Death is a Lonely Business

Ray Bradbury

8/22/1920-6/6 2012

When I was kid, bedtime was 9 o’clock—no if’s, and’s, or spoil-the-child about it. There was no argument I could posture that would be entertained, no tantrum to throw, and definitely no TV in the bedroom ready for my viewing pleasure once the clock chimed the hour. Yes, we had a clock that chimed the hour, and no, there was no Gameboy, Ipod or Smart phone waiting for me, either.

Necessity–the mother of invention–was just a kid back in those days, too.

No. When the parents said it was bedtime, the only activity in which I could legitimately indulge beyond the predescribed 40 winks was reading, an activity frequently cut short by the yelled admonition to: Turn off the lights, already, would you? Or I’m coming up there…

Words to live by, but as any avid reader knows, a truly well-written book puts the reader down instead of vice-versa, and I would often finish such pages or chapters by the light of a flashlight under blankets tented by knees. (The birth of the ‘just 5 more minutes’ phenomenon that would serve me in good stead for years of late entrances to come).

Back then I didn’t know how to deconstruct the mechanics of a book and determine what made a given read better than another, but I did know this. Ray Bradbury’s words transported me so thoroughly to his dystopian world–a word I didn’t know at the tender age of nine, but do now–that I lost track of the one in which I dwelt.

The one with parental rules every bit as strict as those in his imagined societies. I finished his Martian Chronicles by the flashlight’s silvery beam, and Golden Apples of the Sun (and its short story anthology) to the sound of irate footfalls advancing up the stairs, because the gentleman was more than a page-turning author worthy of bubble-gum punishment. He was a wizard at creating worlds. The man behind the curtain of prose…and then some.

An author of more than 27 books and story collections, and 600 short stories, you probably have a few favorites yourself, though Dandelion Wine deserves a definite shout out here, regardless. The Apollo 15 astronauts dubbed an impact crater on our moon the ‘Dandelion Crater’ in honor of that novel, while an asteroid discovered in 1992 was named the: 9766 Bradbury.

Heady stuff for a science fiction master, and master Bradbury was no stranger to literati recognition, either.  Nominated and awarded numerous times over his career, the nods include but are not limited to: the SFPA Master (science fiction poetry award) the World Fantasy Award Life Achievement, as well as a special citation from the Pulitzer board recognizing him as a deeply influential author unmatched in his genre.

Hollywood agreed. Films and television were made about his works The Illustrated Man, The Martian Chronicles, & Something Wicked This Way Comes, to name just a few, and he’s immortalized on the famous star sidewalk, too, but this post isn’t about listing the Emmy winner’s considerable contributions to the arts—or the arts contributions to him.

Bradbury receiving the National Medal of Arts Award in 2004 with President George W. Bush and his wife Laura Bush.

This post is about saying good-bye  to a personal hero I was fortunate enough to meet. A man who helped expand my view of the possible, the fantastic and human nature, to boot. An alum of the writer’s conference here in Santa Barbara, Mr. Bradbury was the keynote speaker for both  years I attended (2007-2008), and spoke at length about his love for all things written, writers especially included. He advised us to celebrate life, to consider our words, and to write those words for no one other than ourselves. Not to please an imagined audience, not to meet a demand in the industry, and not to impress an editor–but for the love of the art, and its personal meaning to each.

A caveat I’ve kept in mind all these years later. Along with his approachability and incredibly intelligent eyes. I’ve read articles mentioning his gruffness, but I was personally struck by his gentle demeanor when I spoke to him briefly after these speeches.

And though the light has been turned off permanently in his reading room in this world, I’d like to think the author that illustrated my childhood with his vivid imagination is reading a Martian Chronicle or 2 in the next one. Maybe even by the light of a flashlight, if God has rules about such things.

The author is survived by 4 daughters and 8 grandchildren. His wife Marguerite died in 2003.

R.I.P., Mr. Bradbury. It was an honor to shake your hand.

Click: A Sound of Thunder to read an in-depth review by Michael Fedison, author of the: Eye Dancers.

Click: Secret of Creativity to read a pithy quote by Mr. Bradbury as presented by: Silver Birch Press

Click: Ray Bradbury to read an op-ed about Ray Bradbury’s works by Steve Smy of Imagineer-ing