All Summer in a Day


“All Summer in a Day”

By Ray Bradbury

The Magazine of Fantasy & Science Fiction 1954

2018 beamed as bright as a Broadway marquee at the end of 2017. A brightness that most Januaries cannot live up to. Portland has been dark and rainy and something close to cold. (I can’t complain too much about the winters here compared to mine in New Hampshire.) The first winter anywhere is probably the hardest. It is so easy to stay inside, asleep and alone. I know to take Vitamin D pills, to eat leafy greens, to exercise, travel, and laugh as much as I can in January and February. But still, the winter doldrums have come for me and I find myself daydreaming of faraway beaches, the tight-skinned feeling of sunburn, and sweat soaked hair.

All of this is to say that lately, I am remembering one of the hottest days I’ve ever felt and the short story that was part of it. I was in New Haven, maybe it was July, and a friend and I had a made a monthly habit of going to Listen Here, short story readings by local actors at the Institute Library. The Institute Library is an 1878 four-story, brick and wood-frame building. It gets narrow among the bookshelves and has the familiar musty smell you’d expect from a place as old and as packed with books as this was. But for all the character it had, it did not have great airflow. Moving to sit on my fold-out chair, I felt my excitement rise and get caught in the thick humidity before settling back down over my skin. I was sweaty now with the fear that I would pass out next to a biography of Bill Clinton.

Under these circumstances, I heard “All Summer in a Day” by Ray Bradbury, an extreme example of how weather can affect behavior.


“Ready?” “Ready.” “Now?” “Soon.” Bradbury lays out a sense of excitement and expectation for us immediately with the disembodied voices of nine-year-old schoolchildren’s questions before launching into the poetic backstory that will catch us up to the present moment:

It had been raining for seven years; thousands upon thousands of days compounded and filled from one end to the other with rain… And this was the way life was forever on the planet Venus, and this was the schoolroom of the children of the rocket men and women who had come to a raining world to set up civilization and live out their lives.

Then we meet Margot, “a very frail girl who looked as if she had been lost in the rain for years and the rain had washed out the blue from her eyes and the red from her mouth and the yellow from her hair.” A girl who hasn’t been on Venus her entire life like the rest of the children. A girl who has seen the Sun. This breeds a jealousy among the class and Margot quickly becomes the outsider. It is unclear how they know to long for the Sun. Their parents? Teachers? Biology? In a surge of vindictive mob mentality, they lock her in a closet right before the Sun is set to emerge. Deprived of the sun, the children become depraved. “They stood looking at the door and saw it tremble from her beating and throwing herself against it. They heard her muffled cries.”

We have so little character development or backstory aside from Margot, that this moment comes both quickly and agonizingly. Hardly any of her classmates even have names, and the teacher is largely absent. In contrast, Bradbury delves deeply into the florid descriptions of the physical and aural world. We do not forget about Margot, but experience a deep sense of injustice all the more because we see the richness of what she is missing.

It was as if, in the midst of a film concerning an avalanche, a tornado, a hurricane, a volcanic eruption, something had, first, gone wrong with the sound apparatus, thus muffling and finally cutting off all noise, all of the blasts and repercussions and thunders, and then, second, ripped the film from the projector and inserted in its place a beautiful tropical slide which did not move or tremor… The silence was so immense and unbelievable that you felt your ears had been stuffed… The door slid back and the smell of the silent, waiting world came into them. The Sun came out.

Two hours later, inevitably, it begins to rain, accompanied by howls of grief from the children. It will be seven more years before the Sun reemerges.

If the Sun symbolizes growth and life then it’s absence is a stagnation and death. Venus is a dead place with a savage social code. With the Sun temporarily restoring the physical world, it seems there’s a somewhat redemptive effect on the children’s morality. They look down on themselves with a sense of shame that hadn’t occurred to them earlier and head back to the closet.

Behind the closet door was only silence. They unlocked the door, even more slowly, and let Margot out.

The silence which once meant sunshine, now Bradbury leaves us with to contemplate what happens next.



Read “All Summer in a Day”

Listen to “All Summer in a Day”

I recently wrote a review of a Sawyer water filter which you can read here and I’m going to be in an awesome documentary called THRU which you can check out the trailer for here.

Paying Attention


I am a sucker for library events.

They are usually free, there’s usually food, and there’s usually a good discussion. When my friend, Erin, asked me if I wanted to go to a reading of A Homemade Life with author Molly Wizenberg, I said yes and all the things that are usually true about library events were true in this case.

Molly is a blogger and author of two books. She bakes autobiography into her food musings and recipes in a way that feels, well… filling. She’s just real. The ordinary, wonderful and terrible things that happen to her, happen to a lot of us. I identified with her writing in a way I hadn’t identified with an author for some time. Sure, I had loved Ewan McEwan’s Atonement and Joan Didion’s A Year of Magical Thinking that I had read earlier that year, but this was different. It was more Wild by Cheryl Strayed. There were similar flavors of poetry, style, a familiar voice. There was an element of loss that hung around the corners of my life at that time that was in Molly’s writing too.

I wasn’t a big subscriber of blogs back then. There was just one that I committed myself to, Chrystina Noel, which is about the art of staying in touch and hosting events. Why I didn’t read blogs went deeper than the excuse I gave when someone tried to recommend one- “I just don’t like to read off screens”. Honestly, I felt like most of them weren’t legit and could spiral into something hokey and awkward fast. After meeting Molly and hearing the story of her life in writing, I reconsidered. Creatively, professionally, maybe even emotionally… blogging could be a good tool for me.

For a long time, I didn’t feel like I had a thing to write about, not in the way Molly had cooking. Then I couldn’t commit to the things that did come to mind. They felt narrow and stifling. I worried that I would outgrow them. Then I worried about originality. Why should people care about what I had to say about this? How could I say something new about that? I choked myself out with these questions.

Then I had a blog! I wrote about hiking the Appalachian Trail with my friend Mamie. We made our own blog and that all morphed into me blogging for an amazing website, The Trek. I loved it. I loved sharing how I was feeling and what I was doing. It also terrified me but I thought that was good for me too. And I looooved talking to people in the comments or in real life. I loved-loved- loved it.

When I got off the Appalachian Trail, I had some things figured out. Maybe more than that, I had the right attitude to figure things out and make them happen. Here we are, almost a year later. A lot has shifted and changed, and some stuff has totally lapsed. Writing for myself is one of those things that has totally lapsed. I tried working in the freelance/ghostwriting world but the pay has been meager and there’s something demoralizing putting in so much work into something and not having your name on it. If I’m going to write it has to be about things I care about and my name has to be on them.

Which is where a second blogger and author comes in, Austin Kleon. (You will probably see his name and his links a lot on this site. He’s incredible.) Austin wrote Steal Like an Artist, which I highly recommend and for a lot of reasons, but to make a long story a little shorter, at the end of the book he recommends starting a blog. Again, I faltered and pushed the idea off. Then a potential professional connection asked me where she could read my writing, and the first thing I wanted to say was “At my blog,!

And. I. Couldn’t.

In the very beginning of college, when everything is exciting and feels possible, I remember telling a friend that I loved everything art related. “Music, drama, visual arts, everything! Everything!” She laughed and told me that was good because I was studying theatre, which was a mix of all of those things. I felt so sure that I was on the right path then.

I want to write about how I experience art and how it helps me understand my life. Similar to how Molly writes about her life and cooking or how Austin writes about the things he finds inspiration from and his creative process. This feels like something I can grow with. It feels like paying closer attention to what I already love and sharing that.

I hope you’ll join me!