Paul Richard Haines 8 June 1970 - 5 March 2012
An extraordinary man died today.
In some ways I feel like a fraud, calling Paul my friend, because we only ever met a handful of times and spoke on the phone once or twice. He lived in Victoria, I live in New South Wales, and we didn't often cross paths. The last time I saw him was at the Worldcon in Melbourne, back in 2010. The first time I met him was at the Clarion workshop in Brisbane. 2004, I think. I'm bad with dates.
Anyhow.
Paul had the most amazing presence. If he'd been a racehorse you'd have picked him first in a field, no matter how many other horses there were. He had a debonair arrogance that was never offensive, only hugely entertaining, and an enormous, irreverent, sly sense of humour. He was generous of spirit, ferocious in tenacity, steadfast in the loyal support of his friends and against injustice wherever he found it. He was a fierce, uncompromising writer, a loving husband and a devoted, besotted father.
I could only spend 3 weeks at Clarion, not 6, due to a crisis with the house-sitter. But in those 3 weeks that I hung out with Paul, we found some common ground in our enjoyment of GRR Martin and had some great conversations about writing, spec fic, and stuff. Paul was someone who, once met, couldn't be forgotten. That's why I call him friend, even though my grief at his loss today pales into paltry insignificance compared with the pain of those whose connection with him ran far longer and deeper than mine ... most of all, of course, his family, especially his phenomenal wife and fantastic little girl.
There are no words to describe the fight Paul put up, against the monster that is cancer. His searing honesty and courage were inspirational, his blog entries on the battle something I will never forget.
I dunno. Sometimes you meet a person who leaves fingerprints on your soul. Even if your contact with them is only a handful of times, they make a difference. Paul was that kind of person.
Rest easy now, my friend. God bless ... until we meet again.
In some ways I feel like a fraud, calling Paul my friend, because we only ever met a handful of times and spoke on the phone once or twice. He lived in Victoria, I live in New South Wales, and we didn't often cross paths. The last time I saw him was at the Worldcon in Melbourne, back in 2010. The first time I met him was at the Clarion workshop in Brisbane. 2004, I think. I'm bad with dates.
Anyhow.
Paul had the most amazing presence. If he'd been a racehorse you'd have picked him first in a field, no matter how many other horses there were. He had a debonair arrogance that was never offensive, only hugely entertaining, and an enormous, irreverent, sly sense of humour. He was generous of spirit, ferocious in tenacity, steadfast in the loyal support of his friends and against injustice wherever he found it. He was a fierce, uncompromising writer, a loving husband and a devoted, besotted father.
I could only spend 3 weeks at Clarion, not 6, due to a crisis with the house-sitter. But in those 3 weeks that I hung out with Paul, we found some common ground in our enjoyment of GRR Martin and had some great conversations about writing, spec fic, and stuff. Paul was someone who, once met, couldn't be forgotten. That's why I call him friend, even though my grief at his loss today pales into paltry insignificance compared with the pain of those whose connection with him ran far longer and deeper than mine ... most of all, of course, his family, especially his phenomenal wife and fantastic little girl.
There are no words to describe the fight Paul put up, against the monster that is cancer. His searing honesty and courage were inspirational, his blog entries on the battle something I will never forget.
I dunno. Sometimes you meet a person who leaves fingerprints on your soul. Even if your contact with them is only a handful of times, they make a difference. Paul was that kind of person.
Rest easy now, my friend. God bless ... until we meet again.