Evergreen. That's how some people's creativity seems to me. They're the ones who can't seem to help themselves from producing painting after painting, or song after song, or story after story. It just keeps pouring out of them. If they go through the dead times of creative winters, it is not visible. They truly seem born to do what they do, whether that's sculpt clay or write poems. Mr. Edward D. Hoch, who died suddenly this week at the age of 77, was one of those extraordinarily-gifted people. How extraordinary was he? He had a short story in every issue of Ellery Queen Mystery Magazine for almost thirty-five years. In his legendary career he wrote close to 1,000 short stories. Among the many tributes being penned to him now, I read of one novelist who said that Ed may have been "the only real writer I ever met." I understand that to mean that Ed was "real" in the way that trees are real, and rivers, and stones. All of those things can only be exactly what they are, and Ed Hoch could only be a writer. A great and tireless pen has finally come to rest.
Photo by Andif