Yes­ter­day, Robert Parker–he of Spenser fame–died at his desk, at work on a book. Isn’t that the way a writer should go?

Spenser is the kind of guy I’d like to know. Smart, tough, accom­plished. It seems that’s the kind of guy Robert B. Parker was, too. We’re lucky we get to know him a lit­tle through his books.

Parker was 77 and the author of more than 60 books. The New York Times obit­u­ary reports the cause of death as a heart attack. I hope it was quick and clean and that Parker, absorbed in that novel in front of him, never knew what hit him.

RIP.