June 1989. I’m 15, wrapping up the ninth grade. My friend Jason and I have some kind of extracurricular project — I don’t even remember what it was exactly, but based on the evidence below, it had something to do with trying to interview big sci-fi writers about how they changed their styles (?). (Manowar would not have been impressed.)
I doubt the project ever went anywhere; most likely we spent most of our time talking about Star Trek and the Velvet Underground, or something. But we got at least one response: the following postcard (sent to Jason’s house, although I apparently made off with it), in which the mighty Isaac Asimov dismisses our punk asses in 52 efficient words.
I wish I could say that we were truly schooled by this, but I think we were just kind of psyched to get the autograph.
1 comment:
I think we wanted to a history of sci fi thing. Of course, we mainly just made prank calls to Rayma Schebell's office instead.
Somewhere I have a UVA napkin with Bradbury's autograph.
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