A person whose writing I adored. Whose use of the English language I envied and admired. At 47 years old. Cancer.
It's an odd thing when someone you didn't really know, but followed in one way or another - or someone that you once knew, but haven't seen in years, dies.
Suddenly there's a hole. A piece missing. Something is not quite right with the fabric of the world.
His writing was phenomenal.
I will miss him.