My great-uncle Johnny passed away the other night. He was in his eighties, had been sick for a long time, and from all accounts seemed to be at peace with the fact that he was not long for this earth. He was sleeping when it happened, a loved one was by his side.

I’m a pretty private person. I want people I don’t know personally to always be more interested in my writing than in me. But despite that I feel Johnny deserves a blog post here. Johnny was a rogue, a character, a card, a thrice married, ex-RCMP officer who had done a short stint in jail and become a private investigator later in life. I was always torn between trying to get interesting stories out of him versus just relaxing and spending time with my funny, wry great uncle.

I didn’t meet uncle Johnny until I was an adult and had already sold a few short stories. Johnny was supportive of my writing from the start, treating it as a solid, concrete thing rather than just a young person’s whim. He acted like it was a given that I was a writer. He would keep copies of magazines I had been published in and show it friends and family (even though I personally always had his support, he still had his own preferences when it came to the genre of my stories: he loved the mysteries, was so-so on the sci-fi and fantasy, and disdained the sickly-sweet woman’s mag romances).

I think it’s important for every writer to have support from the people they love. I’ve been very lucky in that I have a family that has always been behind me. but there is something especially encouraging when an older relative believes in you, especially one that had seen and done as much as Johnny (plus, he was a voracious reader. He went through books on his Kobo like a virus). If you have someone like that in your life, an older relative or friend who has encouraged you, thank them for it. And maybe try a little harder to get some stories out of them.