It’s cold, a giant snowstorm is bearing down on New York and other parts of the East Coast, but it’s a great day for me. It’s Isaac Asimov’s birthday – he would have been 94 today, had he not been taken from us way too early in 1992.
Growing up, Asimov was one of my favorite writers in any genre. I was impressed at both how prolific he was and how diverse he was in what he wrote about (On a tangent, it was Michael Whelan’s art on one of his books that really made me think about my own art). At one point, I made the decision to try to read all of of his books. Yeah, all 400+ of them. I was an ambitious sort when it came to reading. I loved that he would just seemingly find a topic, research it and boom, write over 200 pages on it.
The man was dedicated to his writing and he loved it so much that he hated spending time away from his typewriter (when he passed away, he was fussing about computers and word processing, which I found ironic, since his stories often dealt in the science fiction world of computers and technology). I wonder what he would make of our obsession with smart phones today.
I have often wished that I had his drive for writing – that I could produce what he could, but I have to just conclude that he was one of a kind and appreciate what he did and also appreciate what I can do too.
Here’s a drawing that I did of him last night. Photo reference used: