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A medicine for melancholy: my memories of Ray Bradbury

A medicine for melancholy: my memories of Ray Bradbury

Ray Bradbury is dead. I learned of this today via Twitter, and my eyes welled up with tears immediately. My mother, hearing the news, invited me to call her at work so we could commiserate. I came to Bradbury’s work in the third grade, or thereabouts. I suspect my godmother was responsible. Her husband was a fan, and had even interviewed Bradbury, once. (He was the nicest guy, by all accounts.) My godmother was laissez-faire when it came to my…

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