|Hal Maclean RPG Superstar 2008 Top 16, Contributor|
|10 people marked this as a favorite.|
This is the third attempt I've made to post something. Each time I end up deleting it after the first few sentences.
Everything seems trite and cliched.
And then it just hit me.
Mike would know how to fix it.
Maybe he'd casually cut out a sentence and merge two others into one. Or he might send it back for revision with a couple offhand comments that would make me slap my forehead and wonder why I didn't see the problem myself.
He was a wonderful editor. He made everything better. And of course, he was a fantastic writer in his own right.
The thing with great talent is how much we are willing to forgive. For most people, if they can produce what others can't, if they prove, time after time, that we need them more than they need us, they let the darkness out. And we accept that as the price for the wonders they create.
The thing about Mike is he wasn't like that. Even with all his gifts he was still warm and generous and filled with joy.
There's a thread in my email stretching out over months that began as just another rejection. I replied with a joke. He replied with a joke. And then a witty observation. More banter from me. And more banter from him. Every now and then I commented on how weird it was that he was taking time out of day to keep a perfunctory rejection email thread alive. By then he must have realized he didn't need to salve my feelings but he kept on hitting reply.
I wrote a lot of things for Mike. He was my favorite editor. Everything he touched came out better. And, in my own way, I feel like I came out better too.
I'm sad that I never got to meet him in person. But I'm ever so glad that I got to know him even if just at a distance.
I can only imagine how much pain the people who actually knew him the flesh must feel.