Our beloved Pancake (full name Pancake Smurf-a-Bunny of the Universe) has gone to Sto’Vo’Kor after a long and happy life of 21 years and 4 months. Her greatest gift was that she taught me every day how to find joy in simple things like a saucer of milk or a ray of sunshine or a cosy blanket or a dollop of ice cream. I will miss my chief book promoter.

Thank you to everyone who came out last week (in person and in spirit) for the informal Ottawa celebration of the life of Jean-Louis Trudel. It gave me comfort to know that Jean-Louis will live on in the hearts and memories of all the people he touched over the course of his accomplished life.

I first met Jean-Louis at ConAdian, the Winnipeg Worldcon, where he taught me the proper manuscript format for short stories. But it was during my early space engineering career in the Montreal area that I really got to know Jean-Louis through our mutual membership in the Commune writing group, and that was when he became a mentor, confidant, and friend. Many years later, I had the great pleasure of buying his powerful climate change story “The Snows of Yesteryear” for the hard SF anthology Carbide Tipped Pens. Jean-Louis was a gifted writer and a brilliant polymath who could speak with humble expertise on almost any topic from Franco-Ontarian history to the nature of distant extrasolar planets — all with his characteristic warmth and humour and supernova bright smile.

Update: The family will be holding a celebration of life for Jean-Louis in Québec City on Saturday, May 2nd starting at 1:00pm at Cimetière Notre-Dame-de-Belmont (701, avenue Nérée-Tremblay).

Gillian Clinton:
“I first met Jean-Louis over a quarter of a century ago through academia and I remember having a wonderful conversation about astronomy at a conference in Sherbrooke. Later, we ran into each other at science fiction conventions in Ottawa and elsewhere and I enjoyed listening to his participate in wide-ranging discussions. He never talked down to anyone even though he quite obviously knew a lot more than some of us. More recently, through Eric, Jean-Louis became a friend and I enjoyed our dinners with wide-ranging conversations. I just took for granted that he would always be available for another get-together. He will be greatly missed.”

Julie Czerneda:
“We worked together from the 90s on, including on the Wonder Zone titles (SF classroom). I had the greatest respect for his knowledge, talent, and support of our community. And that laugh. He’ll be sorely missed.”

Paula Johanson:
“Jean-Louis was a caring colleague in science fiction writing and academia. His efforts for many years kept SF Canada going strong. He showed such support for many of us, and I can speak of his helpful attitude for me and my work as a writer and in graduate studies. He read my stories, and he was supportive of my efforts to speak French. When he and I were selected to co-edit Tesseracts7, he brought a wealth of talents to the project, but also the kindness to let my name be listed first on the book. His books were many, his intellect and skills immense, and the example he has set for the rest of us is unmatched.”

Annette Mocek:
“He was endlessly kind and always fun to talk to.”

Hayden Trenholm:
“I first knew of Jean-Louis, in a bookish way, when we shared a table of contents in Tesseracts6. We met from time to time at conventions, especially when he was living in Ottawa. When I was editing Blood & Water for Bundoran Press he contacted me on the last day of submissions to ask for a brief extension to finish translating a story he had originally written in French. I agreed and it arrived shortly after midnight. ‘Watching the Human Garden’ proved a strong finish for the anthology. My admiration for Jean-Louis began with his writing but grew as I discovered his powerful intellect and his warmth and gentle humour. I will miss him.”

Diane L. Walton:
“I’ve known Jean-Louis for years, first as a publisher of his short fiction in On Spec, and then as secretary-treasurer to his presidency of SF Canada. We had a running joke about how he would always respond to my emails within about half an hour, no matter the time of day or night. We only met in person at a few conventions, and he was always kind and gracious and eager to chat. A life to be celebrated, indeed.”

There is a disturbance in the Force this New Year’s Day as I mourn the recent tragic death of my childhood friend Tom Srsa.

I met Tom and our mutual friend Rocky Persaud in Ms. Kavanaugh’s second grade class at Massey Public School in Brampton, Ontario. One of my first memories of Tom was of our seven-year-old selves debating whether a car burned more fuel going faster or slower. Tom correctly knew the former whereas I bizarrely believed the latter. Given my subsequent adult career in aerospace engineering, I would understand if you find my childhood misunderstanding of basic science disturbing.

Tom and Rocky and I remained close through high school and into adulthood. It was in high school that we shared a mutual dream to become writers. I vividly remember a brilliant poem Tom wrote about a person facing a mysterious twin with an uncanny ability to precisely mimic their every move until they hold up a dinner plate and see the words “ANIHC NI EDAM”. Tom and Rocky and I would share stories we had written. They were my first writing group, my first beta readers. The three of us spent countless Tuesday evenings at the movie theatre, making good use of the discount night to take in the (often dubious) film classics of that era. We were never the cool kids in high school, but Tom played the saxophone in senior stage band which I thought was pretty darn cool.

Tom was a lifelong Star Wars fan whereas I tended to prefer Star Trek, but this was his way and it would have been illogical of me to debate him. He always saw the best in everyone and everything, making his way through life with a big smile and a wondrous happy-go-lucky attitude, guided by his unwavering belief that just because a day started badly doesn’t mean it has to end that way. The Force of Goodness was strong in him.

Tom will continue to live in the hearts and memories of his family and friends, in his children Adrian, Michael and Maya, and in the thousands of students whose lives he enriched over a long teaching career at Bishop Francis Allen elementary school.

I am shocked and deeply saddened by the sudden and tragic death of award-winning writer, astronomer, physicist, and science historian Jean-Louis Trudel.

I first met Jean-Louis at ConAdian, the Winnipeg Worldcon, where he taught me the proper manuscript format for short stories. But it was during my early space engineering career in the Montreal area that I really got to know Jean-Louis through our mutual membership in the Commune writing group, and that was when he became a mentor, confidant, and friend. Many years later, I had the great pleasure of buying his powerful climate change story “The Snows of Yesteryear” for the hard SF anthology Carbide Tipped Pens.

Jean-Louis was a gifted writer and a brilliant polymath who could speak with humble expertise on almost any topic from Franco-Ontarian history to the nature of distant extrasolar planets — all with his characteristic warmth and humour and supernova bright smile. I will miss him terribly. My condolences to his family and friends.