Beginning for a Writer

I’m sure I’m not alone when I say I’ve read the Harry Potter series. It was the kinds of books I would read in a day. The kind I would read late into the night, and then early when I woke up.

It started with a book my mother started to read to me. Harry Potter and the Philosopher’s Stone. She read it to me though sometimes sounded confused and would always mispronounced the names. But it didn’t matter; I was hooked.

Being able to head into a fantasy land and forget about what was there for me in the real world is something I’ll never take for granted. Waiting for my Hogwarts letter to show up, telling me that I had been accepted to the prestigious school lived in my dreams, even well past 11. It was incredible, that someone was able to come up with a world in which magic existed. Flying on broomsticks. Travelling by floo powder. Performing magic spells.

I can’t say I wasn’t bummed out when I didn’t get my letter. I wanted what all 11 year olds wanted. For professor Dumbledore to be my headmaster as I join the wizarding world, learning how to master spells. It helped me through a time in my life where I thought I had nobody. It helped me forget what was happening in the real world around me, and concentrate on a fantasy world that lead me down the path I’m going down now.

It made me want to write. It made me want to create the same type of world where people could go when they too were feeling down. Where they could dream of something bigger. Where they could feel less alone. Though I definitely don’t think I’m as clever, nor as creative, it was still something aspired to do.

I haven’t given up on that goal yet. Though I haven’t yet been able to create my own escape world, I still find myself re-reading the series that made me want to try.