Letting Go of a First Love

From underneath my bookshelf, I pull a Harry Potter Deluxe Journal, complete with built-in light and an illustration of Harry on the cover, riding his broom. I remember receiving it, probably from a Scholastic book fair, eager to begin writing in it. This is my first journal, from 2004, when I was in fifth grade. Settling down on my bed, I start to read--noting that most of it has to do with Harry Potter, making my life more Harry Potter, and becoming increasingly more obsessed with Harry Potter as the year progresses in my journal. Well, nothing's changed there. 

Turning one page, I read to the end and stop. Up until this point, I make references to story ideas and what short story I am working on at the moment. Here is what I found, the reference to the next story I was working on, just a blip, but it's there, nonetheless.

Currently, this is the revision I am working on,
what once was just the "Silver Necklace Legend."

Laying the journal down on the bed, I cover my mouth with my hands in amazement. Eleven Years. Of course, it hasn't been a constant eleven years. Between then and now, not only have I worked on other stories, but I also have worked on school papers and taken breaks from writing. Yet throughout those years, this story has transformed.

Basically me with this story. 

And this revision I started a little more than a week ago will be my last. Once I write it and complete editing afterwards, that's it.

I believe I'm having a hard time letting go of this story since it is so ingrained in my mind. Some of the characters are even completely original; meaning, their character arc may have matured, but their name, place within the story, and entrance into the story have not. Writing for them is like writing about myself; they are close friends. How can I let go of something that intimate?

The answer? Because I have to.

In middle school, I moved "The Silver Necklace," which since then has changed titles many times, onto my laptop, a Dell 2000 whose only purpose was to serve my writing needs. I completed 80 pages of pure, inventive creativity, or twelve chapters. And then, one afternoon after reorganizing folders in My Documents, I'd opened my story only to discover I'd deleted it by accident. I had clicked on the shortcut to the document, and deleted the actual document--emptying the recycle bin in a burst of organizational inspiration.

All of it was gone. I was in eighth grade.

I wrote about this event in my journal at the time:

Although at the start it was still a tragedy, it became a blessing as I worked to rebuild. In a notebook, I timelined everything I could remember (I still have it filed away), and came up with an ending to the first installment of "The Silver Necklace." I know that because I deleted that 80 page copy, I was granted the gift of looking at it critically.

Drafts later, a short break where I thought I was "finished with that story for good," and here I am, at the end of it all. Can it already be the end? I'm not sure I'm ready to say goodbye to all of my favorite characters, one of which will probably end up being THE ultimate favorite, simply because he is the oldest character in my story. It'll be a challenge, but I know this is a challenge I have to complete. Finishing a story, adding "The End," and starting fresh--without ideas for "The Silver Necklace" turning over in my mind in the background--is the first step. The second is letting go.

I've still got plenty of time before the final goodbye. For now, I will enjoy every minute I'm in my character's heads.

Quite Simply, I Fell in Love

On top, the VHS I got when I was 9.
All the way to the right, the Sorcerer's Stone book
that I destroyed in my love. 

The sight of the move trailer on the television sparked my interest. Wide-eyed, I told my mom later that movie, and, of course, she repeated her mantra: “You have to read the book, first.” It was okay, though, because she had a copy of it in the classroom she worked in at the local school.

that I wanted to see

She handed me the copy, and I ran my fingers over the strange, golden letters of the title. I looked at the cover that showed a boy flying: Harry Potter and the Sorcerer’s Stone. I was eight years old, and by the time I was done reading it, the book cover was so destroyed with the pleasure of reading that my mom told me I could keep it and she’d buy another one for the classroom.

There are many stories in my life connected with the Harry Potter series. At my ninth birthday party, for example, as I blew out the candles I wished for the Sorcerer’s Stone VHS. Guess what was in the first present I opened from my grandparents? When I was ten, I received a magazine with the new film’s details on the inside spread. Those pages were so destroyed that I ended up tearing them from the magazine, and I still have them in a binder. I remember waiting in line for Prisoner of Azkaban that stretched across the parking lot, and some man stepped out of line at the front and shouted, “DUDE HARRY POTTER IS SOLD OUT!” Or receiving my copy of Half Blood Prince at a midnight party after taking an eerie, nighttime walk, and on the way home I took my book light out to read in the car. (“Don’t stay up all night reading!” Mom told me.)

I am so grateful for this series, and I wouldn’t know where I would be without it. It might not have begun my journey into reading and writing, but it definitely enhanced it. Not only that, but it also enhanced my life. I read the first book when I was eight years old and saw the final movie at age eighteen. Ten Years.

Pretty much.

In high school, that’s what drew us together. I met a friend in gym class over the love of Harry Potter, one girl I befriended in Spanish class over our love of writing and the series, another I met freshmen year in science—I am still friends with them today. We talked about the upcoming films, planned our Deathly Hallows Part 2 midnight showing, laughed about the Starkid musicals…

I suppose I came here to say that when I started reading that first Harry Potter book in 2001, I didn’t expect to fall in love. And I wouldn’t have dreamed that fourteen years later, I would still be just as obsessed and in love (probably a teensy bit more obsessed).

I JUST LOVE HARRY POTTER OKAY. *cuddles with books and films and tshirts and posters and ties and wands and magazine articles and…*