His name was Dallas Mayr, but most of you know him as Jack Ketchum. He was a brilliant writer and dear man. If you haven’t read The Girl Next Door, you should. It’s a wonderfully written, horribly disturbing book.

I have a few memories of Dallas, but my favorite was at Killercon in 2011. I had just had my triplets, and two passed away. The other was still in the NICU. I went to a writer’s conference here in Vegas, and was still little shaky. In fact, that very morning I had cut off my hospital bracelets so I could attend the conference.
It seemed too soon.
Dallas had heard about my loss and gently asked about it. His kindness and sensitivity meant so much to a grieving woman who spent some time sobbing in the stairwell during that conference. He didn’t have to take the time to talk to me, but he chose to. I’ll never forget it.
Rest in the sweetest of peace, Dallas. You deserve wonderful things.