No, that line above isn’t from Elton John’s song. It’s from one by Janis Ian—a song about getting older and living with getting older—accepting the lines and wrinkles as evidence of a life well lived. As someone who has never had “work done” or dyed my hair, that works for me. As Popeye would say, “I am what I am and that’s all that I am.”

This week I’ve been doing interviews for podcasts that will be turning up closer to the pub date for The Girl From Devil’s Lake. On two of those, I was referred to as “the legendary J.A. Jance.” Being legendary is a compliment, yes, but it also means I’ve been writing books for a very long time—more than half my life. Early on I remember a—let’s just say youthful—newspaper reporter asking me how old I was when I started writing my first novel. When I replied that I had been thirty-eight, I remember her saying, “That’s so old!” If she thought 38 was old, I wonder what she’d think about someone who’s 80. Come to think of it, I wonder if she’s still in the newspaper business, but that’s a whole other issue. At this point the newspaper business has virtually disappeared—in every sense of the word.

What brought all this to mind today is that I learned that Thomas Perry passed away earlier this week. I first met Tom years ago at the first very Tucson Festival of Books, and both of us have been there ever since, with one notable exception. Unfortunately, the year Tom was due to be the recipient of TFOB’s Founder’s Award, he came down with Covid and was unable to attend.

Although I have to admit to being star struck when I first met him, I came to respect him and like him. I admired him for his self-deprecating sense of humor and for his kindness. I loved the easy way he and his wife, Jo, were together. That kind of devotion isn’t something that can be faked and only put on display for public consumption. Clearly they lived together in loving harmony every day for decades on end, and I’m sure Jo is feeling devastated right about now.

I don’t think either Thomas Perry or I set off with the idea of writing the great American Novel. We set out to be storytellers. Wanting to entertain and to be able to tell stories that were important to us, we both turned to writing mysteries. Something else we had in common were long lasting connections to the original settlers of this country.

OSs are the people who came across the Bering Sea and eventually spread to every corner of North America. When Columbus first landed in the New World, he thought he was in India, so he called the people he encountered there “Indians.” That terminology lasted for a very long time. Then, somewhere in the nineteen sixties or seventies, some busybody in the Anglo world decided the word Indian was somehow demeaning, so the term Native American came to be the approved verbiage. (That was wrong, of course, see the Bering Sea reference above!). Later on, someone else with too much time on his or her hands and way too much education decided that the words Native American should be banished in favor of the word Indigenous. I personally have never met anyone who refers to themselves as Indigenous. I know people who are Tohono O’odham or Cherokee or Apache or Navajo or Sioux. There may be OS (Original Settler) people out there who prefer the word Indigenous, but I’ve never met them.

The people Thomas Perry knew were Seneca, and he wove their traditions and beliefs into his books through the character of Jane Whitefield in the same way my Walker Family books reflect what I learned during my years as a librarian on the Tohono O’odham. It’s not a matter of “stealing” their culture and beliefs; it’s a matter of sharing those things with people who would otherwise have no idea that they even exist. There’s wisdom in those ancient tales and customs. I believe I’m better off for knowing them, and I think other people are, too.

So this is a writer’s way of honoring the passing of a fellow writer and kindred spirit. Thomas Perry’s presence will truly be missed.

As for me? As my friend Janis Ian would say:

Another line, another year.
I’m still standing here.