The Wordsmith – Remembering Janis Keating

I knew Janis Keating since 2008. She was one of my friends with whom I spoke the most.

We met in the writer’s room at The Scapecast. She had vast experience as a freelance writer and saw something in my work that prompted her to uncap her editing pen. Pretty much all of my articles and essays on that show were polished by Janis.

We first met in person at the Second Annual Final Frelling Farewell Farscape convention in 2008. The Scapecast crew invited the writing team to join them in Burbank, California, and the friendship between Janis, my wife, and me was immediate. By the end of that trip, Janis had adopted us as the kids she never had. As she said, “if things had gone a little differently all those years ago…”

After Burbank, she always referred to us as her cyberkids and signed her messages as “Your CyberMom.”

Janis loved science fiction nearly as much as she loved dogs. It took me way too long to realize that her screen name on The Scapecast‘s forums – AmmeLeep – was a subtle nod to her love of The Avengers. In this case, it was the British spy show from the 1960s, though her love of the Marvel Cinematic Universe was also quite strong. She loved to chat about the Marvel films, from pointing out filmmaking and writing gaffes to expressing her desire to live until the next Thor film. That Chris Hemsworth was her guy.

Her love of dogs extended to one of her favorite sayings: “On the Internet, nobody knows you’re a dog.” That adage about anonymity on the web came from a cartoon drawn by Peter Steiner for The New Yorker, another of her faves.

Janis was a straight-shooter. She didn’t suffer fools and could be relied on for honest critique. A former acquaintance asked me why I could call someone like that my friend, and the answer is because a true friend doesn’t just show up when everything is going right. A true friend will also tell you when you’re getting it wrong. Janis was that kind of person. She was a true friend who loved with every bit of her heart.

Her stubbornness kept her going through her cancer journey. What started as a simple surgery to excise it turned into another surgery that revealed a more complicated path. She was given one to three years and she made it to four. When she documented her end-of-life wishes, it was in a planner entitled F*ck! I’m Dead. Now What? When she entered home hospice, she was given one to six months. She left at ten.

She lived long enough to fulfill a goal she shared with former President Jimmy Carter: She voted in the 2024 election.

Her Facebook wall featured a banner with the Will Rogers view on the afterlife: “If there are no dogs in Heaven, then when I die I want to go where they went.” She always struck me as a force too great to contain, and as her sister remarked upon her passing, her indominable spirit decided that there other galaxies to conquer.

My wife reminded me that Janis wouldn’t appreciate us mourning over her. Truthfully, she’d be the first to demand I pick myself up, dust myself off, and keep making the world a better place. She left love, laughter, life lessons, and a hole in our hearts. We’re thankful for her friendship, and we’re going to miss her tremendously. I hope she’s flying free out there, bringing her wit, her love, and her pen to her next adventure.

Wherever that is, I hope she finds dogs.

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