Zoe Kaplan (she/her) has been making up stories for as long as she can remember. She has a bachelor’s in creative writing from Appalachian State University and no less than four different swords. Her work has appeared in Tree and Stone Magazine, Hidden Realms, and the Horror Library anthology series, among many others, and her story “The Test” was nominated for the 2022 Brave New Weird award. 
You can find her on twitter @the_z_part or on her website, zoekaplanwrites.com.

“Do not imagine that if you meet a really humble man he will be what most people call ‘humble’ nowadays: he will not be a sort of greasy, smarmy person, who is always telling you that, of course, he is nobody.

“Probably all you will think about him is that he seemed a cheerful, intelligent chap who took a real interest in what you said to him.

“If you do dislike him it will be because you feel a little envious of anyone who seems to enjoy life so easily. He will not be thinking about humility: he will not be thinking about himself at all.”

— C.S. Lewis

“The act of defending any of the cardinal virtues has to-day all the exhilaration of a vice. Moral truisms have been so much disputed that they have begun to sparkle like so many brilliant paradoxes. And especially (in this age of egoistic idealism) there is about one who defends humility something inexpressibly rakish. It is no part of my intention to defend humility on practical grounds. Practical grounds are uninteresting, and, moreover, on practical grounds the case for humility is overwhelming. We all know that the ‘divine glory of the ego’ is socially a great nuisance; we all do actually value our friends for modesty, freshness, and simplicity of heart.

Whatever may be the reason, we all do warmly respect humility—in other people.

But the matter must go deeper than this… It is always the secure who are humble.

Humility is the luxurious art of reducing ourselves to a point, not to a small thing or a large one, but to a thing with no size at all, so that to it all the cosmic things are what they really are—of immeasurable stature.

That the trees are high and the grasses short is a mere accident of our own foot-rules and our own stature. But to the spirit which has stripped off for a moment its own idle temporal standards the grass is an everlasting forest, with dragons for denizens; the stones of the road are as incredible mountains piled one upon the other; the dandelions are like gigantic bonfires illuminating the lands around; and the heath-bells on their stalks are like planets hung in heaven each higher than the other.

Between one stake of a paling and another there are new and terrible landscapes; here a desert, with nothing but one misshapen rock; here a miraculous forest, of which all the trees flower above the head with the hues of sunset; here, again, a sea full of monsters that Dante would not have dared to dream.

These are the visions of him who, like the child in the fairy tales, is not afraid to become small.

Meanwhile, the sage whose faith is in magnitude and ambition is, like a giant, becoming larger and larger, which only means that the stars are becoming smaller and smaller. World after world falls from him into insignificance; the whole passionate and intricate life of common things becomes as lost to him as is the life of the infusoria to a man without a microscope. He rises always through desolate eternities. He may find new systems, and forget them; he may discover fresh universes, and learn to despise them.

But the towering and tropical vision of things as they really are—the gigantic daisies, the heaven-consuming dandelions, the great Odyssey of strange-coloured oceans and strange-shaped trees, of dust like the wreck of temples, and thistledown like the ruin of stars—all this colossal vision shall perish with the last of the humble.

— Chesterton

Zoe was the truest of true friends, even to people she didn’t know very well. She made you feel seen. She was unerringly kind and compassionate and honest and funny and authentic and joyful and wonderful. I remember at dinner after a day at the beach she told the group that she had been asking everyone she knows the same question: “Have you ever killed someone in a dream?” It was the most hilariously out-of-nowhere question, and so quintessentially Zoe— finding a way for everyone to be involved in the conversation and encouraging everyone to lean into the odd and the quirky and the random and the fun. With a sci-fi slant, of course. She was so true to herself that it made you want to be more true to yourself being around her. She celebrated her passions and upheld her values with pride.

She was a much better writer than I am, but writing about her now as best I can feels right.

What I’m actually good at though, and what Zoe would’ve told you, is always taking photos. I only knew Zoe for a little over a year, though it felt so much longer and deeper than that. And if you scroll through my camera roll in the last year and change, my photos are beautifully, perfectly punctuated by Zoe’s smiling face. Every few weeks, there she is. And I love that because it perfectly encapsulates how this last year plus of my life has felt: full of joy and friendship and adventures, because of Zoe. I hope sharing a few of those photos and memories will make other people smile, too.

