I don’t have a real post today. Nor do I have time to write one. But I saw in the news that Ray Bradbury has died and had to say something.
How do I begin? I could get lost talking how The Small Assassin put me off of having children for at least an extra year or two. Or how Something Wicked This Way Comes opened my younger self to a whole new vision of what fiction could and should be. How I read Halloween Tree to my children at Halloween. How Dandelion Wine gave me a sense of the innocence of childhood and the weight of adulthood when I stood on the boundary between.
Somehow these thoughts don’t seem adequate.
Ray Bradbury wrote about Martians and dystopian societies and grandmas and tattoo artists and circuses and friendship and death. But no matter what he wrote about, no matter what you felt about his writing style or his subject matter, one thing is undeniable:
Ray Bradbury wrote from the heart. And what a big heart he had.
Thank you, Ray Bradbury, for sharing that heart with the rest of us.