I’ve been struggling about what to write here since I heard the horrible news about the famed author, Ray Bradbury. I was thinking about doing a long article chronicling his career or a big write-up on all of his books. But I have decided to do neither of those as I’ve seen countless news websites do that already. So I’ll do something that no one else can do, and that is to write about what his books meant to me and to me alone.
I picked up my first Bradbury book at a very young age. It was The Martian Chronicles and it belonged to my brother, though I’m pretty sure my dad had bought it for himself many years before that. The book was worn and the cover had nearly fallen off. I tried to read the book, but after about thirty pages quit. Now when I say I was young, I mean like 5 or 6 years old, so its understandable that the book was difficult to read. What I did know, though, was that I wanted to read more stories like that.
Years later, I found a collection of his short stories, titled The Sound of Thunder and read those. In the matter of a year, I had read four or five of his novels and too many short stories to count. Soon I found myself wanting to write little science fiction tales and be just like him.
I find it hard to believe that the man who inspired me to write is gone and that I will never be able to thank him for giving me a dream. No one will ever be like him. If you haven’t already, I strongly recommend that you read his books.