S.L.Luck

Yesterday we went to my husband’s hometown for a town-wide garage sale. We absolutely didn’t need anything, of course, but spent hours walking the town with our kids. Even the library participated. My husband knows me and the moment he saw tables on the library’s lawn, he dutifully turned into the parking lot. I’m not sure the truck was even stopped before I got out. (Yes, it excites me that much.) As I sped toward the smiling librarian, my youngest called out, “Mommy, you have twenty minutes.” (She knows me too.) I quickly snatched up books I’ve already read but didn’t own (Marquez ), and loaded my arms with Atwood, Tolkien, and a few Asimovs. Then the librarian told me all of the books were free but that they are gladly accepting donations. Boom! Every Asimov flew into my arms. To date I’ve read only Issac Asimov’s I, Robot, but my love for science fiction—spurred by Bradbury—is feverish. I’m already a few chapters into Asimov’s Tales of the Black Widowers, and loving it. With so many books in my hands yesterday, I had to do a little Googling on the writer about to whip me around the universe. I learned that in 1921, Asimov and 16 of his brothers and sisters all developed double pneumonia but only Asimov survived. (That poor family!) He went on to have a younger brother and sister and Asimov himself became a Professor of Biochemistry at Boston University. And we was a prolific writer, penning hundreds of books, hundreds of short stories, and 90,000 letters.(!!!) I’m at 9 books and a few dozen short stories. Even if I manage to give “social” media the cold shoulder, I’ll never write this much because, well, life, but the idea of this kind of generation is something to aspire to. Because practice makes better.

Until next week, Dear Readers, keep reading . . .