One of the frequently asked questions posed to me is “How do you write these books?” I often reply that, since I don’t outline, I usually start at the beginning and write to the end. Or, depending on my mood, I’ll say, “Since I write murder mysteries, I usually start with somebody dead and spend the rest of the book trying to figure out who did it and how come.”

On that note, I started the next Joanna Brady book yesterday by writing the prologue. I began in my customary fashion with somebody dead. I may not know who he is, but I know for sure that he’s dead and how he got that way, even though none of the characters have so far figured that out. At this point I have some idea of who might have done it and why, but I’m sure those details will come into focus as we go along.

The book doesn’t have a name yet, and I have no idea when it’ll be published, so please don’t ask. The thing is, as I’m writing a book, I’m thinking about the characters and the story. I’m definitely not thinking about the people out there who will be reading it or how what I’m writing might impact some of those folks, but over time, people have been kind enough to let me know how they’ve been affected. Some of those comments have resonated and stayed with me for decades.

When Payment in Kind came out, a woman showed up at my signing table and told me that her mother had introduced her to my books. When the latest book was published, her mother was in the hospital, so the daughter decided to read it herself before delivering it to her mom. When her mother passed away, the daughter found the book on the mother’s bedside table with her bookmark only at the halfway mark. The daughter told me tearfully how sorry she was that she hadn’t let her mother read it first.

In the early 2000s, Bill and I went on a monthlong Rick Steves Europe Through the Backdoor tour of France which started and ended in Paris. At the beginning of the tour, unsurprisingly, no one had ever heard of J.A. Jance or read any of my books. During the tour we became friends with a retired couple from Florida, Jean and Truby Jones. It did’t hurt that Truby, like Bill, was an electronics engineer. In the evenings, the four of us would settle in to visit over glasses of scotch.

Back in Paris at the end of the tour, Bill and I visited a bookstore where we found a single copy of Until Proven Guilty on the shelves. We bought it and gave to Jean and Truby at dinner that last night, along with an inscription inside that said, “So long, and thanks for all the scotch.” A few weeks later I received a handwritten thank you note from Jean, saying that she had enjoyed the book and was now searching for more of my books at garage sales.

After a number of months passed, a letter arrived from Truby. He informed us that Jean had been diagnosed with lung cancer which had necessitated a surgical procedure that resulted in a twenty-one-inch-long incision down her back. Later the incision was attacked by a case of necrotizing fasciitis making it necessary for her to spend long periods of time in a hyperbaric chamber and weeks in the ICU. After explaining about Jean’s situation, Truby’s letter ended as follows: I have now finished reading all your wonderful books. I don’t know how I would have gotten through this time without them.

In my book that’s far higher praise than making the NYTimes list! By the way, Jean recovered completely. They went on several more Rick Steves tours and even came to visit us in Seattle on one occasion.

I’m afraid last week’s blog was a bit on the whiny side, with all my AI grousing. This week, however, opening my email has been a lot like unwrapping presents on Christmas morning. Warning, I’m going to include a photo here. If the photo doesn’t come through, please feel free to send me an email (jajance@me.com) asking me to forward it to you.

In one of my book report blogs, I wrote about how much my elementary school teachers disapproved of my reading Zane Grey’s work. I believe I even mentioned that, of all his books, Riders of the Purple Sage was my personal favorite. This week, one of my fans from Massachusetts was visiting Bryce Canyon Park in Utah. He was kind enough to send me a photo of the books on sale in the park’s gift shop. And there it was, front and center. One of my books was perched on the top shelf, right next to a copy of Riders of the Purple Sage. If that isn’t a dream come true, I don’t know what is!

A few days later, an email came in from someone I didn’t know. It began with the AIs favorite greeting, about hoping I was doing well. I started to delete it without bothering to continue reading, but something stopped me. Turns out it was a letter from a guy organizing a charity fundraiser at a town in central Washington and asking if I’d be interested in being an auction item. I wrote back saying that I’d be interested in participating, but that there would have to be some travel and scheduling stipulations.

His response took my breath away. He explained that when he was nine, his mother had introduced him to my Beaumont books, and JP became his personal hero. He wanted to be a detective so much that, at age 12, he’d hung out his shingle from his family’s garage, offering to solve neighborhood mysteries. Through the years, he and his mother had shared my books, following Beau’s and Joanna’s many adventures. When he was old enough to order his first alcoholic beverage, it was Beau’s favorite, a MacNaughton’s. He missed the boat on visiting the Doghouse, but he did manage to go to the Hurricane Cafe, the business that took over the same space where the Doghouse once had been. He said he sat there thinking about the many hours Beau had spent in that same room. And now, after a few delays along the way, that young man is living his dream and working as a private investigator—all because of a fictional guy named J.P. Beaumont, who set him on that path.

But here’s the real kicker. The day I sent my reply to him, indicating that, with some stipulations, I’d be interested in participating in the fundraiser, also happened to be the day of his mother’s funeral. He said that during his eulogy, he mentioned how much he and his mother had enjoyed reading my books over the years.

Those words really did give me goosebumps, and if that kind of response isn’t reason enough to do what I do, I don’t know what is!