Newspaper columnist Molly Ivins, who influenced my writing style more than any other living author, with the possible exception of Kurt Vonnegut, Jr., died last week. I am still in mourning. Her death comes just a few weeks after another of my favorite, humorous, acid-tongued, brilliant columnist, Art Buchwald, died.

Ivins, 62, was diagnosed with breast cancer in 1999, which recurred in 2003 and returned again in November 2005. She said, "Having breast cancer is massive amounts of no fun. First they mutilate you; then they poison you; then they burn you. I have been on blind dates better than that."

In the days after Ivins’ death I was struck by the range of voices singing her praises, from predictable leftie supporters Bill Moyers and Jim Hightower to poet Maya Angelou to humorists Dave Barry and Mark Russell. Heck, even Shrub himself, as she famously dubbed President Bush, made a compliment about her.

She would have been embarrassed about the attention and praise, judging by comments and actions in more than 20 tribute articles I read about her in the last week to prepare this piece. For example, two articles mention that she made a habit of using awards she won for her columns as serving utensils at meals.

Anthony Zurcher, her editor for Creators Syndicate, wrote that at one of her unforgettable parties at her Austin home he noticed her dining table was “littered with various awards and distinguished speaker plaques, put to use as trivets for steaming plates of tamales, chili and fajita meat. When I called this to her attention, Molly matter-of-factly replied, ‘Well, what else am I going to do with ‘em?’”

As Mark Russell put it, in the funniest thing I’ve heard him say in a decade, “Most people who speak for a living will tell you that every plaque or award represents a free speech. Some people put them up on their walls. Molly used them as trivets. Molly didn’t rest on her laurels, she ate off of them.”

Early career highlights include when, as the first female police beat reporter for the Minneapolis Tribune, the department named its mascot — a pig — in her honor.

She was best known for covering the always-colorful Texas Legislature. She once said, "I dearly love the state of Texas, but I consider that a harmless perversion on my part, and discuss it only with consenting adults."

I used to tell people I wanted to be a male Molly Ivins, by which I meant eloquent, witty, sharp, and good at capturing an image in just a few words. That was, of course, ignoring the minor differences between us. I was a Southern Californian male and she was a southern woman who shocked The New York Times by wearing blue jeans, going barefoot, and bringing her dog, named Shit, into the newsroom.