Today is an awesome day–it is the day of birth belonging to both J.K. Rowling and Harry Potter himself.
I was first introduced to Harry Potter when I was eight years old by my grammy (thank you grammy). Since then–and you’re gunna think I’m totally insane, but oh well–I’ve read the first HP at least twenty times. That’s not an exaggeration. That’s real life.
I swear I’m not crazy though. When I was a kid and they were still coming out, I read the series at least twice a year–once for fun and once in preparation for the next book coming out. Since the last one came out when I was 12 I haven’t read them as often. But whenever my world is too much; whenever I am sick of being sick, tired of being tired or feel lonely and out of place; whenever I yearn to explore and escape–I go back to Harry Potter.
I’m grateful to my parents for teaching me this trick at a young age. They couldn’t have known then how valuable it would be for me–how books have brought me through when my body was stuck sick in bed or my mind was tired of being me. They taught me by example and patience to love reading and learning. (That being said they certainly aren’t perfect as neither of them has ever read any of the HP books. Smh.)
I owe my love of reading to my parents (although obviously I have outstretched them when it comes to taste in books), but I attribute my love of writing to the authors I have loved and the worlds they have opened to me. Foremost of these is Joanne Rowling–the first time her words let me into Harry’s world I realized I wanted to be a writer. She, more than any other author, has taught me the value that the written word can have. She will never know exactly how much her words meant to a little, wide-eyed girl, to a sick and angry teenager, and to a young woman trying to find her place in this muggle world. But now you do.
“We do not need magic to transform our world. We carry all of the power we need inside ourselves already.”