Writing news obituaries is no fun at all. It’s even worse when it’s an obituary about someone whose work you’ve known and admired.

But when the published article is taken the wrong way, the trapdoor opens for a slide into major-depressive-episode land.

So, let’s revisit the passing of Brad “Buster B.” Jones, formerly of Bedford County — and surely one of the most dextrous, speedy and musical fingerpickers ever to strap on a guitar.

Jones died Feb. 2, in a hospital near his Junction City, Ore., home. I learned about it the next day, but due to a crush of work, was unable to start working on a story until Feb. 4, for an article that ran on the 5th. I was able to make contact with Tom Ohmsen, owner of Flat 5 Studio in Salem, where Jones had done his first professional recordings, back when Flat 5 was still in Ohmsen’s basement.

Ohmsen was kind enough to take a lot of time with me for the story, and had many great things to say about Jones — including one quote that wound up upsetting Jones’ stepdaughters, Jessie Lee and Jenny Hodges. Had I been a more skillful writer, that might not have happened.

Ohmsen told me that Jones had avoided or sabotaged situations that would’ve led to broader mainstream exposure in the United States, adding that “he was maybe insecure that he wouldn’t have control anymore … ”

What Ohmsen meant, and what I understood him to mean, was that Jones did not want to cede control of his life and career to public relations agents, image managers and the like. He didn’t want to be told how to dress or how to act around the media — and he wasn’t afraid to tell PR and image types to shove it.

I could have been clearer in making that point, but I wasn’t, so Lee and Hodges took Ohmsen to mean that Jones was an insecure person. I know that’s not true, having spoken once on the phone with Jones. He was totally confident in his ability, and in conversation, he was a lot of fun. If the publicists had left him alone and just let him be him, that would likely have been enough. The people of Bordeaux, France, certainly thought so, having given him the title of wine lord in 1996.

Both Lee and Hodges — who thought of Jones as a father, not a stepfather — were upset. They blamed Ohmsen. It’s all my fault, though, for bad writing.

That said, I’d like to add here a story Lee told me about growing up with Jones.

Lee, who is 27, was 15 when she got her first car, a 1975 Chevrolet Nova. She said that Jones showed her how to take the engine apart and put it back together, and she wound up covered in grease. Then he took her out on Virginia 24, in the Goodview area, where the speed limit is 55 mph.

“And he told me to floor it,” she said. “And I was like, 'What?’ He said to floor it. And I said no. And then he yelled really loud, 'Floor it!’ And he pushed my knee down, and we hit about 90. And then he let off and said, 'Now, don’t ever do that again.’ … He wanted to show me the power that the car had, and not to abuse it.”

Jones was unorthodox, an independent, who taught his daughters how to make it on their own and not to take guff. And he made music with a superhuman style that aspiring guitarists will be studying for years to come.

If you aren’t familiar with Jones and his legacy, go to blogs.roanoke.com/rtblogs/cutnscratch/2009/02/02/buster-b-jones-rip/, myspace.com/tribute2busterbjones and godinguitars.com/godinppressbusterbjones.htm to read what people have to say about “Le Machine Gun.”