Jory
Sherman has died after valiantly fighting many ill health issues for well over
a year. He was a writer through and through. Earlier, even when his eyesight
was failing, he continued to write, embracing the new technology and utilising
large print on his computer and, despite pain, communicating with fans, friends
and social media contacts.
He
was not only a writer, a poet and an artist (his paintings graced some of his
later reprinted e-books), but he was more importantly a generous and kind man.
I was in contact with him only fleetingly through a couple of writing groups.
But I gleaned the kind of man he was from the many anecdotes and comments from
fellow writers as the seriousness of his latest illness became common
knowledge.
Jory
was born 1932 (possibly, according to a scant Wikipedia entry) and began his
literary career as a poet in San Francisco in the late 1950s, in the midst of
the Beat Generation. His poetry and short stories were widely published in
literary journals at that time. He won awards for his poetry and prose and was
nominated for a Pulitzer Prize in Letters for his novel Grass Kingdom. He won a coveted Spur Award from the Western Writers
of America for The Medicine Horn.
In
1995 Jory was inducted into the National Writer’s Hall of Fame.
Throughout
his career, he conducted writing workshops and was always happy to offer advice
to budding authors. His writing guides are definitely worth studying, no matter
how much writing experience you have under your belt. Indeed, it’s impossible to
measure how many writers of today owe something to Jory’s tutelage, advice,
friendship or, simply, his poetry and prose (they have to be grouped together,
as his prose was often poetic).
In
2012, he received the Western Fictioneers Lifetime Achievement Award and in
2013 he was the recipient of the Owen Wister Award for Lifetime Contributions
to Western Literature.
A
couple of days ago, one of his friends announced via Facebook that Jory had
asked to leave hospital, no longer wanting to undergo the painful procedures.
He wanted to see his last sunsets from his home, with his family. I truly hope
his last sunset was a splendid one that would appeal to the artist and poet in
him. Truth is, the sun won’t set on his work; it and he will live on through
his prodigious output of writing and through the many friends and acquaintances
he touched.
Rest in peace, Jory.
My
condolences to his bereaved family and many friends.
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