Yay, adulthood, right?
Thankfully, my writing is slowly gaining more inspiration - even if it is mostly made up of rewrites and poems - and I'm working my way back to writing (even if it's nothing but a comma) everyday.
To keep myself motivated, I've decided to start another Post Series. This time, I'd like to detail the books that inspired me to write. I think it will be therapeutic for me. To be a reminder of why I chose this path, this obsession. And also, I think it will help me bond better with you, my blog readers. I hope I don't feel distant at all ever again :)
Now, let's get down to it. If any of you have popped over to check out my Goodreads profile, you know from my about me section that one book in particular sparked the reading (and writing) bug within me. So, this Tuesday afternoon, we'll start from the very beginning:
My mother was working as an assistant school librarian when she first heard of Harry Potter and the Sorcerer's Stone. Every day she worked, half a dozen fourth graders would bombard the desk, wondering if Harry Potter was in yet, and if it was their turn to receive it. The hold list for our small public school was over 50. Curious as to why this book was so popular, she found a copy and started reading.
It wasn't too long before she realized she had to share the magical Mr. Potter and his wizarding world with her children. At the time, I was six and my brother hovered somewhere around the ages of seven or eight (I can't recall the exact month). Our first reading session happened while we were staying in a Chicago suburb at my aunt and uncle's house. We were sleeping on the floor of their office, side by side, and my mother sat between us and read, "Mr. and Mrs. Dursley, of number four, Privet Drive, were proud to say that they were perfectly normal, thank you very much." from Chapter One, The Boy Who Lived.
I can't remember the exact place my mother stopped reading that night. We made it far - far enough to be introduced to Hagrid, the Hogwarts Express, and the Weasleys. She had to go to bed eventually, no matter how much we pleaded for her to keep reading, because she, no doubt, could no longer feel her voice.
I lay awake for a long time. My brother had fallen asleep, his breath coming slowly, turned away from me. I could smell the foreign chemicals my aunt and uncle used to clean their carpet, and from my vantage point on the floor, the almost full moon was visible through their window. Since I was used to sleeping in the darkness and silence of rural Wisconsin, the traffic noise kept me restless. But then something magical happened.
After everyone else had, for sure, gone to sleep, and I alone was awake to hear it, a train whistle blew softly through the noise of the traffic, through the almost full moon, and through the distracting smelly carpet. And I was sure that magic, Harry Potter, Hogwarts, wizards, and friendly giants, were real. And I couldn't get enough.
My obsession with the wizarding world continued through the next six books and eight movies. The final book, The Deathly Hallows, I consumed in a whirlwind, no eating, no bathroom breaks, no sleeping, 34 hour stint.
Harry Potter was the first book I truly fell in love with. It was the book that taught me reading could transport me from my mundane life into something extraordinary.
As I got older, I decided I wanted to create worlds just like it. And for a while, I took that inspiration seriously. I imitated Rowling as best I could, writing many a short story about wizards and witches and magic. Even stories that morphed slightly away from the magic of Hogwarts still had elements of Potter infused in them - the orphaned protagonist, the two best friends, the best boarding school ever...you get the gist.
Then when I found out JK Rowling was a female author, there was no stopping me. I wanted to be just like her someday. I wanted to write a book or series of books that made people fall in love with literature like her stories had captivated me.
So, yes, it was a scrawny boy under the stairs who first captured my heart. He taught me to love reading, and writing. He taught me to want more from life than Wisconsin offered. He taught me that I wanted to be just like JK. I wanted to be a writer.
The story continues next Tuesday...
P.S. the image is from Amazon. Find the book that inspired me first, here: http://www.amazon.com/Harry-Potter-Sorcerers-Stone-Rowling/dp/059035342X/ref=sr_1_2?ie=UTF8&qid=1422390868&sr=8-2&keywords=harry+potter
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