On the evening of April 5, 2025, the world lost a writer, a friend, a mentor, and a quiet force for good. Bonnie Dillabough passed away surrounded, I hope, by the peace she so often gave others. And though her physical voice may be silent, her words continue to speak—across pages, in memories, and in the countless lives she touched.
Bonnie was never the type to chase the spotlight. She was steady, sincere, and often exactly what someone needed at just the right moment. She didn’t shout over the noise. She spoke with quiet authority, led by listening, and made room for you in her world without ever making you feel like you had to earn your place there.
This isn’t a formal obituary. It’s a story. The story of how we met, how we created together, and how her quiet stubbornness became one of the strongest threads in my writing life.
How We Met
I first met Bonnie around 2014, in a Facebook group for coloring book creators. The group had a noble purpose: rally a community of authors, mostly women creating adult coloring books, to market their work together. The idea was brilliant. The execution was herding cats, except these cats all had publishing deadlines and strong opinions about typography.
Bonnie was a moderator. While the rest of us bickered about book covers and Amazon keywords, she was the calm in the storm, trying to build bridges and bring order to the chaos. She had a natural instinct for leadership, the kind that doesn’t need volume. She led by listening first and then gently steering the group back to its purpose.
The group fizzled. But something more valuable came out of it: our friendship.
We started talking outside the group, first casually, then regularly. She had a sharp mind for marketing, real talent for copywriting, and a strong technical background from decades working online and in broadcast television. I was building my ghostwriting business. We had complementary skills, similar goals, and a shared belief that writers could support each other without ego getting in the way.
We also shared the same frustration: the isolation that comes with being a writer. Bonnie understood what it felt like to spend all day in your head, wrestling a story onto the page. She understood the courage it took to press “publish.” And she never let anyone she cared about walk that path alone.
In the early days, we collaborated on marketing materials, edited each other’s content, and shared war stories from our latest publishing disasters. Then she stepped in to help edit my Author Talk video series, bringing not just her time but decades of broadcast television experience. She made each episode smoother, more polished, more alive. She wasn’t being paid. She never asked for credit. She believed in the project and wanted to be part of something that helped authors. That was Bonnie.
But our conversations went deeper than work. We talked about her kids, her health, her dreams. We joked about the absurdity of online groups and the quirks of creative people. She had a way of making you feel like your voice mattered, even on days when you weren’t so sure yourself.
The Moment Everything Changed
Something was happening beneath the surface during those Author Talk sessions. Week after week, Bonnie listened to interviews with authors who had fought through fear, rejection, and self-doubt. I could see the spark building. She’d always wanted to write a book. She’d told me about a strange, recurring dream she’d had for decades, a story that had lived inside her since she was sixteen. But she hadn’t committed to putting it on the page.
Then she told me she’d love to interview Mercedes Lackey, a legendary author and one of her biggest inspirations. She laughed as she said it, clearly thinking it was out of reach. I looked at her and said, “So ask. What’s the worst that could happen?”
Mercedes said yes.
They recorded a wonderful interview, and when it ended, Mercedes stayed on camera for another 45 minutes. That’s when Bonnie worked up the courage to admit she’d always dreamed of writing a book. Mercedes didn’t skip a beat. She leaned in and gave Bonnie the advice that lit the fuse:
“Put your butt in the chair and write.”
That was the moment. I pointed her toward NaNoWriMo, National Novel Writing Month, and challenged her to go for it. She did. By the end of November, she’d written 78,000 words. A month later, on New Year’s Day, she finished the manuscript. That April, just two weeks before her 64th birthday, Bonnie published The House on Infinity Loop, the first book in what would become the Dimensional Alliance series.
She’d been writing her whole life, songs, poetry, church plays, marketing copy, but she’d never called herself an author until that moment. She raised six children, built a career in digital marketing, made her living online for over two decades. And somewhere in all of that, she finally gave herself permission to tell the story that had been waiting since she was a teenager.
“The first book in this series was published two weeks before my 64th birthday. It is never too late. There are many more to come.”
She was right. There were.
The Universe She Built
Most people might have been content with one book. Bonnie launched an entire universe. The Dimensional Alliance wasn’t a one-off project. It became a sprawling sci-fi fantasy series with complex characters, rich lore, and dragons and robots coexisting in a world only she could imagine. All of it grew from that recurring dream that had haunted her for decades.
