I'm a writer, publishing both as SJ Rozan and, with Carlos Dews, as Sam Cabot. (I'm Sam, he's Cabot.) Here you can find links to my almost-daily blog posts, including the Saturday haiku I've been doing for years. BUT the blog itself has moved to my website. If you go on over there you can subscribe and you'll never miss a post. (Miss a post! A scary thought!) Also, I'll be teaching a writing workshop in Italy this summer -- come join us!
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What's The Worst That Could Happen?
The above, the title of one the the great Donald Westlake's great books. The question has a lot of answers, but one of them is the premature, sudden, and unexpected death of Donald Westlake.
I knew him, not well, but enough to be comfortable talking over a drink or exchanging wisecracks on a panel. In fact, he was on the first panel I ever did as a writer, the Humor panel at Bouchercon, Seattle, 1994. I was in awe, knew I was way outclassed. And when Westlake and Parnell Hall brought out the cream pies I got a new appreciation for the true meaning of class.
Donald Westlake died in Mexico on New Year's Eve on his way to a party. He had, from what I read, a heart attack in a parking lot. While no one but a suicide chooses his own death, still this strikes me as a Westlakian way to go.
RIP, Donald Westlake. You'll be missed.
I knew him, not well, but enough to be comfortable talking over a drink or exchanging wisecracks on a panel. In fact, he was on the first panel I ever did as a writer, the Humor panel at Bouchercon, Seattle, 1994. I was in awe, knew I was way outclassed. And when Westlake and Parnell Hall brought out the cream pies I got a new appreciation for the true meaning of class.
Donald Westlake died in Mexico on New Year's Eve on his way to a party. He had, from what I read, a heart attack in a parking lot. While no one but a suicide chooses his own death, still this strikes me as a Westlakian way to go.
RIP, Donald Westlake. You'll be missed.
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