I just heard that Robert B. Parker died. My first sight of him was sitting in the bar at Harvest in Cambridge, MA. He wore a wife-beater, which I found intriguing in such an up-market setting. Parker was the third guest of honor at the New England Crime Bake. His speech was inspiring (if intimidating) and I learned later that he turned in clean first drafts, a feat that fills me with awe and amazement, and a little doubt.
I always enjoyed the Spenser books. When I worked in Cambridge and drove Memorial Drive along the Charles River every morning, sometimes I saw the film crew for Spenser for Hire out and about shooting scenes or maybe just the view of Back Bay and the Boston Skyline.
Reports say that Parker died at his desk, and a writer can't wish for a better end that that. An ultra-productive novelist, we will probably see a few more books from his industrious pen, metaphorically speaking.
Crime fiction will never be the same.