R.I.P. Euan Harvey
In the decade or so I’ve been editing Black Gate magazine, I’ve been blessed to cross paths with a wide variety of talented writers, artists, and creators.
One of the most talented was Euan Harvey, a terrific short story writer whose career was just beginning to take off. His work appeared in Realms of Fantasy, Aoife’s Kiss, and Heroic Fantasy Quarterly. I bought a story from Euan, “Kamaratunga’s Masterpiece,” and it is scheduled to appear next year in Black Gate.
In August 2009 Euan was diagnosed with metastatic cancer. He lived and taught in South East Asia for thirteen years, but that year he returned to the United Kingdom, where he lived just outside London with his wife and family.
Today his family posted the following announcement on his Facebook page:
To all of Euan’s friends who have been reading this. I am sorry to tell you all that his melanoma grew so fast that on Tuesday his state deteriorated and we were warned he might not have long. His brother and sister, cousin and parents were… all with him yesterday, and last night Alex and Fon stayed with him. He could hear but not talk. At 5.45 this morning [Friday 9th] his breathing changed, and he died very peacefully.
BG Managing Editor Howard Andrew Jones, who discovered and first introduced me to Euan while he was editing Flashing Swords magazine, said this about him:
Euan Harvey was a fine man and father, and an excellent writer. He gave me great novel feedback, and I have enjoyed his stories for years. I was proud to call him friend. I am stunned and saddened by this news.


Why has swords and sorcery languished while epic fantasy enjoys a wide readership? In an age of diminished attention spans and the proliferation of Twitter and video games, it’s hard to explain why ponderous five and seven and 12 book series dominate fantasy fiction while lean and mean swords and sorcery short stories and novels struggle to find markets (Black Gate and a few other outlets excepted).
The Prow Beast



Nearly every night, I read aloud to my boys. For Evan, my seven-year-old, I have lately been reading The Hobbit. Two nights ago, no sooner had I begun than Evan interrupted, saying, “It’s funny how they spell ‘Smaug.’”