Her books reflected her own life in ways she probably didn’t plan. They were about unexpected heroes, interdimensional possibilities, and rising to meet a destiny you didn’t see coming. That was Bonnie. She didn’t start with a roadmap or a publishing contract. She started with grit, heart, and an internet connection. By the time she passed, she had eight books published, a ninth nearly finished, and a full nine-book arc mapped out.
“I call it pretending on paper. I don’t have to grow up—I get to write all these crazy stories and make people smile.”
What made her books stand apart wasn’t just the genre mashup, though robots and dragons living side by side was certainly memorable. It was the sincerity underneath. She believed in redemption, in the power of community, in the triumph of flawed but good-hearted people. Her stories weren’t cynical or dystopian. They were grounded in light and the idea that no matter how big the galaxy, you could always find your place in it.
She had readers approaching her in grocery stores asking when the next one was coming out. She got her books into libraries. She booked events at Barnes & Noble. And she did all of it while crocheting hats for the homeless, mentoring other authors, helping me edit videos, and managing health challenges with a grace and humor that made you forget she was dealing with them at all.
The best compliment she ever received, she told me, was when a reader said they could feel her in every paragraph. That was exactly right. Her series wasn’t just a creative achievement. It was Bonnie on the page. Bold, kind, optimistic, and real.
“You don’t have to be set in a certain cookie-cutter mold to be a successful published author.”
More Than a Writer
Bonnie mentored aspiring authors, not for money or recognition, but because she remembered what it felt like to be lost in the maze of publishing and afraid to ask for help. She made time for strangers, fans, friends. She broke down the self-publishing process for people who were overwhelmed by it. She gave straight answers wrapped in kindness. She didn’t pretend to have all the answers, but she had enough experience and enough heart to point people in the right direction.
She didn’t believe in gatekeeping creativity. She believed in passing the torch.
That’s the part that lingers most for me. Not the books, not the podcast appearances, not the accomplishments, though those were real. What made Bonnie special was how she made people feel. Seen. Valued. Capable of more than they thought.
We shared a belief: no author is an island. Bonnie lived that to the bone. And her generosity went well past writing. She crocheted those hats for the homeless. She stayed active in her church. She left warm, thoughtful comments in online communities even when her health was declining. She never stopped thinking about how she could help someone else.
“Even editors need editors. Even authors need help. That’s why we have each other.”
When I think back on the long calls, the late-night messages, the shared edits and notes and ideas, I realize we were doing more than making content. We were building something that mattered. And watching Bonnie step fully into her identity as an author, watching that dream she’d carried since she was sixteen finally come alive on the page, is one of the most rewarding things I’ve experienced in this work.
She was always a storyteller. She just needed the right moment and someone to remind her she already had what it takes.
Bonnie’s Legacy
Bonnie once joked that I was the reason she started writing novels. The truth is, she already had the story in her. I just nudged her toward the keyboard. And once she started, there was no stopping her.
She created a beloved book series, shared her journey with thousands, and made every reader and writer she met feel like they belonged. She edited my videos, inspired my work, and reminded me again and again that your voice still matters, no matter where you are in life.
“It’s not about being famous. It’s about someone walking up to me and saying, ‘When’s the next one coming out?’ That’s the real reward.”
Bonnie proved it’s never too late. Not to dream. Not to write. Not to begin again.
She may be gone, but her words remain. Her stories are still on shelves. Her readers are still turning pages. And I believe there are people, maybe decades from now, who will find her books and feel what so many of us already know: Bonnie Dillabough didn’t just write science fiction. She wrote from the heart. She built worlds. And she made ours better.
Rest in peace, Bonnie. You were, and always will be, unforgettable.
The Dimensional Alliance Series
“I didn’t start because I thought I was great. I started because I had something to say.”
- The House on Infinity Loop
- Infinity on Fire
- Mirrors of Infinity
- Ripples of Infinity
- Chords of Infinity
- Links to Infinity
- Threads of Infinity
- Tangles of Infinity
- Tapestry of Infinity (unfinished at the time of her passing)
She was writing Book 9 right up until the end. We had talked about her goals, her outline, the way she wanted to bring the arc to a close. I have no doubt she would have finished it if she’d had the time.
Share Your Bonnie Story
If you were impacted by Bonnie’s work, her mentorship, or her friendship, I’d love to hear about it. Leave a comment below or reach out to me directly. Share a memory, a message, a quote that stayed with you.
Because stories live on. And Bonnie’s story isn’t finished. It continues in everyone she lifted up.