If you follow me on Facebook, you know that I’ve been mourning my friend and fellow author PG Holyfield. He lost his very brief battle with cancer yesterday at 11:20 pm EST, leaving behind 3 daughters and a lot of friends and family.
I keep writing things and then erasing them. PG and I were friends, not as close as we could have been, but I always looked forward to seeing him at Balticon, loved talking to him on Twitter and Facebook, occasionally over Skype if we both happened to be on at the same time. He was so funny, so full of life and crazy ideas and creativity. He lit up the room just by being in it, even if he wasn’t talking (which didn’t happen often). He introduced me to Tuaca.
It feels so weird to know that when I go to Balticon next year, I won’t hear his laugh coming from the bar, won’t run into him in the halls, won’t have the chance to talk to him, to catch up, to drink with him. That doesn’t mean he won’t be there, of course – I know the entire con will be one long “No shit, there PG was” story session. But there will be no more PG hugs. No more PG smiles. No more PG stories.
I’ve been listening to the audio online that I can find since Sunday when I found out. If you haven’t heard his Murder on Avedon Hill podcast, I highly recommend it. And if you listen through Podiobooks and donate, Evo said all the money donated will go to PG’s daughters.
I miss you, PG. I’m so angry at the fact that cancer stole you from us way, way too early, that we won’t get any more Aramus Kragen stories. That we won’t hear your voice on podcasts, or in person, any more. That you won’t get to see your daughters grow into amazing young women. That you won’t be around to share all our triumphs and our sorrows.
It’s not fair.
But it does do one thing: it makes me more determined than ever to write. To tell my stories. Because while we wrote different things, I can still write, and in that way, I can honor your memory. We all can.
So sleep well, PG. You’ve earned it. And hopefully, we’ll meet again beyond the wall.
- (book review) The Street, by Paul E. Cooley
- (personal/writing) Not really dead yet