I’m inspired by Ray Bradbury.
Not for his prolific output, which has been prodigious over the years. Several hundred short stories, novels, screenplays, plays, poems, and still it continues.
Not for his imagination, which explores the outer reaches of imagination while at the same time turning a telling mirror on ourselves.
And not for his career which is seminal and seemingly timeless.
All of those are worth being inspired by. And I am.
But what really inspires me about his writing is his sheer joy in the act. Master Bradbury has lived ninety years and during most of those years he’s sprung out of bed each morning almost running to the typewriter because he can’t wait to fall away into the worlds of his characters.
Isn’t that wonderful?
And his legacy is one of not just literature, but of words that jump out at you, grab you by the lapels (or perhaps put a loving arm around your shoulder) and demand and entice you to journey on with them.
His is a career well-wrought and a life well-lived.
And that, my friends, is worth aiming for.
We bow at your gift, Papa, and say a heartfelt thanks.