This would be a good place to tell the ending of Harry Potter and the Deathly Hallows. But I don’t dare. Standing in a Wal-mart line at 1 a.m., 59 minutes after JK Rowling’s seventh (and last) installment of the teenage sorcerer’s coming-of-age story went on sale, I put the time to good use and read through the last chapter, especially the last page. Then all the way home, I threatened to tell Jessica the ending if she didn’t clean her room today.
Before you start gushing about what a good mother I am to be at Wal-mart when the books went on sale, let me stop you. I’m not that good. But we did take Jess to see Harry Potter and the Order of the Phoenix and spent as much on popcorn and cokes as we did tickets. And when the movie was over at 12:02, we ambled down the street to Wal-mart to get some milk. It was only when we noticed the crowd of people trickling out of the store clutching one bag with one item in it that I remembered the book was on sale.
I’m so jealous of Rowling’s success. For a story first penned on a cocktail napkin, she’s done alright for herself. I can’t blame Rowling for anything. She had a story to tell and she told it. And the world listened and clamored for more.
The only difference between Rowling and me is she didn’t let her own insecurities and doubts drain the ink from her pen.
Before you start gushing about what a good mother I am to be at Wal-mart when the books went on sale, let me stop you. I’m not that good. But we did take Jess to see Harry Potter and the Order of the Phoenix and spent as much on popcorn and cokes as we did tickets. And when the movie was over at 12:02, we ambled down the street to Wal-mart to get some milk. It was only when we noticed the crowd of people trickling out of the store clutching one bag with one item in it that I remembered the book was on sale.
I’m so jealous of Rowling’s success. For a story first penned on a cocktail napkin, she’s done alright for herself. I can’t blame Rowling for anything. She had a story to tell and she told it. And the world listened and clamored for more.
The only difference between Rowling and me is she didn’t let her own insecurities and doubts drain the ink from her pen.
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