Spoiler! :
To Missus J.K. Rowling, and whomever else it may concern (though no one else ought to be concerned);
I believe you should know that your books are life-changing. Just in case you had not heard this before.
Harry Potter and the Sorcerer’s Stone was published the year I was born; nineteen ninety-seven as you very well know. My cousins, Caroline and Sarah, had already been born at this time, though I don’t know the age, because quite frankly, I don’t have the time to dawdle in such things; they are older than me and that is that. But, I digress. They are rather important characters, as well as you and I and Harry, and possibly Voldemort, so you would do well to remember them.
I do realize that this does not have much to do with my opening sentence, and yes, I am quite a bit scatterbrained in my writing. But we cannot all be the creators of a worldwide phenomenon, and anyhow, that was your Important Background Information That You Might Want to Know Before Continuing. Thank you very much. And, if I have been misjudging you throughout, and you are rather taken by my rudeness to accuse you of such wrongdoings, then I am terribly sorry, and you have my permission to throw this letter angrily into a fire and watch the words be swallowed by flame.
My cousins Caroline and Sarah, who I hope you remembered, read your books far before I did, and became quite intensely obsessed. Not go-search-for-Platform-Nine-and-Three-Quarters-by-running-into-barriers-in-King’s-Cross obsessed, but possibly go-trick-or-treating-as-Hermione-every-year-at-Halloween obsessed. They practically blocked my sister and me out, due to the fact that we weren’t allowed to read such books at our ages.
Then I turned seven.
Tired of being left out of heated discussions about He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named, I descended upon your books like a vulture to the kill and fell in love. I wished that Hogwarts was real, that my letter would come in four years’ time and become quite magical and be able to levitate feathers with a flick of a wand (which I did attempt to do with an ordinary stick. It did not work, surprisingly). I would sit and pore over the pages, and at suppertime when I sat down with my family, I would rave about the books and Malfoy’s cruelness and how on earth could Harry have pulled the sword of Godric Gryffindor out of the Sorting Hat if he was supposed to be in Slytherin? I was quite enthralled, to be honest. And then I found out something quite new and unexpected about myself. I liked to write.
I had written things before; my kindergarten and first grade teachers had raved about my work for a child of such age. I had a bit of an advantage on the most of the other students; I had begun to read at the age of three, so I had a larger vocabulary. Not to brag; I don’t want to be that person. I would just like for you to know. I wrote small poems at first, just little things, but then I decided I should like to write a novel, and a good one. I believe my first attempt at a book was something about a girl named Ava Caroline and very many puppies. It was not successful. But I was hooked.
I did not start completing works until recently. I had little faith in my skill, always comparing myself to you, which, in theory, is not wise, considering how little experience I have and how impressively talented you are. But I found a home in writing, a world I could create for myself that I felt as though I couldn’t have; a world with magic and friends who always were there for me and true, blissful love. I hope that, in the future, I may improve, though publishing works is not on the List of Things I Should Like to do With My Life.
I pray you have caught my gist, and if you have not, it is this. Without Harry, I would not have realized how brave I could be. Without Ron, I would not have known what a true friend was. Without Hermione, I most likely would have forgotten that grades are rather important. And without Dumbledore, I would have dwelled too much on my dreams and forgotten to live. So, considering the fact that you have created all these characters, you have taught me quite a good deal. To you, Missus Rowling, I am forever grateful. Thank you for Mr. Harry Potter from the cupboard under the stairs at Number Four Privet Drive.
P.S. If you would like to know, I sobbed very heavily at the end of the final movie, as well as at the end of the book. I’m quite soft-hearted.
P.P.S. The owl system must be defective, as I have not received my Hogwarts letter yet. I’m wondering if they accept latecomers.
P.P.P.S. I hope you are taking this vacation time to write more. If this is the end of your career, whole countries might die of starvation (starved of quality reading material, obviously), with only slight exaggeration.
Sincerely,
Emily Gray Morgan
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