Thirty years ago, a cotton-ribboned manuscript typed from four penciled notebooks about fish women had been rejected by several New York publishers. A Bryn Mawr classmate Mimi Panitch brought it to the attention of an editor at Tor. A brief note suggested we meet at a con, it might have been Lunacon. Formally dressed and pregnant with my first child, I went to meet the editor at the appointed time. A table in the bedroom was full of empty bottles. I nearly walked out, not knowing that David hosted fans all night. Instead I stayed and published most of my fiction career with David’s insightful conversations. But all beings great and small pass on, only their ripples cast wider circles. The holobiont mourns, and goes on.
Joan Slonczewski 
6 responses to “David G. Hartwell (1941-2016) The Holobiont Mourns”
Sorry for your loss. Lovely rememberance
So sorry to hear it, Joan.
I remember a dinner conversation with David many years ago when he was taking about his intent to publish a remarkable new novel by Joan Slonczewski about which he bent my ear over desert. Good memories.
Thanks for stopping by, Don.
Sorry for your loss. What a good memory of a unique man and of your own courage.
[…] of us know that books get published with the guidance of editors such as David Hartwell. Relatively few are aware of how progress in science is shaped by program directors at the National […]