I just heard that Ray Bradbury died at age 91. He meant a lot to me. Not because I write like Ray Bradbury—I couldn't if I tried. But I became a horror writer because of Ray Bradbury. His “The October Game” is a masterpiece of subtly growing menace, and one of the most perfectly focused short stories ever written, as effective today as it was when it appeared in Weird Tales.


I discovered it on a summer night in Hitchcock's 13 More Stories They Wouldn't Let Me Do on TV. I consider reading “The October Game” one of the pivotal moments in my life. Just thirteen at the time, I found the last line ("Then... some idiot turned on the lights.") confusing. I sat there, book in hand, puzzled, wondering at that crazy closing sentence. Why on earth—?


BLAM!


It hit me. I got it. And it blew me away, utterly and completely. Left me gasping. Lowered the temperature of the room by 20 degrees. And made me decide that someday, some way, I would write a story that would do unto others what this one had done unto me. I’m still trying.


Later on, Ray sort of disowned “The October Game.” I’ll bet he still appreciated the finesse of his younger self’s technique, but I think the subject matter appalled the older Ray. But the lesson this story pounds home is how less can be so much more. The oblique descriptions in the dark throughout the “game” are never visually realized by the author. The reader is left to construct them after the lights come on.


One of the wonderful things about writing fantastic fiction is the collegial atmosphere. You get to meet the heroes of your youth. I met Ray years ago. We corresponded. He started sending me his Christmas poems. I remember standing there December after December, agog that I was holding an original poem by Ray Bradbury. Sent to me. Me…on Ray Bradbury’s Christmas list. Me…on Ray freaking Bradbury’s Christmas list. Me…


Good bye, Ray. I know you're on Mars. Watch out for the rover.

I remember that story by RB and I have but one word for you, sir. Actually it's a name, Danny. You hit that mark, damn bulls-eye, too.

FPW, you have the same effect on us. You've more than accomplished your goal.

I unfortunately am not that familiar with Mr. Bradbury's work. I remember as a kid watching the cable series he had--can't remember it's name offhand. It started with him tapping away on his typewriter every week, I remember that. And I remember watching The Martian Chronicles with Rock Hudson, Darren McGavin and the then Amazing Spiderman, Nicholas Hammond. Plus I saw The Illustrated Man with Rod Steiger and liked it very much.

Based on your obvious admiration of his writing, I think I'll try some of his work myself.

One of the last grand masters gone. I have always returned to Bradbury in my years of reading for one simple reason,
He was a damn fine storyteller, no better words can be said and I will surely miss seeing new material for many years.

Late on this one. But Ray Bradbury could have written a shopping list, and I would have read it, and enjoyed it.

I've never understood why he is always described as a science fiction writer when he wrote in just about every genre, and showed the genre how it should be done.

All good writers share the ability to change your life in small and subtle ways. FPW has done that to me but, no offence Dr., Ray Bradbury did it BIG time.

I will miss him.