite writers, but Jackie Collins was my idol. It was she who taught me that I should love my characters, but I shouldn’t like them too much. And she made me believe that I could become the successful writer I’ve always wanted to be because of her amazing success. Half a billion of her books in print in multiple languages, from a woman who dropped out of high school. She scribbled all those best-sellers out longhand. Jackie did what she wanted—her way—and became an icon for it.

Jackie Collins was the reigning queen of the glam thriller, and kept writing bestsellers long after other names had faded away. The quality of her books never diminished over the years, either. She didn’t follow trends or change her style. She just kept writing really, really good trashy fiction, often showing us the not-so-glamorous side of the glamorous life.

I always wanted to meet Jackie Collins so I could tell her how much I loved her books, and how much she inspired me as a writer. I followed her on Facebook, and found her to be so accessible and real, devoid of affectations or ego, even while posing at glamorous parties with other celebrities. Her posts were genuine and friendly, not distant and lofty like some other best-selling authors. I mourn her loss like that of a good friend and mentor. There will never be another one like her.

Good bye, Jackie. I will miss you.