away, i must away, across the wide missouri
Jay Lake has left the building.
Everything is a little less bright, playful, wicked, and angry about injustice than it was yesterday. Well, I might be a touch more angry.
Jay's wit lit up a conversation without cruelty or cattiness. He was one of the most emotionally honest and compassionate people I have ever known. He gave absolutely zero fucks about appearances. He helped anybody who came within arm's reach.
He was ridiculously brave in the face of heartbreak, and to all appearances he was a phenomenal dad. He gave away so much energy I have no idea where he found the reserves to write as he did: constantly, sharp-mindedly, often brilliantly.
We formalized a lot of our thinking about how narrative works in conversations with each other, to the point that I can no longer pick out which of the things we theorized about are mine and which are his. He held my hand when my dog died while we were teaching a writing workshop together.
Sad as I am for my own loss, and that of science fiction and fantasy readers and convention-goers everywhere, my heart goes out to his family and loved ones even more.
And dammit, Jay. Who's going to tie balloons to my ponytail now?
(photo, John Scalzi, WisCon 30, 2006.)
Everything is a little less bright, playful, wicked, and angry about injustice than it was yesterday. Well, I might be a touch more angry.
Jay's wit lit up a conversation without cruelty or cattiness. He was one of the most emotionally honest and compassionate people I have ever known. He gave absolutely zero fucks about appearances. He helped anybody who came within arm's reach.
He was ridiculously brave in the face of heartbreak, and to all appearances he was a phenomenal dad. He gave away so much energy I have no idea where he found the reserves to write as he did: constantly, sharp-mindedly, often brilliantly.
We formalized a lot of our thinking about how narrative works in conversations with each other, to the point that I can no longer pick out which of the things we theorized about are mine and which are his. He held my hand when my dog died while we were teaching a writing workshop together.
Sad as I am for my own loss, and that of science fiction and fantasy readers and convention-goers everywhere, my heart goes out to his family and loved ones even more.
And dammit, Jay. Who's going to tie balloons to my ponytail now?
(photo, John Scalzi, WisCon 30, 2006.)