While there are many written tributes on this page, there have been some that aren't included.  

The generous people at IFWA (The Imaginative Fiction Writers Association) have renamed their annual short story contest to honor Robyn.  It will now be called:  "In Place Between: The Robyn Herrington Memorial Short Story Contest"

There are also plans in the works with Robyn's co-workers from the U of C to do "something" in her honor.  Something MORE I should add as the University as a whole has been great.  The flags flew at half-mast for her, and everyone who she worked with has been so generous with their time and their thoughts.

My parents were given a beautiful lawn statue from the generous people at the Community Kitchen Program of Calgary in remembrance of Robyn.

Below you can read some of the inspiring tributes that many have sent to us that only help reaffirm what our family already knew.

--  Sandy   

  -  Sandy 

A Blog Tribute -  K.A. Bedford

Late last night my friend Robyn passed away. She'd been fighting cancer these past couple of years, and we had thought she was doing okay. On Sunday we got a note from her sister Sandy telling us Robyn wasn't expected to live more than (at that point) another half an hour. She instead hung on a bit longer.

Her great friend and fellow sf author Rob Sawyer has posted a terrific obituary for Robyn here. It captures a lot of what was great about her. She was crazy about living her life, and couldn't get enough of it. She and husband Bruce were always off on a cruise or a jaunt to all kinds of fascinating, cool places. One of my prize possessions is a replica gold doubloon she brought back from a shop on a Caribbean island during one trip.

We'd been corresponding every weekday for ten years, going back to when I was quite new on the Internet, and I joined an online writing workshop, Fiction-L. It was a fine workshop, and I believe it's still going. You have to crit other people's work before you can have your own stuff critiqued--a wise strategy. I'd been busy doing crits of other folks' work for months, lacking the nerve to post anything of mine.

One day I worked up the nerve and posted a 8000-word story I'd produced, the first fiction I'd written in a couple of years. It got a few helpful but vague responses, and a few memorably vicious baggings that seemed out of order, at least to me. And then, suddenly, this Robyn Herrington (another member of the workshop) turned up, offering to take my story and do an incredibly detailed, line-by-line critique of it. Remember, this was an 8000-word piece. This was an offer of stunning generosity. Gobsmacked, I said okay, and off she went.

We got talking during the course of all this. I learned she was living in Calgary, but was originally from South Australia. That did it. That Oz connection got us going, and we never stopped chatting like mad for a decade. She loved Cherry Ripes, Violet Crumbles, Butter Menthols, Minties, Tim Tams, and much else that you can only get here in Oz. We sent regular care packages. She sent us all kinds of wonderful things, the most recent of which, an accumulation of Christmas and birthday goodies, only arrived last week, after a long voyage by sea mail. It's heartbreaking to see it all.

Robyn was getting somewhere as a writer, too. After making a stack of short fiction sales, she was working on the rewrite of a novel, and well into it, just before the 2001 Worldcon. At the Worldcon she met an editor with one of the big US genre publishers, who asked to see it when it was done. But on the flight home, somehow Robyn wrenched her back. The problems with her back ultimately led to the discovery of the cancer.

A huge piece of my world, my life, has broken off. I was almost as close to Robyn as I am to Michelle. Between them they were, and are, my anchors. During the long, bleak years when I wasn't sure what was going on with my publisher, when I worried that they were going to go under without publishing my book, when the depression was as bad as it's ever been, Robyn kept me believing, kept me going, telling me it would be all right in the end. She was right, of course she was right.

We never met. We did speak on the phone a few times, which was wonderful, as far as that goes. The phone is a great thing, but while it can make you feel like the world is small, it also reminds you, via that slight but audible delay, just how big the world really is, and how little you can do for someone over there when you're stuck over here. The Internet, I find, is the same that way. We were stopping in Calgary on our way to the Boston Worldcon later this year. Robyn was really looking forward to it, since she wasn't well enough to make it to the Worldcon. We'll be stopping in Calgary anyway, of course.

Over this long, fabulous decade, we've also been involved with much of the rest of Robyn's family. Sandy, her sister, volunteered to design and host my official website when Robyn mentioned to her one day that I was thinking about getting one done. I insisted on paying her for her great work, but Sandy refused, and asked only for a regular supply of Australian sweets and treats.

If you want to see just how amazing Robyn was, how full of life and spirit, you could do worse than have a look at her own website, which features some of her writing, her photography, her glasswork, and coverage of her many travels. She had a fantastic life. So fantastic that once, at a writers conference, she met a literary agent. They got chatting about what sorts of experiences writers need in their lives, reminding her that nothing bad ever happens to a writer. Robyn remarked that, at that time, nothing really bad had ever happened to her. The agent looked at her, all concerned and sad, and said, "Oh you poor dear."

