Wednesday, April 14, 2010
The past few weeks have been crazy around here. Two weeks ago I attended a Harry Potter Conference. Let me tell you, there is nothing more fun that sitting around talking about your favorite books with other people who love those same books. And indoor Quidditch totally rocks. I went to a lecture on Fanfic vs. Fanfantasy. I'm not a big fan of either other than just as a writing exercise. Maybe it is because I am too protective of my own characters and wouldn't want anyone putting Peter and Andy into some horribly written slash scene. Although, in my mind, Andy did once sort of make a proposition towards Peter which may account for why Peter detests Andy at our first meeting of these characters. (I'm so glad he got over it.)
Another lecture I went to was actually delivered as a sermon. It was called "A Sermon Based on the Gospel of Harry Potter." I have to say that of all the articles I have read about Harry Potter (and there have been a number of them) this has to be one of the most creative approaches to J.K. Rowling's work ever. It was truly delightful to hear and I heartily applaud the author and sermonizer. The other enjoyable lecture was on Harry Potter and today's war on terror. I love sitting with academia and knowing that these young students in today's campus know something about world history that happened prior to their births (prior to mine and even my grandmother's for that matter).
I freely admit that I love the Harry Potter books. J.K. Rowling is one of my heroes in the literary world. I fully hope to read these books with my grandchildren (if my children don't beat me to it). These are wonderfully classic books that can speak to generations beyond our own. I love how Jo Rowling has taken a book and stripped from it any true references to time. While there are computers and video games mentioned in her books, they are vague enough that Harry Potter could have grown up when I did or when my great grandchildren will. There is something truly magical about Rowling's writings. She has the ability to convey what things look like with very few words. How many of us saw Harry Potter and the Philosopher's/Sorcerer's Stone for the first time and when we were introduced to Diagon Alley we all thought, "Oh, that's exactly what I thought it would look like!" Yet if you go back and read the section where Harry Potter first steps through the brick arch from the Leaky Cauldron, it doesn't really describe the scene very much at all. Yet, we all could see it. We could smell it. We could hear the owls softly hooting overhead as they made their way to the post office. That is the mark of a truly gifted writer. To be able to tell us just enough to plant the seed of what is in her mind so that it can grow.
So then, what else has happened? I've been busy running from one extreme to another. I've done a reading of a fellow writer's work. I've been sitting at the hospital while both of my parents had elective surgery four days apart from each other. I still haven't figured out why they thought that was going to be a good idea. I've been knitting madly at Sock Madness (I'm now in Round three and have a fairly good feeling I'll make it to Round Four). And next week I leave for Stitches South. Today is filled with my Wednesday morning knit group and then dying my oldest child's hair purple while trying not to think what I would look like if I dyed all the gray popping up all over my head the same color.
Oh, and my spouse finally returned home from six months of being in Dallas. He decided to take two days off to spend with us and that has made me completely lose track of time. Yesterday I swore it was Sunday because we went out for breakfast, did the grocery shopping and ran a few other errands. It was Sunday Business. So it surprised me when I realized this morning that it was actually Wednesday and now I am trying to catch up with those few missing days. I'm hoping to finish this round of Sock Madness by Friday so I can get in a few days of writing before heading off to Stitches. My book is screaming for a rewrite of the beginning. Again.
But at least while looking out my window I can see all the beautiful colors that have erupted in my yard. Too bad I'm allergic to them all.