Tuesday, March 19, 2013

R is For Rocket

I have been encouraged from time to time to write my own book.  I don't understand why.  I love to read books, I love buying books (especially hunting for treasure in the second-hand book stores), I love talking about books (without giving away too much unless you have read it and then the discussions can be very enthusiastic).   I will gleefully be as geeky as I can when it comes to anything about books (coffee mugs, t-shirts etc.,).  I just can't write them,  and this is why. 
I have no imagination.  How I would come up with a story or a plot or an adventure is beyond my ambitions.  The only thing I know about is my own life, and believe me, that would be a miserable thing to write or read about.  Why write when there is already so many amazing books out there?  I would rather spend my time reading them than writing them.
I'm grateful not everyone feels the same way as I do, and of course, ever so grateful that I grew up in an age that has so many great writers.  I don't know how many ways I can say this but I am just so glad that Ray Bradbury was born.  What an immense gift to the world, and to myself.  He takes me to so many different places, with so many different problems, each an experience so different from the last and all flavored with his enthusiasm and joy for the written word. Out in space, where he isn't limited to what might happen here on Earth, the ideas are just unfathomable, showing me that he was such a great writer, and how I never could be.

No comments:

Post a Comment