I love you Zoe.

— Danielle Collins

The first immediate memory I have are of her earrings–she always wore the most gorgeous, statement-defining pieces. It was something I always looked forward to whenever we would meet up! I’ll always think of her earrings. and she was so thoughtful and generous; every time she saw a book she thought i would like, she would text it to me and ask if i wanted it. She helped me view the world as a place full of things to share with people you care about. She had a laugh that would kind of skip, like a stone on a pond; I don’t think I’ll ever forget it. it was easy to laugh along with her.

— Vanessa Aguirre, friend

Zoe was one of the most genuine people I have ever met. She was sincere in her interest in others and indiscriminate in offering her friendship. She believed in community and kindness, was driven in her passion for writing, and could argue for hours on the most random of things. It was a joy to have known her. I hope more people choose to live as unapologetically as she did, and I hope that she knew how much she was cherished.

— Daniela Villegas, friend

I met Zoe this summer on a train to Maine. She was starting the MFA program that I’m about to graduate from. Four of us writers chatted away on the Downeaster for 2 1/2 hours. Zoe and I had many more conversations over the course of the one-week summer residency. She was a vibrant personality. 

She was passionate about short fiction, and we discovered that our paths had crossed years before when she backed a Kickstarter literary project of mine. She’d had no idea who I was, but had thought the project worthy. She backed a lot of similar projects. I had hoped to workshop with her at the next residency. Now I will never get the chance to work with her, but she nonetheless played an important role in making that book happen.

We chatted over the course of the semester, but the last time I saw her was at the end of residency. She shared her laundry detergent, which I would use and then hand off in turn to someone else who needed it. Helping people, even in small ways, which sometimes add up to big ways is how I will remember her. It feels like I knew her much longer than I did.

— Ralph M. Ambrose, fellow MFA student

I met Zoe in an unconventional fashion when we liked each other’s profiles on Hinge. While we talked, she mentioned that she had taken a job at my workplace, Simon & Schuster. From there we became friends and colleagues, as we talked about and bonded over books and occasionally ran into each other coming to and from bookstores. We had a favorite shared book – The Seep by Chana Porter – that I plan on rereading soon. 

Zoe always made people feel welcome and comfortable and I am so happy to have had her as a friend. She will be greatly missed.

— Sharon Van Meter, colleague

Zoe was a new friend, but one I was so excited to get to know. We met on the train up to Stonecoast and immediately got on so well. She had the best and brightest energy. Since Stonecoast, we’ve become Instagram pals. I loved seeing what she was reading — I have many of her posts saved to add to my reading list. Every life is a story, and I know hers was a phenomenal one.

— H.G. Watson, Stonecoast friend

I met Zoe as a fellow first-semester student at Stonecoast. Her immediate warmth and kindness made us quick friends and it was a comfort to see her each day. What brought me to Zoe was her charismatic sense of style, curated with great care and fun. She shared that sense of whimsy with us all.

Zoe really believed in me, despite the fact we had known each-other for like 48hrs. I want more time, even if it will never be enough. Thank you, Zoe.

— Mary Sawyer, classmate

It’s so difficult to realize that one of the most vibrant and unique people I’ve ever known is gone. I didn’t know Zoe long–we met at a picnic in Central Park in June of 2023. I wanted to work in managing editorial at that time and was so happy to talk to her about her job. It just so happens that the last time I saw her was at a picnic in Prospect Park this past June. We talked about our jobs, but also about writing; about her love for KGB, her acceptance into the Stonecoast MFA program, and our shared belief that writing is best done at night. We left promising to start a night owl writer’s group and see each other more often.

I was so glad to have met Zoe. Not only was she inspiring as a writer, but also as a person. She was kind and welcoming to a fault. Regardless of whether she met you five minutes or five years ago, she was authentic, generous, and so compassionate. Of course, she was amazing with words, but she also let her fashion speak for itself. I held a Leap Year-themed party last March and Zoe arrived bedecked in green with a stuffed frog at her hip, which I adored. She always wore creative outfits with unique accessories that, in my opinion, showed the outside world both her bright personality and her dedication to herself.

