This is a difficult post to start, so I’m going to begin with  a story…

When Paul D. Brazill and I started putting together Off The Record 2 together, we drew up a list of names (via email) of people we wanted to get on board. The first names we put down where people from the first anthology, great writers who knocked it out the park with their stories. Most of those asked came back for more, donating time and effort for nothing other than the goodness of helping out children’s literacy charities.

The email call was sent out and within days we had received a few stories. One in particular stood out. I sent them over to Paul for his perusal, with this added bit regards that story…

“Perfect in my view. That last line man…wow.”

Paul replied “Just read…brilliant. The bloke writes pure noir.”

I replied, “That’s the standard for this one. We all have to hit that mark.”

The story in question was ‘Dead Man’. I read it twice over when it was first sent, just to make sure I’d got it right. Loved it more the second time around. I still get goosebumps reading it. It contains one of the best lines to end a short story I’ve ever read. Hands down. It went on to be nominated for a Derringer Award for best Flash Fiction story (and I’m still a little bitter that it didn’t win). It’s possibly the most proudest I’ve ever been in my short career, being able to share that wonderful short story with the world.

The writer was AJ Hayes. Bill, to his friends. And he died this past weekend.

Not only was he an incredible writer, with a talent for characterisation, the deft touch which painted a scene in few words whilst also making it come alive in an instant… the feeling of being there within a setting… just superb. No… not only that. Bill was one of the most supportive people I’ve ever “met” online. On Facebook, he was always the guy who commented on every bit of news from fellow writers, with a note of congratulations, or commiserations. On that previously mentioned Derringer Award announcement, one man commented on the blog, congratulating the winners. By email, he was always witty and there to answer the call to be a part of any hair-brained scheme I’d cooked up. He was just there. Always. And now he’s not.

I’ll miss you man. As will so many of those you helped out in the last few years in the online writing community. I dearly hope we’ll share that drink we always said we would one day.