Blue Skies, Les Edgerton

Author, teacher, and friend, Les (Butch) Edgerton died this week at his home in Indiana. He'd been ill for many years, but never stopped writing or helping newer writers find their voice. A man of the street, Les lived a hard, soulful life in New Orleans and elsewhere, eventually writing about the crime and criminals he knew personally, the prisoners he lived with a few years. Easily the nicest, warmest, funniest man I have ever met in half a century of writing, Les made you feel like his best friend on the day you met him. He loved life and he loved humans, understanding our nature in a way no one did before. I loved his books as I loved the man. All of his stories, novels, and writing books are solid examples of marvelous, clean writing. Each is worth reading, though a quirk I admired about the man, his best books carried some fairly unsavory titles, Les refusing all marketing advice from agents, editors, publishers, and writing friends. (Change that title, Butch!) My favorite of his works is called The Rapist. If you were lucky enough to know him, he always signed his emails like this: Blue Skies, Butch.