I was lucky enough to be invited to her housewarming in her new apartment, where she was so proud and excited to live alone. This was where I was offered an invitation to attend the picnic in Prospect Park. This was always something she did; Zoe was not only friendly herself, but also encouraged friendships. For example, at her last Over the Garden Wall watch party, I met a wonderful new friend and met so many more interesting and kind people.

We’ve lost so much color and beauty in the world now that she’s gone. But because of her, New York is brighter, kinder, and friendlier. The relationships she’s fostered and the love and kindness she’s given still remains in all of us here. And I know, in remembrance of Zoe, we will carry it forward.

— Madeline Conroy

There is so much I’d love to say about Zoe. She was an amazing person and friend and one of the most important people in my life. In an attempt to give some order to my rambling, I’m writing this memorial in list form. 

1. Zoe was a skilled writer, and she was also an ambitious one. I’d told her that I’d help her if she ever wanted to self publish, but she turned me down, claiming that she was a “prestige hound.” She also wanted to be so widely read that her books were in airport bookstores. 

2. Zoe wanted to be a parent, but not to give birth. She planned to adopt. When she got the job at Simon & Schuster, one of the benefits she was most excited about was that they’d help pay money towards adoption fees. She planned to start looking at paperwork and processes when she was thirty.

3. As a Type 1 diabetic, she had a complicated relationship with her own body, but she said food was one of the best ways to enjoy having a corporeal form. She loved ube, noodles, sweet potato fries, and the tiramisu from the laundromat on the corner (she swore that tiramisu was the best she’d ever had). When it came to moving her body, dance was the type of exercise she liked best. She loved RebootNYC’s silent discos and the sapphic dance night at Joyface. 

4. I have never met anyone who is so organized and yet so messy as Zoe. The most baffled I ever saw her was when I apologized for not cleaning my apartment. She once told me that it wasn’t that she didn’t notice when there was stuff on her floor, it was that she didn’t care. Yet Zoe’s bookshelves were immaculate, organized into sections for fiction, nonfiction, her Sherlock Holmes retellings, short story collections, short story anthologies, and her Reactor novella collection. She was also a fierce advocate for spreadsheets. 

5. Zoe’s Judaism was an important part of her life. In NYC, she would go to synagogue with her friend Abby, although she’d yet to find a synagogue on one of her train lines that was a good fit. She told me that in some ways, it was easier in North Carolina, where both her hometown and college town only had a single synagogue compared to the abundance of choices in NYC. She was involved with the JCC in Asheville, including organizing their collection of Jewish literature. She also hosted Reads of Awe, a readathon devoted to Jewish books. This year she beat her previous record by reading at least eighteen books for Reads of Awe. 

6. Zoe was courageous. She moved to NYC by herself to follow her dreams and would put herself out there in ways I always admired. She was bitten twice in her childhood and was terrified of dogs, but she visited my family in Texas and met all three of my family’s large dogs, a true act of courage and love. 

7. Zoe had absolutely amazing social skills. When I told her that my family often was complimenting her sociability, she told me she was glad, because she worked hard at it. She hosted wonderfully unique parties (such as her Literary Karaoke party). She wanted to do a huge party someday of a scale equivalent to a wedding. She’d recently decided to do it for her 31st birthday, with a reverse bat mitzvah theme. Zoe was also wonderful at staying in touch with people and maintaining relationships. Everyone she wanted to keep in her life, she’d schedule a monthly phone call with. For other’s outside of NYC, she had a weekly schedule. During the start of the pandemic, I had Sunday and Wednesday evenings, although Sunday switched to Monday when we started a DnD campaign. Her weekday nights were crowded with phone calls and virtual gatherings with those she cared about.

8. Zoe was the most fashionable person I knew, and she was always encouraging me to try and find my style. She had a wide array of mostly burgundy dresses. Burgundy was her color, although orange was her favorite color. She had a delightful collection of quirky earrings that she’d theme to her day. When we went to an art museum, she wore earrings of abstract faces. When we went to NASA, she wore astronaut earrings. She was often the best dressed person in whatever room she was in. 

9. Zoe was deeply kind and always a source of support to those around her. When a member of our DnD group had an apartment fire, Zoe was the one who suggested organizing food for her. When I had a panic attack after watching the sword swallower at the NY Renn Faire, Zoe sat with me, got me water, helped me find non-fried food, and also sent everyone else in our group off on useful tasks so I wouldn’t be surrounded by a crowd. 

