RIP Ray Bradbury

I started writing this last week. It just never got posted.

I think I was 12 or 13 when I first read The Martian Chronicles. I remember asking my dad for something to read and since I'd already worked my way through Dune and Ringworld, he must have thought he'd suggest another of his writing heros. I do remember that it was summer and that I stayed inside curled up on the couch reading the book. I was entranced. I'm sure I knew the world colonization but it was the emotions that made me unable to put the book down. The wonderful mix of loneliness, uncertainty, fear, joy, and discovery was what made each story sing. I read the book in two days. And since then I've always loved Bradbury.

On my shelves upstairs I have The Martian Chronicles, The Illustrated Man, Something Wicked This Way Comes, Dandelion Wine, Forever Summer, Fahrenheit 451, I Sing the Body Electric, and One More For the Road. He is the author that I've owned the most books by. He's the author that never once disappointed me. Even his odd mysteries in the last couple years have a charm for me. So although I knew he was older (91 when he died), I don't think I ever really expected him to die. Or at least I hoped that I would get to shake his hand once before he did. Now that won't happen. I was a bit upset when Maurice Sendak died earlier this month. But I cried when I found out Ray Bradbury was dead. It seemed impossible.

Since his death I've been reading obituaries and tributes to him. I've read a lot of people gushing about him, and only a bit of it was about his writing. Ray Bradbury was a man who wrote every day of his adult life but who still took the time to answer much of his fan mail with a real letter written out on his typewriter. I've seen wonderful examples of letters he sent to his fans filled with anecdotes, advice, and encouragement. I've read people talk about how amazing a friend he was. And I read the sheer human emotion that he wrote with. I have a section of quotes in my quote book dedicated to him. He's said so many wonderful things. He is a huge fan of libraries and stories. And he's been an idol of mine since that summer over two decades ago when I finally realized how good writing could be. I'm sad that he's no longer with us. But I hope that his legacy (both as a writer and a person) lives on.

Stuff your eyes with wonder...live as if you'd drop dead in ten seconds. 

See the world. It's more fantastic than any dream made or paid for in factories. 

--Ray Bradbury

We are all cups, constantly and quietly being filled.

The trick is, knowing how to tip ourselves over and let the beautiful stuff out.

Blame Jack Gantos

A month ago or so when I stopped writing the blog I mentioned that I was doing a lot more creative writing. Journal writing in particular. At the time I talked about my beautiful fountain pen that I've been overworking. I talked about enjoying the feel of paper. I'm sure I even mentioned how journaling keeps me sane. But I know I didn't talk about my greatest influence that got me back into creative writing (although stopped my blogging for a while), Jack Gantos.

I picked up Joey Pigza Swallowed the Key by Jack Gantos on a whim. The cover artwork was originally off-putting but I had heard good things. So I picked it up. One morning I sat down with a pot of coffee and the book and didn't stop reading until I was finished. I'd never heard a voice that fresh. Joey, the narrator, jumped off the page. He was quirky and confidential and I loved him. He's an amazing character, honest and messed-up. And the writing was so fresh. I devoured the book. Then I started learning more about the man who created it.

The interviews I read or listened to with Jack were all about journals. Jack has been journaling regularly since he was young. Almost all of his novels have come out of those journals in some way or another. I'm jealous. In a moment of madness 10 years ago I tossed all of my journals up to that point. I still regret that. Jack describes writing as "blue-collar work" and keeps a very dedicated writing schedule. And I found that inspiring. Not only have I been reading through all his books, but I've started journaling daily. Monday, Tuesday, and Thursday I stop at the library on the way home from work for 40 minutes or so of writing. On Saturday and Sundays I sit down in the early morning hours with my coffee and  my notebook to write. I'm not sure what all will come out of it book-wise, but I know that I feel more productive, more creative, and certainly saner.

I'm about half finished with Jack's oeuvre and have not been disappointed by a single one. I laughed until I cried at sections of Jack's Black Book. I was horrified and worried through Hole in My Life, Jack's memoir of being in prison. He has a unique voice that I haven't read before. But it's his habits that got me thinking. I found him inspiring, in terms of his teaching and as an example. And because of that inspiration I have been doing more of my own work. And for that I thank him.

Roald Dahl Day

One of the books I picked up when I was at the booksale this weekend was Going Solo, Roald Dahl's account of his time flying with the RAF during World War II. Years ago, I had read his short story "A Piece of Cake" which talks about him being trapped in his burning plane after a crash and I wanted to hear the rest of the story. This is the sequel to his autobiography Boy and was a really interesting read. He starts the book talking about his time in Northern Africa working for the Shell Company. After war is declared he is sent out with a small band of African warriors and no military training to try to round up the hundreds of German citizens fleeing the country. After that he heads to Egypt to train as an RAF pilot. The training and his flying missions are the bulk of the book.

