Mortality

Jack Vance died a few days ago, but the news was only released today.  He was 96.

Admiration for Jack’s works came late to me.  I read some Vance when I was a teen, but either I read the wrong stuff, or I simply didn’t Get It.  But coming to Vance as an adult, I Got It indeed, and I’m pleased I was able to contribute to Songs of the Dying Earth, the Jack Vance tribute anthology edited by GRRM and Gardner Dozois.

I have to say, that generation of SF writers was a tough bunch.  Unless they were the victim of a tragic early death (Stanley Weinbaum) or killed by war (as was, belatedly, Cyril Kornbluth) they had long, long careers.  Vance, Jack Williamson, Andre Norton, Ray Bradbury, Nelson Bond, L Philip Jose Farmer, Sprague de Camp, and Arthur C. Clarke all lived into their nineties.  Frederik Pohl is in his nineties now and still writing, at least on his blog.  Hal Clement, Damon Knight, Kurt Vonnegut, Fritz Leiber, Clifford Simak, and Robert Heinlein lived into their eighties, and Ursula Leguin is in her eighties and still writing.  Isaac Asimov died at a relatively youthful 72.

You might well think that writing science fiction is the key to a long, productive life. I’m sure as hell going to do my personal best to prove that it is.

And to that end, I’ve spent the last couple days prepping for a routine medical procedure which may help to increase the odds of my survival.  Which is to say, a colonoscopy.

The prep is certainly no fun, though the procedure itself is brief and painless— and interesting, if you have the turn of mind to watch the whole thing on television, which you can.

And the doc turned up a polyp, which he duly excised, thus possibly preserving me from colon cancer for another few years.

I mention this because not because I find my colonoscopy of interest to anyone in particular (least of all me), but because of my admiration for a writer who never had the chance to join the Long-Lived SF Writers’ Club, because he died when he was in his fifties.

If Roger Zelazny had a colonoscopy when he was supposed to, he might still be with us, producing brilliant works of fiction that would have us gaping with pure admiration.

I thought someone with that much talent would never die.  I was wrong.

So kids, if you’re over 50, it’s time to make an appointment with a gastroenterologist for that special little procedure that can save your life, so you can grow up to be a respected and worshiped elder like Fred Pohl or Ursula Leguin.

Plus, you get to watch your insides on TV.  Won’t that be cool?