10. I’m going to end this list with another list of some of the things Zoe loved. The Haunting of Hill House (the book, not show). YouTube video essays. Cats. Captain Janeway in Star Trek. Watching Kayla’s videos on BookTube. Trying on fancy dresses. Keeping copies of her favorite books as her “trophies.” Asking “what are you obsessed with right now?” and “have you ever killed someone in a dream?”. Sherlock Holmes. The Seep by Chana Porter. Watching Sims houses speed builds on YouTube. The Raven Cyle by Maggie Stiefvater. Creating lists of books on the site List Challenges. Watching Dropout’s videos and trying to get me to watch Dropout videos (she was partly successful with Fantasy High). Beanstalk by E. Jade Lomax. Her family and friends.

— Sarah Waites, close friend

I had the honor of meeting Zoe during my freshman year (2015) at Appalachian State. I joined Hillel for Rosh Hashanah and she was one of the first people I met. I instantly felt at home and welcomed. It was Zoe who encouraged me to join the Hillel board and she also taught me so much about Judaism, patiently explaining holidays like Sukkot and Purim to me. 

Although we lost touch after college, I do not know where I would be if it were not for Zoe’s influence on my life. Because of the welcoming community she helped create at Hillel, and the first taste I got of queer Jewish community with her and Chayyim as well as the Pride Shabbats she led, I went on to work in the Jewish communal world and have been able to find more queer Jewish community in Atlanta. Zoe helped to lay the foundation for the person I am and the person I aspire to be. I am forever thankful for Zoe for sharing herself with the Jewish community at App State. May her memory be for a blessing. 
Sending love to Zoe’s community, 

— Ari Fernandez

I was on the Hillel board with Zoe at Appalachian State University. We were in the same year in college. I’m truly heartbroken to have learned of her passing. She was a wonderful person, kind, and knowledgeable about the Jewish culture we shared. May her memory be for a blessing, Z”L.

— Christie Roth

As a friend of Zoe’s parents going back decades, I had the incredible privilege of knowing Zoe from the beginning. When she was born, I came to Maine to the hospital to help bring her home and assist in those precious (and exhausting!) early days. I have such vivid memories of watching these new parents: the wonder, the fulfillment, the look on both their faces when they gazed at this miraculous tiny being. When their second baby was on the way, I came to take care of Zoe. Sam and Geri left for the hospital in the middle of the night, and it fell to me to wake 2-year-old Zoe and get her ready for preschool. I braced myself for tears and frantic cries for her parents. But Sam and Geri had prepared her beautifully for this moment in the thoughtful, respectful, thorough way they do everything with their children. Instead of bursting into angry tears, Zoe looked at me with intense brown eyes through a mass of curly hair, sat up, said “I can be helpful!” and proceeded to get up and get dressed. When we went to the hospital later to meet the new baby, she approached carefully and poked Avi in the forehead, I think to be sure it wasn’t just all a dream. Between the two of them, it was clearly love at first sight.

There’s a special joy in watching your beloved friends’ children become adults. You know things about them they can’t remember and probably don’t want to hear. But you can treasure them in a way that honors the people their parents are—that sees their hopes realized, their values embodied, and—in Sam and Geri’s case—all the thoughtfulness, respect, honesty, and intention they brought to parenting translate into a flourishing human being. So when Zoe walked in the door at a book talk I was giving in Brooklyn two years ago, it brought tears to my eyes. How gorgeous to see a blossoming young woman with so many of her parents’ qualities—generosity, passion, humor, thoughtfulness, and did I mention humor—who was also fully her own person. We had coffee the next day, and the joy intensified. She was grounded and hopeful, pragmatic and idealistic. She told me about her writing aspirations and the book community she had found in New York. She patiently explained the publishing industry to me. When she found out a few months ago that she had been accepted to a creative writing program in Maine, where I now live, we made plans to see each other on January 10th. It is still in my calendar: “Zoe arrives.”

That Zoe was taken from us so soon is a sorrow that will stay with me always. But I will take her life as an inspiration to foster in myself the characteristics Sam and Geri fostered in her: to be generous, thoughtful, courageous, passionate, pragmatic, quirky, and loving. To dress with style; to dance early and often; to read with passion; to champion writers; to find humor and beauty in the world and to leave it a better place. My life is better for having known Zoe and, in honor of her memory, I pledge to keep making the world a better place for others.

