I know many people scoff
at my using this site to express emotions
and basically just trying to get my voice heard. Yeah, I got all your little memo's
and I can see that you've voted some of my stuff down. So, I guess your not going to like this stuff
either. What can I say I'm a sentimental boob
deep down, but hey, just don't read my stuff then.
Anyway, this next little addition to my file of goopy gak is a letter that I have never been able to put in an envelope and send out. Yep, I'm a sentimental chicken. So, I'm even lower than the low, but that's beside the point. Recently I was thrown into a jealous fit because I became friends with a man who had the chance to shake my hero's hand. Damn him! I also learned that I missed my chance to hear the man speak at my very own University, not just once but TWICE! I am SUCH a boob! So, to make up for my silly stupid fear I'm posting the letter (that I can't manage to send) on this site so everyone else will know who my hero is (in case that makes any sense at all).
I just need to allow myself a little more time to build courage and get feedback. PLEASE send feedback...unless you want to tell me I'm a sentimental boob, because I already know that. I am fully aware of how simple and basic and even childish the letter seems, but I'm in such awe of this man that I am unsure of how to say anything that might make him believe I'm anymore than a babbling fool. Which I fully admit that I am, I just hope that I'm also a bit more. Anyway I'll just get to the letter now and shut up.
Here is my letter to Ray Bradbury
Dear Mr. Bradbury,
I don’t know exactly where to begin. I guess I should tell you who I am first. My name is Jacki. I am currently a student at the University of Massachusetts in Amherst. I am studying to be a high school english teacher.
I have written many letters to you, hundreds in fact. All of them in my head. I could never seem to muster up the courage to commit them to paper. I am unsure what has given me the courage to do so now. I probably owe my new found boldness to my late aunt. I only know that your work inspires me. I recently wrote a documented essay about you for my english class here at the University. I am ashamed to say that I was unable to capture your greatness in words. I was also greatly disturbed to discover that a majority of the class did not know who you are, even a librarian at the University library asked me if you were an author. I just stood there with my mouth gaping open in complete shock. A LIBRARIAN, for the love of god, what is this world coming to?
You have done everything that I hope to do, and more. As I was reading about you, for the essay I mentioned before, I felt a certain kindred affection for you. Between the novel Dandilion Wine, the other stories I’ve read by you, and the information that I found, it felt more like reading about a treasured friend, instead of a stranger whose books I occassionally read.
Much like you I enjoy the little things in life: dandelions, paper and pencil, summer days, the list goes on. Your stories are so beautiful that they bring me to tears, but I also realize that there are lessons to them as well.
In a class that I took this semester, called Brave New Worlds, we read Fahrenheit 451. I had read the book before (on my own, the previous year) but I found myself enjoying it even more the second time around. I seemed to find more of the lessons and remembered some of the ones I’d caught the first time.
My favorite novel by you would have to be (and you may find this strange) The Halloween Tree. I can’t really explain why, I wish I could, but I wouldn’t know how to begin. My ideas and my knowledge of the English language don’t usually come together in the right way. For an amature writer, like me, describing your work to you is not only difficult but also somewhat inappropriate. I just wanted to share my affection for that book with you because I’m sure very few people have expressed admiration for it. Seeing as how your other works are far more well known.
I have written this letter to you only in hopes of letting you know that you have not only written books, short stories, and screenlpays , but to let you know that you have also written a piece of me as well. It is because of your stories that I have decided to become a teacher. I want others to enjoy your work as I do. I failed to tell my aunt that she is my hero and I don’t want to miss the oportunity to tell you as well.
Thank you so much for your stories. Thank you for your inspiration. And thank you for the part of me that you have created. Thank you.
Ok so thats my lovely little sentimental letter all chopped up and cut down so as not to bore the busy man. What do you think? Please keep in mind that I've been letting this letter collect dust for about three years now, and I'm fully terrified that Mr. Bradbury will look at it briefly roll his eyes and toss it away. I mean, really, how can I expect a man of his caliber to have even an iota of a second to spare for little o' me? Sigh. And so the letter remains unsent, but at least now I can say that it has been read.