Mark Pryor, May His Memory Be a Blessing — from James W. Ziskin

I was supposed to write about something else this week, but a terrible tragedy occurred. My great friend and writer Mark Pryor passed away unexpectedly last week at the age of fifty-nine.

I met Mark in 2013, shortly before my first book came out. It was at Bouchercon in Albany, New York. We had lunch with our editor, Dan Mayer, and two other Seventh Street Books authors, Terry Shames and Lynne Raimondo. 

Mark was one of those people who drew others to him. It seemed everyone loved him, wanted to talk to him, and ask him for advice, which he always gave generously. It’s no exaggeration to say that he had a magnetic personality. His native English accent didn’t hurt. Made him mysterious and, as Lee Child always says, added twenty unearned points to his IQ, at least in America.

2013 In Albany with Mark, Terry Shames,
and our dear departed friend Lynne Raimondo

Mark worked incredibly hard and was a prolific writer. Despite holding down jobs first as a public prosecutor in Austin, then later as a defense attorney, he managed to write seventeen books—the terrific Hugo Marston series, a few thrillers, and even a non-fiction book. He also raised three great children with his amazing wife, Sarah. I can only dream of being so efficient with my time.

A few years ago, I stayed with Mark and Sarah and their kids—and dogs—when I was in Austin. They were welcoming and generous, despite my practice of razzing Mark. In fairness, he gave better than he received. 

He once asked me for advice on selling the foreign rights of one of his books to a publisher in Russia. He worried that, given current world events, his reputation might suffer by association. I assured him not to worry; people couldn’t possibly think any less of him. He struck back:

Another time, he asked if I’d be willing to read something new and different that he’d written. I said of course, and that reading his work always made me feel better about my own.

Mark often offered to plug fellow Seventh Street authors’ books in his Hugo Marston novels. He’d slip a mention into the story. He’d already done it for my first book and he couldn’t resist scoring off me:

Yet another time, he asked what I thought about his idea to cut some text from one of his manuscripts. I told him to go ahead and delete, since everyone who’d ever read his books agreed that whatever he could do to make them shorter would be an improvement. He chuckled, then reminded that me my books had more award nominations than actual copies sold. (Not far off…)  

Each time we engaged in these wars of words, I was left wishing I could manage a clever comeback to get the better of him, but, alas, no. Mark wielded his wit effortlessly and to devastating effect. He was brilliant and hilarious.

But it wasn’t all fun and games. Mark and I shared a deep interest in writing—obviously—and mysteries, and France. He filled his Hugo Marston books with tremendous detail that he’d acquired from years of research and experience in France. He knew his way around, from Paris to the Pyrenees and made a serious study of the minutiae necessary to give his books that ring of authenticity. He asked me to draw him a map for one his books, and a family tree of his characters for another. I was very proud of those.

From The French Widow

From The Book Artist

 

What can I say? Mark Pryor was a gem of guy. I loved chatting with him, enjoying a drink, or insulting him publicly. And I know he enjoyed doing the same to me. Ever since I got the horrible news that he’d died, I can’t stop thinking about him and his lovely family. It just isn’t fair. My heart goes out to them, and I’m so very sorry. I’m going to miss him.

My friend, Mark Pryor, 1967-2026. May his memory be a blessing.