May Geri, Sam, Avi, and all those who loved Zoe be comforted; and may our beloved Zoe rest in peace.

— Lydia Moland

Zoe was someone who really, truly lived life. She loved to read and she read, a lot—more than anyone else I know, and certainly more than anyone else in publishing. I don’t know how she found the time. Last year she read sixteen books in the ten days between Rosh Hashanah and Yom Kippur for Reads of Awe, an annual readathon she created in 2022 for Jewish books. She poured so much love and energy into that project and put so much time into growing it last year, and she told me that this year she was looking forward to just enjoying the experience. She passed away during the Days of Awe. She didn’t get to finish it.

Zoe also loved to write. I don’t think she’d be embarrassed for me to admit that one of the first things we bonded over was our fondness for fanfiction. But Zoe wrote way, way more than fic. She was actively publishing short stories, polishing up old favorites and writing new ones. She had full novel drafts in the drawer, including most of a trilogy. She took herself on a writer’s retreat one year to finish NaNo. She had just started a low-residency MFA program that sounded perfect for her. She was happily telling me all about it when I last saw her, just weeks before she passed. I would’ve loved to see where her career was going to go.

Zoe loved big earrings, and D&D, and lady knights. She took me to the Renn Faire! She had so, so, so much art tacked up on her wall. We went to the Union Square Christmas Market together every year and spent way too long looking at old prints every time. She gave such thoughtful gifts. After I agonized over whether to buy a book in a dollar store, she went out and got me a nicer version for Chanukah. She was generous with her friendships and loved to introduce people she knew would like each other. She moved here alone, and in a city that can so easily be isolating, I was always struck by how she had found such wonderful friends.

Zoe made great playlists. She was a quick mind. She was a good listener. No matter what part of the city you were walking around with her, when your energy started to flag, she’d pull out her phone and say, I actually think I saved a café near here in Google Maps to check out later! She loved to dance and she sought out the coolest opportunities to do so. She was the best host and had an Over the Garden Wall watch party every October. She had just moved into a new apartment—her first place solo—not too far from my old one, and I was so sad we only had a few weeks of overlap there this summer before I moved to New Jersey, because how nice it would’ve been to be just a few train stops away.

Zoe and I met at Shabbat services back in 2019, and every year we went to High Holy Day services together. Once, a couple years ago, some silly thing that someone said on the bimah made us laugh so hard that she had to get up and leave the room, because every time—EVERY time—we looked at each other we fell apart all over again. 

As soon as I post this, I’m going to think of more things I wish I had included, because Zoe was that kind of person: boundlessly vibrant, with a boundlessly full life that ended far, far too soon. I miss her a lot and the world is a lot dimmer without her in it.

— Abby Muller

I meet Zoe for the first time we we were both around 10 or 11 and performing in a local youth production of High School Musical. We didn’t talk too much then. It wasn’t until a few years later when we both started fencing together that our friendship really began.
I remember one of the things we bonded over was our mutual love of story telling. We would share ideas and even started to write a few together. 

During our teenage years, we ened up going to the same high school. And those were some of the darkest in my life. Because of some Extenuating circumstances, I had to leave my parent’s home, Zoe an her family took me in and I lived in what was dubed “The Room of Requirement.” for the several months. Zoe supported me through things I did not think I would make it through. She was a shining light in a very dark place. 

One of my favorite memories of Zoe was the night before I moved to Virginia to stay with my mom. It only ended up being for a year, but at the time, we thought it was forever. 

I was sitting on the floor hugging her and she and Geri started to sing to me. I wish I could remember the name of it, but I remember Geri telling me it was a song sung for siblings. We just sat on the floor and held on to each other for a good long while. It has remained one of my most precious memories. Not just of Zoe, but of my life. Zoe was a sister in soul and a dear, dear friend. And though we drifted apart in adulthood, her influence on me remained. Her kindness, her humility, her vivacious way of existing in this world will never be forgotten. I like to think we live on through the people we touch in life. Zoe touched so many and through all of her friends, her family and her community, she will live on.

Too the brightest and most brilliant human being I ever knew,
You are so loved and will be missed so much.

— Finn