Inktober/Blogtober: Day 4

Day 4 of my Inktober/Blogtober crossover comes with the prompt word "spell" and... Well, I have a confession to make.

Until the start of this year, I had never read a single Harry Potter book, or watched any of the films.

Originally, when the first book came out, I felt like I was a little too old for it (I must have been 14 or 15).  I figured it wasn't for me and so I didn't bother reading it.  Then, when adults started reading the books and saying how great they were, it bothered me, for reasons I can only put down to me being a very nerdy teenager with ideas above her station.  I didn't understand why adults would want to read a book that was meant to have been written for kids.  There was, I figured, plenty of decent grown up literature out there, so why weren't these people looking for that, instead?! 

Of course, had I actually gotten over myself and read the first book when it came out, I'd have had no issue with anyone of any age reading it.  And, as an adult, I see no reason to judge another person on their reading choices at all.  Well, unless someone wants to tell me that Fifty Shades of Grey is a romantic masterpiece...

Beyond my initial fear that I was too old for the first Harry Potter book, there was another reason for my refusal to read it.  I was - and am - an enormous fan of Jill Murphy's The Worst Witch.  Mildred Hubble was basically me, in witch form and I adored her.  The thought of someone else coming along with a story about a wizard, who attended a magical academy of some sorts, just made me cross.  I decided - without having read a single line of any of the books - that the Harry Potter stories were probably very similar to The Worst Witch and that JK Rowling was copying.  Which, as a wannabe writer myself, I was dead against.

At 17, I skim-read a few paragraphs of one of the books, whilst on a free lesson in my school library.  I literally opened the book in the middle, cast my critical eyes over a few lines, then snapped it shut.  To say I didn't give it a chance is a ludicrous understatement.

Then, when I reached the age of around 19 or so, I wrote a story called Isabella.  It's the story of a mischievous fairy, sent to watch over a young boy called Jamie, who's having a hard time at school and at home.  I wanted to break the stereotype of the blonde-haired, pretty-in-pink fairy, so Isabella wears jeans and a hoodie.  Her hair is always a mess and her spells usually go wrong (yes, I realise I was at the very least heavily influenced by The Worst Witch, there...).  I was incredibly proud of the story and I sent it off to publishers with the naive belief that it would be snapped up.

It was not.

In fact, not only was it rejected by every publisher I sent it to (hence my rewriting and self-publishing it far more recently), but one publisher wrote that it had elements that were "much too similar to Harry Potter."

That was the straw that broke this unpublished, wannabe author's back.  Without having ever read a single one of the books, I was being accused of ripping them off.  My story - which I had worked so hard on - was never going to see the light of day.  And of course, because I am a very sensible person, it was ALL JK ROWLING'S FAULT.

I swore I'd never read a Harry Potter book and nor would I ever watch the films.  I maintained that rather ridiculous fury for over fifteen years, which you may feel absolutely free to judge me for.

Then, at the start of this year, I was talking to a friend who couldn't believe I'd never read the books or watched the films.  They were, she insisted, brilliant.  When I dropped her off at her house, after our catch up was over, she handed me a bag with all seven books inside, telling me to take them home and finally make a proper judgement.

I don't think I've ever read seven books in such quick succession in all my life.  More than once, I stayed up until well past 1am, because I simply had to find out what was going to happen next.  I fell in love with the world that JK Rowling had created and the characters that inhabited it.  I rooted for certain people, hated others and mourned those who were lost along the way.  I was genuinely furious with myself for my own stubborn refusal to read the books for so long, because I suddenly realised just what I'd missed out on.

By the time I came to watch the films, I'd become one of those people, who tells anyone who'll listen that the books are better, whilst quietly fuming over the parts that didn't make the cut.  Not that I didn't enjoy the films, of course!  They brought the books to life and as a new fan, it was fantastic to see them.  I watched each one, curled up under my duvet, like it was a little treat to myself.

Are there problems with the books?  Of course there are.  But at its heart, is the story brilliant?  One hundred per cent.

Now, I'm cheerfully in love with the franchise and I'd urge anyone who hasn't read it out of stubbornness (I know I wasn't the only one), to get over it and do so.  Today, I ordered a Harry Potter sticker for my laptop and I have a wonderful Deathly Hallows necklace, that my amazingly talented friend made me for my birthday, last month.  

I guess the moral of this story is: Don't judge something until you actually know about it.  And hey, that's a pretty good message for people, too.