It has been 21 years since the publication of The Sorcerer’s Stone (or The Philosopher’s Stone, for you Brits), and still people all around the world remember July 31 as the birthday of the Boy Who Lived, and September 1 as the day he first took the train to Hogwarts. That is when it all began for us- the magic, the adventure, the love, the friendship… And still, 21 years later, we remember; we revisit those stories over and over again- the books and the movies. We dress up in costumes, visit theme parks, play quidditch, attend yule balls, and carry the magic within us wherever we go. After all this time? Always.

This, at it’s heart, is why I became a writer. Not because I’m hoping for or expecting the same level of success as the great J.K. Rowling (though I wouldn’t turn it down if it came knocking at my door), but because this is just one of many examples of the power of a well-written story. Words are powerful, when we speak them and when we write them down. They can build entire worlds, and they can tear down the human heart.

My childhood, like most, had it’s ups and downs. While I was lucky enough to have a loving and supporting family at home, my time at school during my elementary years was…less than ideal. At the risk of striking up a chorus of tiny violins, I will simply say that the kids at my school were very different from me, and I think we have all experienced the tendency of a fallen human race to react badly to people and things they view as different. While those children were playing at recess or laughing together at lunch, I sat by myself and read. It started as a means of escape but turned into a life-long love.

I was ten years old when my father read The Hobbit to me, and my life has never been the same. That was my gateway book to The Lord of the Rings, which was my first great literary love. It taught me to be strong and brave like Éowyn, Shieldmaiden of Rohan, who feared nothing quite so much as being caged. It taught me to embrace my destiny, and face it head on like Aaragorn, the man who would be king. Samwise Gamgee taught me what true loyalty and friendship looked like and is still one of my favorite literary characters to this day. Merry and Pippin taught me that a childlike spirit and love of laughter can carry your heart through an ocean of grief and out the other side bruised, but still whole. And the list goes on…

Harry Potter by J.K. Rowling. The Lord of the Rings by J.R.R. Tolkien. The Chronicles of Narnia by C.S. Lewis. The Song of the Lioness Quartet by Tamora Pierce. Emma by Jane Austen. These are just a handful of the many books that have shaped me as both a person and a writer. (If you have not read any/all of these, I cannot recommend them highly enough.)

As J.K Rowling so eloquently said, “No story lives unless someone wants to listen. The stories we love best do live in us forever.” These are stories that live in me. These are stories that helped me fall in love with reading and drove me to writing my own. I write because it brings me joy. I write because there are stories in my heart that long to be told. I write in the hopes that maybe someday someone will want to listen, and those stories will touch the lives and hearts of children who are trying to find their place in the world. Just like I was. And maybe, if I’m very lucky, those stories will live on inside them.

The great stories change us; they teach us and show us a better way to be. Harry Potter taught an entire generation to be loving and kind. It taught us to be brave and to stand up for what is right. It taught us to be unashamedly ourselves. As Ginny Weasley said in The Half Blood Prince, “You sort of start thinking anything’s possible if you’ve got enough nerve.”

To quote the great Roald Dahl, “Above all, watch with glittering eyes the whole world around you because the greatest secrets are always hidden in the most unlikely places. Those who don’t believe in magic will never find it.”

Happy Birthday, Harry. Thank you for teaching us to believe in magic.