He died with his boots on.

Yesterday, Robert Parker–he of Spenser fame–died at his desk, at work on a book. Isn’t that the way a writer should go?

Spenser is the kind of guy I’d like to know. Smart, tough, accomplished. It seems that’s the kind of guy Robert B. Parker was, too. We’re lucky we get to know him a little through his books.

Parker was 77 and the author of more than 60 books. The New York Times obituary reports the cause of death as a heart attack. I hope it was quick and clean and that Parker, absorbed in that novel in front of him, never knew what hit him.

RIP.