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It's a testimony to how easily she influenced people's lives that these casual acquaintances felt such a loss that day. She made everyone she spent time with like they were her best friend... and she was. She was absolutely sincere with her friendship. I don't know how she managed to fit so many people into her heart. I guess it's because she was so big. I bet there's a security guard in Detroit who still remembers her. While visiting Detroit, Robyn was engaged in one of her favourite activities shopping,

Her explorations led her into a predominantly black neighbourhood. That didn't deter her she was shopping. She walked into a department store where a very large black man stood guard over people's parcels. We don't get too many of your kind down here, he said. Robyn looked up at him smiled and asked, What? You mean Canadian? He looked at her for a moment... then said Yeah, uh...Canadian. Robyn continued with her shopping.

I'm sure she was memorable to many people who she and Bruce came across in their travels. I think Canada had its best ambassador ever in Robyn. But, you know, she treated everyone, famous or not, with the same candor and playfulness. When she went to the World Science Fiction and Fantasy convention in August of 2001, she came up against the
who's who of the Science Fiction and Fantasy world, literally figuratively. This is a story in her own words from an e-mail she sent me:

"The Tor party (Mike Resnick got us in), I was trying to navigate across a very crowded room, and someone
bumped into me in a seriously squishy way. I turned around, saw a man in a horrible outfit -- Used Car Salesman meets Colour Blind Golfer from the '70's. I said 'Don't you think you should buy me a drink before you get that fresh?' He laughed, told me it was a great opening line. I told him I had another one: Hey sailor, wanna buy a novel? He Laughed
again. Asked if I had a novel to sell. Told him I did. Asked for the 25 word pitch. Gave him one. Asked if that was *really* what the novel was about. Told him it was. Asked if I wanted to send it to him. I said, I dunno... do I? Handed me his card: David Hartwell, Tor. Oh, I said. Yes, I do want to send it to you. Do I have a card? I did and handed it over.

David Hartwell is one of the top editors at Tor where everyone in the business wants to sell their novel. Needles to say, her powers of smoozing were legendary. I, and my friends here, were a part of her life that centred around her passion for writing. 

People from IFWA, the imaginative fiction writers association, sent me the following thoughts:

Linda: Robyn's example inspired other creative people to strive for greater skill and to fearlessly attempt challenging projects. Siona: Every year when it came time to submit stories to the short story contest, a contest she ran with Linda Berry and Val King, people would whine about the deadline for the contest being so close to the deadline for the writing workshop and every year she would suggest, with greater or lesser patience, You could try writing more than one story a year.  Remember that, all you Ifwits out there you can write more than one story a year.

Randy:
As everyone will attest, Robyn was, first and foremost, a storyteller in her bones. And, to me, she understood intuitively that the happenings in our lives are not simply objective and transparent events, but subjectively interpreted ones. She understood that we all live by telling ourselves the story of ourselves, sorting our daily details into narratives we live in and by. And, despite the gleefully macabre tone of most of her written work, she understood that she could tell her own story--most of the time, anyway--with unfailing and energetic optimism. Passion is a word much over used these days. Robyn went beyond passion, exuberant describes her approach to everything. Her generosity went beyond her support of our writing efforts, she helped in other ways as well.

Kay:
I sent a note to her telling her how inspiring she was to me personally, in my writing, and in my own struggles with something that is possibly pre-cancerous. She responded with practical advice and encouragement. It'll be okay for both of us no worries.

Siona:
She was so open about what she went thought these last years. She hoped that by sharing what she was going through if it made one other person learn to appreciate life more, to reach out and live, to handle what life throws at you then her experience fighting cancer was not wasted.

Susan:
We have a big hole in the rest of our lives it won't be filled with Robyn, but with our individual caring for her and what she meant to us.


Samara Sonmore wrote a short story for her and I'll read the opening few paragraphs. (Click here to read the story)

Thanks Samara.

An Ifwit wrote:
Robyn will be missed. And, you know, she wouldn't be sitting around grieving either. She'd be up and doing something practical, smart and effective.

So here we are in our party clothes because we are about to get together to commiserate, tell stories, hug each other and have some laughs, a party to celebrate you, dear friend.

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A Memoriam for Robyn - by Terry Kuny

No matter what happened, cynicism and pessimism seemed to be alien to her. She found pleasures in all kinds of small things. We laughed a lot together over many lunches and dinners and general time-wasting.  And she affected everyone around her with her good spirit and wit and when necessary, clearheadedness.

She loved her husband Bruce (aka the Wonder spouse) so much that it was a source of envy for some of us. The tales of their trips to the Fantasy Land hotel were often sources of much amusement to those of us whose lives seemed much more pedestrian and mundane. My thoughts are with Bruce today as the loss will be so much greater for him.

Robyn really was one of those people whom I suspect most people came away from feeling better for having met her. Today the world is a poorer for her passing...but the universe has definitely enlarged itself with her spirit.

