Farewell, Ray Bradbury, Martian Chronicler

Ray Bradbury died last Tuesaday at the age of 91.

http://www.npr.org/2012/06/06/154424247/fahrenheit-451-author-ray-bradbury-dies-at-91

He left behind an incredible legacy for the world. He was a great man and a great American, with an incredible intellect and a compassionate poet's heart.

His books made me a better person and a better writer. I've longed to capture the beauty and nostalgia that he was able to evoke, most brilliantly in the Martian Chronicles. The Martian Chronicles, Something Wicked This Way Comes and Fahrenheit 451 are my favorite Bradbury books, and, in my opinion, three of the greatest books ever written.

Every writer who's truly a writer longs to write something that really matters, something that moves people's hearts, changes their lives. But probably the only way to do that is not to try but to do what Ray did.

"Love. Fall in love and stay in love. Write only what you love, and love what you write. The key word is love. You have to get up in the morning and write something you love, something to live for."

Well, I'd better get on with it. Ray would want me to be writing now, not spend time talking about him.

We will miss you, Ray. Thanks for all the great stories.

Creative Success and Financial Success: Very Fickle Friends

For a writer, creative success and financial success are very fickle friends.

Many well-known writers didn't make enough of a living while they were alive, including one of my heroes (gulp, bad sign), Robert E. Howard, creator of Conan. Now, he would be a millionaire. He died very poor at the end of the 1930's. Then there's Edgar Rice Burroughs at the other end of the spectrum, who was incredibly rich. Some talented writers, especially ones that are "ahead of their time," never make a decent living or are recognized for their gift. Most never become very wealthy. This is a bitter truth of life (or our culture). You have to decide what's more important: being creatively successful and actually contributing something valuable to the body of literary work, or, being financially successful with it. They often don't go together. Some who are vastly talented are not rewarded financially, and many who are rewarded financially are not vastly talented.

Being a fan of authors like Leiber and Howard (also Bradbury, who has been lucky enough to be recognized for his work, and Philip K. Dick, who was partially recognized, but again, would be a millionaire now), I've come to accept that even if I write at their level, and I hope I will be there in the next couple of years (I believe I have the talent), I may never see the proper financial reward. I'm here for a purpose and it's not to make money or be famous. Those things might be nice. Maybe they wouldn't. A decent living is my only desire in that area. Beyond a certain income point (about $40-$50K/year according to studies), happiness does not increase.

My joy and meaning in life come from the work, getting up each day and being able to write. My joy comes from following in the footsteps of great writers that made my life and the lives of millions of others, deeper, richer and more joyful. When I'm on my deathbed, that will give me peace. All the money in the world, without that, will not.

The Delight of Seeing Saturn

I got to view Saturn through a telescope last night at Griffith Observatory. It looked like it had been cut out precisely from black paper and backlit from behind. I was astonished at the clarity of the planet and the rings. It was surreal and wonderful and it gave me an existential delight which is almost impossible to communicate with words. It made me feel like something wonderfully playful, mysterious and romantic is going on that transcends all of the suffering that we create for ourselves here on this planet. And someday, we'll all transcend that suffering and join in that mystery and delight.