Separated at Birth

A couple of Steves: Barnes, L. Perry, R.

The writer, now also a life coach, Steve Barnes and I go way back. We met in L.A. twenty-five or more years ago when he was living there. We once co-wrote a script for an animation show -- he did the outline, and I did the draft based on it -- much to his surprise ...

We bumped into each other at cons, or sometimes, pitch meetings for toon scripts. We did panels together. Sang doo-wop on one once. Even paired up for a Whose Line is it, Anyway? improv skit -- and that's harder than it looks -- and eventually wound up studying the same martial art from the same teacher for ten or so years when Barnes moved up into my neck of the woods.

Barnes moved back to LaLaLand after his daughter graduated from high school, and we see each other less frequently now -- at silat seminars or the local science fiction con when he makes it up. I read his blog, we exchange the odd email. I offer my opinion on the gun stuff in his books, like that.

Always liked the man, and the reason I got into silat was because he mentioned it to me and had his -- later our -- teacher come to a convention one Sunday to do a demo.

We have both written about martial arts in our work.

So I got a fan letter from a kid who went on about how much he loved my books, especially Street Lethal and Lion's Blood ...

I was kind in my reply. I can remember, long ago and far away, meeting a writer and gushing, only to realize he wasn't who I thought he was -- and feeling really stupid when he ever-so-gently pointed it out. One of those head-slapping, wish-you-could-magically-disappear moments.

No problem, I told him. Barnes and I get mistaken for each other all the time. Happened before -- I was once invited to a black writers' conference, and wouldn't they have been surprised if I'd showed up, glowing in the dark and all ...