A writer's life can be a difficult one; my parents were concerned when my teen-aged self declared an ambition to write science fiction.
Science Fiction itself, while enjoying a greater degree of success than most genre fiction and perhaps more markets than most (most of my life, there have been three or four SF magazines on the stands to a single mystery magazine -- and none for Westerns), is quite often simply a slower way to starve. Successful writers like Robert A. Heinlein, Fred Pohl,* William Gibson or Arthur C. Clarke make (or in the case of the first and last, made and have left for their heirs) a fair-to-good living, but most of even the better-known names earn only a modest income.
When it comes to "difficult," F. Gwynplaine MacIntyre was 'way up there, from his lengthy adopted moniker to tales of world travel, a diresome upbringing, a vast and sometimes invented vocabulary and an imagination vividly unusual even for a fantasy/SF writer. And when he decided time had run out, he took a difficult exit, too.
It happened back in June; I missed it but sharp-eyed Turk Turon did not.
* Make that 2010 Hugo winner Fred Pohl!
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