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How To Live - By Linda DeMerlè


My thoughts are a little disoriented and bumping into one another, so I am putting them down. My heart is heavy with the shocking loss of our Robyn, yet, hopeful, too, since I know where her own hope lay, and I know where she is. Robyn made joyfulness seem entirely effortless. I so admire that about her. The thought of her always lifted my heart. She was vivacious and gracious. A walking gift. 

Robyn made everything seem fun or funny, even her illness. She'd once announced to our writing group, "When you get to be 40, you've got the body you *deserve.* When she finally lost weight from chemo, she remarked "it's the only diet that has worked so far." When her hair fell out, she was delighted to buy a wig which was a style her own hair would have never allowed. 

If she was down or suffering, no one knew it. She presented everything as an "Oh, well, chemo made me sick, so now I ma going to get comfy on the sofa and listen to JMT." If she had bad moments, she kept it between herself, God and Bruce, her husband. 

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A Letter from Arta Johnson

Dear Bruce and Family:

Robyn's departure has left concentric waves of sorrow rippling through the library today.  Personally, I am flooded with memories of her hope and faith and determination. She modeled a journey of optimism and trust, anticipating the joy of each day. I love that about her.

In the past few months I have looked for her, for some reason, on campus where I know her best. I see her walking from MacHall with a coffee cup in her hand, smiling widely, waving to people far away on other sidewalks. I turn behind me to see the glass vase, blown by Robyn and remember her telling me about its faults and how she was going to correct her next piece. I attended her "blown glass sales" and remember sitting down with her afterwards, a cookie and a beverage in hand.

Our union newsletter was gifted with her layout talents, as was the general campus paper.

I look at her beautiful webbing work for Special Collections and love both the color and placement of her web design - so typically Robyn. I took virtual cruises with her, after she got her pictures of her holiday posted on the web.

I sat close behind Robyn at the Prayer Service and watched her mother's hands on her back as the prayer was said. There could only be a few other touches so tender. I remembered a story Robyn did for Polly and me, a long time ago. We were going to have a Mother's Day Program in the lounge. The program was cancelled, but Robyn had me read the piece she had written for it, a piece entitled "They say you are just like your mother". I have thought of that piece often. Robyn enumerated the reasons she was proud to have people say that about her, hoping that she could be like her mother in even more ways.

I do not have the gift of words that belonged to Robyn. Few will. But I have used what I do have, my wonderful memories, to tell you that I share your grief, today. I am left knowing that my world is a more joyful place because she passed through it. Another gift from Robyn.

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How to Get to Robyn's Moon  by Samara Sonmor

There, that's her moon. That bright silvery blob, right there in the center of that spiral. Looks pretty far away from here, but it really isn't. 

Here you go. Careful, don't drop it!

I gotta run. Got a bunch of writing to do. Robyn's moon always inspires me. See you later.

Huh? How do you use the map?  Just close your eyes, my friend. Just close your eyes. 

I'll see you there.

Standing room only at Robyn Herrington's service U of C staffer and internationally-renown author loses battle to cancer

May 13, 2004 by Dale Miller, News Editor In a gesture usually reserved for students, professors and heads of government, the University of Calgary made an exception and flew its flags at half-mast for Robyn Herrington

. After a two-year-long battle with cancer, Robyn--an Information Resources staff member--fell to the disease Mon., May 3, leaving behind her husband Bruce Herrington--who works in shipping and receiving at the U of C--parents Gisela and John Brown, sister Sandra Van Damme and her surviving brother Michael Brown. Her brother Noel predeceased her by six weeks. In life, Robyn was more than just a U of C staffer; she was an internationally published author and more importantly, an amazing person.

"Robyn was one of the most cheerful and upbeat people I've ever met, even when she was ill," said internationally acclaimed author Robert J. Sawyer, who flew in from Toronto to deliver Robyn's self-written eulogy. "Robyn had no enemies--none--and that's pretty damn rare for someone in their forties. She was truly a wonderful person."

Sawyer's presence at the funeral speaks worlds of her importance to the writing community. As a member of the Science Fiction Writers Association, Science Fiction Canada and Imaginative Fiction Writers Association, she didn't merely 'belong' to those organizations, she actively participated and offered assistance at any chance she had. She was also an accomplished writer and editor in her own right, with a number of internationally published works, as well as a hand in the discovery of fellow Australian writer K. A. Bedford.

"Her most recent story was in the just released anthology--New Voices in Science Fiction--published by DAW, a major US science-fiction publisher, and edited by Mike Resnick, a huge name in the field," explained Sawyer. "This book was Mike's attempt to spotlight the writers he thought were going to be big names over the next decade, and Robyn absolutely deserved to be in it."

"Robyn epitomized IFWA with her willingness to help others and her amazing ability to write," added Mark Hewitt, a fellow IFWA member. "She is someone all of us aspire to--as a writer and a person."

"I once heard, on some TV movie, an old man say that his friends would remember he was alive as long as they could feel the wind on their faces. I kind of like that idea. So when you feel the wind in your face that'll be me- right there

In your face.

See ya 'round."

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