Ray Bradbury died yesterday at the ripe old age of 91. I had only discovered the magic of his writing in the past year when I had stumbled upon "Something Wicked this Way Comes" in my favorite used book shop: The Last Bookstore.
I became immediately absorbed in the story and had an experience reading this book unlike anything before. It was as if Mr. Bradbury could read my mind and anticipate what I wanted to happen next, even though I did not know myself. In particular, when the witch is soaring above the boy's house in her hot-air balloon...I kept thinking, yes, this is perfect.
After finishing the book I immediately went out to read Fahrenheit 451 (which so happens to be the degree at which paper burns) and then start on his many short stories. I couldn't believe I had lived most of my life without knowing the joy or reading his work.
In short, Ray Bradbury affected me in a way in which I had never felt before. And he also inspired me to begin writing myself. I don't ever imagine writing anything comparable to Mr. Bradbury but he stirred the creativity within me and for that, I will forever be grateful.
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