![]() ![]() When Bradbury found out that he wanted to be a writer, he invited him to his office and spent half a day telling him the important stuff: if you want to be a writer, you have to write. Last week, at dinner, a friend told me that when he was a boy of 11 or 12 he met Ray Bradbury. And I wrote it last year as a love letter and as a thank you and as a birthday present for an author who made me dream, taught me about words and what they could accomplish, and who never let me down as a reader or as a person as I grew up. It's a monologue called The Man Who Forgot Ray Bradbury, and was a way of talking about the impact that Ray Bradbury had on me as a boy, and as an adult, and, as far as I could, about what he had done to the world. ![]() Yesterday afternoon I was in a studio recording an audiobook version of short story I had written for Ray Bradbury's 90th birthday. So I sent it to them, unread and raw, and an hour later it went up on their website. I finished the piece I would have put up on the blog about Ray Bradbury just as a couple of emails from the Guardian came in asking if I would send them something please, honest really please. ![]()
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