Shortly after his training, Dahl is sent to join his squadron in the desert. After he is given incorrect data, he is forced to crash land in the desert. That is where his short story came up. He is discovered by a scouting group and brought back to a hospital in Alexandria. There he spends the next 8 months recovering his sight, rebuilding his nose, and recovering from severe concussions. He is released from the hospital and sent to Greece to join the dying campaign there. He and his fellow pilots have the only dozen RAF planes in Greece. It is a lost cause but no one seems to be willing to accept that. The pilots are flying for hours a day and getting shot up on every trip. Dahl talks about the almost everyday deaths of pilots. After losing plane after plane until there is only five left, Dahl and the others are evacuated to Palestine and Syria. And after hours in the air he starts to develop headaches which ground him, a side effect from his earlier injuries. He is sent home and the book ends.

Roald Dahl has a special place in my heart. I grew up reading his books and have so far not read one that I didn't love. I vividly remember being read The BFG (Big Friendly Giant, for those of you who had other acronyms in mind) which I still consider one of the best books for young kids ever. Dahl is best known for Charlie and the Chocolate Factory but so many of his books are wonderful. His books have a dark sense of humor and are often considered gross or strange by most parents. But every child I know loves his work. My favorite of his books include The Twits, which is a terrible book about terrible people, getting their just rewards. It is delicious in its silliness and viciousness. I loved James and the Giant Peach, which its story of the young boy and his insects who find a way to cross the ocean in a gigantic peach. And for a more realistic book, there is Danny, the Champion of the World, a sweet story about poaching and fatherly love. It was interesting after reading so many of his books as a child, to read a bit more of his adult work. His stories from the war were enough to make this book interesting but to read it with the knowledge that he would become one of the most successful children's book authors ever, made it fascinating.

All that said, I was reading a bit more about Dahl online today and found out something very interesting. Dahl was born September 13th and I guess that day has been called Roald Dahl Day in some circles. I found it bizarre that I spent most of yesterday (his day) curled up on the couch reading his autobiography. I don't believe in coincidences but this one seems a bit odd. Roald Dahl type odd. So for all of you out there, wondering what strange and interesting tales to read your child, here is a suggestion. Find a nice quiet corner, turn your parent brain off, and get ready to be awed and revolted. And Happy Belated Roald Dahl Day!

Don't Know Much About...Shakespeare

Like most kids I was first introduced to one of Shakespeare's plays in my freshman year of high school. We were required, like pretty much everyone else, to read Romeo and Juliet. The play was good but mostly I remember that I was forced to read it and how much of a joke we all thought it was at the time. In my Junior year I took advanced literature and we read Julius Caesar. Except we read it in modern translation. For some reason "Friends, Romans, Country people, listen to me" just doesn't have the same ring as "Friends, Romans, Countrymen, Lend me your ears." It was an even bigger joke. I actually got in trouble for following along in the old English.

It wasn't until I actually sat down on my own and read Twelfth Night that I fell in love with Shakespeare. I took a course in college where we dissected at least 8 of his plays. I loved reading them in the old translation and understanding the jokes and asides behind them. What they didn't teach me in high school was that Shakespeare was funny and insightful and political. I was just told that he was a classic and that I had to read him. And he is a classic and his plays should be read. But not just because he is listed as a classic. Shakespeare's work is some of the most copied or used works ever. His plays define the most common plot styles. More words and common phrases have come out of Shakespeare's work than any other writer in history. Yet we know almost nothing about him. I certainly didn't learn anything about his life in high school or college.

So this past week I picked up Bill Bryson's Shakespeare: The World as Stage with the desire to learn a little bit more about his history. I was in for a rude awakening. We don't really know that much about him in general. There are large periods of time in his history that we have no idea what city he was even in. We can't say for certain what day he was born. We know a little bit about his father who was not the provincial that every claims he was. We know some of the plays that he wrote but we are missing a few. We know he acted in all the plays he wrote, although we will probably never know the order in which he wrote them. We don't even really know what he looked like.

The sonnets, some of Shakespeare's most romantic poems, were written for a young man although we don't know his relationship to that young man. We know he was married and that he had two daughters but we have no idea what sort of relationship he had with any of them. For a while I guess there was a claim going around that Shakespeare didn't own any books. The sad fact is that other than two houses, a couple beds, a sword, and a silver bowl, we have no idea what sort of things he owned. We aren't even sure if the will he left is his own. Or really how to spell his name. (He himself spelled it six or seven different ways).

Bryson of course does touch on the statements that have been made that Shakespeare didn't write the works that are attributed to him. I waited for most of the book to hear his take on the controversy. And Bryson delivered. It was interesting to learn the history of where these accusations have come from. Most of the people who came up with these theories were either completely loony (actually the last name of one of the accusers) or basing the accusation on no actual evidence. For most of the people doubting, it is based entirely on an idea that Shakespeare wasn't smart enough to write the plays. And my favorite point was that no one, for the first 100 years after Shakespeare's death, questioned his authorship. Many praised his work during his own time. I would think that would be proof enough.

I've read a lot of Shakespeare's work, some in classes, some on my own. I've marveled at his turn of phrase and fantastic flair for the dramatic. The soliloquies in Hamlet, the staging of Macbeth, the humor of Much Ado About Nothing. The man was an amazing writer. I bet he was a good actor as well. Sadly, the world will never know.