A chapter in my life...
By Elizabeth Horner
August 17, 2011
you’re nine, you don’t stop to
think about how the book you’re reading could change the entire course
life. All I knew was that my best friend, Alison, didn’t believe my
I could read a whole page in “under sixty seconds” and when I told her,
could too”; she pulled a thick, colorful tome off a shelf in our school
center, gleefully thrusting it into my hands. Okay then, challenge
didn’t even spare a glance at the
title, “Harry Potter and the Sorcerer’s Stone”, or the binding with a
of a unicorn on it that should have been my first sign of things
just jumped head-first into a world built of wild imaginings. I kept on, long after my
minute was up, and
didn’t even care about the result of our bet.
I was absorbed by this need to understand how
in the middle of all the
spells, potions, and dangerous creatures, the author managed to create
characters that felt… real. A thousand times more substantial than the
paper they were printed on.
of the situations they were
in, I tried to anticipate Harry’s, Ron’s and Hermione’s next moves and
reactions… and in the process, discovered a great story unfolding and
alive before me. I
figured then that
words must have some magic all on their own, if they have the power to
minds this way.
came home after school, with the
book tucked sheepishly under my arm, hoping to plead my case to my
until that point, I had not been allowed to read fantasy books, out of
would brandish all the sticks in the backyard like wands. My parents
want me flirting with any “dark influences”.
the most animated language I
could muster up at that age, I told Dad and Mom Harry’s side of the
story. Despite the
horror Harry had to face in his
young life, magical or not, he was able to maintain this aura of
loyalty and love for the people who showed him kindness. By the force of that love,
he was putting a
stopper to the rise of an evil warlord. He was a role-model, and a
friend. Beyond all
the magic and
fantasy, there were many lessons about real lives!
and slightly out-of-breath, I
waited for their decision with the intenseness of one who actually knew
hung in the balance. But
as soon as they
gave their hesitant nods, something slipped away from the forefront of
consciousness, only to weigh on my mind again eight years later as I
article and as I reflect on college life as a freshman in the fall of
years, in which I have devoted
myself to writing. I think of my mother who gazes at her child,
that her daughter might do for the world.
I hope that my poems and stories will have the
chance to mold a number
of lives by the force and passion of my resolves etched in ink, like J.
Rowling has done for me.
around my room, which is more of a
library than a place to sleep, I can’t even comprehend how everything
a radical turn. How
I’ve grown into this
person that feels words in her heart and soul and who truly enjoys
the way light filters through the trees or the way a fire rages, with
stroke of the pen. My writings may or may not be mystical, but there is
something inherently powerful about writing if I can preserve, create,
life to moments in time.