I learned today that Cirsova contributor Jim Comer [often published as J. Comer] passed away from a heart attack a few months ago.
Jim is one of the few people who has written for Cirsova with whom I was friends in real life. Before moving out west for a teaching job, he was a staple of the Little Rock social gaming scene and often acted as a facilitator getting new people playing and involved with the group. While it’s been years since I’ve seen him in person, we stayed in touch, with Cirsova publishing some of his Pendleton’s World stories as well as a few short reviews of Baen and other books.
When last we spoke, he was still querying his Pendleton’s World novel [portions of which have appeared in Cirsova Magazine] and unfortunately he had not had a lot of success. Tragically, it will now likely never see publication.
He will be missed.
I have learned that my friend and colleague, Jim Comer, has died. I do not know his family and do not have details. To judge by FB posts, he passed away in late April or early May, apparently of a heart attack. It seems to have been quick.
As J. Comer, Jim published short fiction in Cirsova Magazine and elsewhere, and reviews and criticism at the Cirsova website, QueerSciFi, and elsewhere. As James Ray Comer, he coauthored at least two sourcebooks for White Wolf Games. I was honored to publish two of his fine stories in my Weird West anthologies, Lost Trails Volumes 1-2, and wish he had been able to write and publish more fiction and receive greater notice. As a professional historian, Dr. Comer published several pages’ worth of academic nonfiction (going by the CV he showed me about a decade ago), with a specialty in food history.
As you might guess from the last, he was gourmet and gourmand. He enjoyed cooking, often experimenting with recipes and foods and exploring new recipes and cuisines. His broad and deep knowledge of food and drink meant he was an excellent dining companion, willing to share what he knew to enhance your appreciation. Sometimes, he knew more than you might be wanting to take in, but he shared out of a love of the cuisine or dish and out of a love for you.
This knowledge extended to live plants. Hike with him and he would name plants, where they came from if not native, and whether they were edible. In the San Gabriel Mountains, we chewed the leaves of a plant he called “Indian chewing gum” (and probably something else, which I don’t remember, which is unfortunate, because that term applies to many different plants and concoctions).
His love of history also manifested beyond teaching and academic writing. He crewed on a recreated (modern-build) 40′ Viking longship on the Potomac, rowing and singing. He did other historical reenactment, as well, as an ancient Roman physician, and he told my partner and me something of the tools and practices of the ancient Roman physician. These practices included cupping, which I have experienced, but Jim had not, nor had he witnessed the results thereof; in consequence of this, Jim is one of the only three non-medicine-practicing adult men who have seen in full my adult bare back.
In addition to teaching and writing, he was a historical consultant for a number of Hollywood productions, but he quit because “they never listen to me.” At this point, I regret to say, I do not remember which productions consulted him. Jim was a great stickler for historical and other accuracy–and you would get accurate information. A scholar and a gentleman, Jim had an eidetic memory (he was fluent in at least four languages). This great gift was coupled with stringent honesty–if he didn’t know, he would say so. But he almost always knew, and in depth.
Without Jim as my friend, consultant, and critique partner, my Blood-Thirsty Agent alternate-history series would not exist. I would not have had the confidence to start. But I knew that if I leaped, he would catch me. If I stumbled, he would right me. If I fell, he would raise me up gently. And, always, he did, in this, and everywhere else.
When my mother died, he came to my father’s house in Houston (both lived there then) to offer his condolences to my family, though he had never met any members of my family. He gave me and Brazos–the kitten who had come out of nowhere on a country road to adopt me–a ride to the airport when it was time for me to return home.
One might suppose we became friends through social media or SF conventions or a writer’s workshop, but Joe and I met Jim in the late ’00s, when we moved to Victor Valley in Southern California and joined High Desert Equality, a group for LGBTQIAP+ people and allies. Jim was already a member. At one of the meetings at the old location of Perks Coffee House, we discovered we were all SFF fans. At that moment, our friendship sprouted. When Jim and I learned we both wrote SF, in this region of the world with rather a dearth of writers of any genre, we became critique partners. He was always ready to serve as my beta reader, but I regret to say that I developed fatiguing medical conditions and could not always return the favor, a situation for which he offered only kindness and understanding.
Raised Southern Baptist, Jim became in adulthood a member of the United Church of Christ (Congregational). A devout believer, he gave atheist friends like Joe and me his whole-hearted acceptance and love. I know that as part of his church membership, he worked with the homeless and with AIDS patients; he didn’t really talk about this, because he didn’t do it for the approval of others. He did it because he was familiar with the ethical teachings of Jesus and practiced them. Whenever I hear or think of the phrase “a good Christian,” I think of Jim.
The last time Joe and I saw Jim was on Thanksgiving weekend 2025. He drove down from Sacramento on the holiday in order to participate in LosCon as a panelist. He joined us for Joe’s family’s Thanksgiving get-together. When LosCon began, we were able to share a couple of meals and great conversation. We had hoped that he would meet our minister friends, the Rev. Dr. Jacob Buchholz and the Rev. Dr. Jen Strickland of the Claremont United Church of Christ, knowing they would all take to each other very much, but the couple were out of town; it would happen “next year in Claremont,” Joe and Jim and I agreed, as we shared the final meal of Jim’s L.A. visit at Gus’s BBQ in Claremont.
It was not to be.
I don’t know if you can tell what every person is like from their smile, but you could with Jim’s. He had a great smile.
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