Happy birthday, Harry Potter!

Today is Harry Potter’s 33rd birthday (according to us Muggles on the internet). In a way, it seems strange that he’s turning 33, because, to me, it seems like Harry and I grew up together. I was about 12 years old when the first book came out, and though I didn’t read it right away, to me, as Harry grew up, made friends, found love, and ultimately, triumphed against evil, I was doing the exact same thing. Well, minus the triumphing against evil. That’s a tricky one.

I owe a lot to Harry. It seems strange, to feel a debt of gratitude to a fictional character, I know. But I owe a lot to Harry (and, to JK Rowling). Thanks to Harry, I found the Internet. I’m guessing I would have found it anyway, it was already there and it’s one of those things where you’ll end up knee deep in it, no matter what, but, it was Harry who first led me there. Harry who made me wonder about when the next book was coming out. Harry who first made me test my now iron-clad theory about Google being your friend.

All Harry.

It was also Harry who, after what seemed like centuries of waiting (Funny how, right now, it almost seems like we didn’t wait that long. George R.R Martin takes longer to even think of a name for his next book), pushed me towards writing. I’d always wanted to write. I’d tried, in school, scribbles over here, short stories over there, but never before had I actually sat down to plan anything. Never before had I wondered what words like POV, and passive voice, and, gasp, plot, actually meant.

So, yes, it was Harry. Harry who pushed me towards writing. Harry who pushed me towards reading more. Harry who gifted me with wonderful friends I would have never met anywhere else, friends from all over the world, strange people who you’d never think would agree on anything, and yet, six years after the book came out, still come up with excuses to get together.

Friends who, to this day, still write together, still laugh together.

Today is July 31^st. And, so, today, I say: Happy birthday, Harry. Harry birthday, J.K Rowling. And thank you. 

Thank you.

And the Oscar for BEST supporting character goes to ….

You know how, sometimes, you read a book, or you see a TV show, or God forbid, a movie, and then there’s this perfect hero, this brilliant heroine, and they’re good, and kind and strong and you’re meant to like them, and you do like them, yet, for some bizarre reason that you can’t seem to understand, one of the minor characters comes out of NOWHERE, and bam, you’re in love. The hero and heroine are forgotten. 

Happens to the best of us.

Sometimes I think it must be on purpose. Writers create these wonderful secondary characters, so they must realize what they’re doing, right? Most often, though, I think it’s a matter of chance. You create a secondary character, and though you usually create him for a reason, he has no real arc. He just exists to create a response in your hero/heroine. But, of course, that only works for a while. Once you create him, he’s a character, on his own right. He develops feelings. Likes. Dislikes. He might even fall in love.

You didn’t ask for any of it. You didn’t plan for it. You don’t even want it. But there it is: a secondary character that refuses to stay in the background. One that demands its own story. Even if you never get to tell it, not completely.

TV has a few notable mentions (and I promise I’ll go over them sometime), but books, oh, books. There are just so many examples of this in books that it seems like a crime to only choose a few. But, since I already took like half of the planned space for this post rambling, I’ll just pick out a Top 3 of secondary characters in recent literature. The rest …well, there are always other posts.

1. Sirius Black, Harry Potter Series. The Harry Potter series has SO many secondary characters that deserve a mention, but I’ll stick with Sirius, if only because there’s so much going on behind the scenes with him. So much we STILL don’t know. So much scope for imagination. And, because, at times, you truly want him to come out of the shadows. The books are not about him, but you care, you truly care.
2. Haymitch Abernathy, The Hunger Games. He’s drunk. He’s sullen. He’s angry. He’s misunderstood. He acts like he doesn’t care, but, deep down, he cares too much. He’s just the type of secondary character you can’t help but love. And, if he has a tendency to say out loud exactly what you’re thinking while you read, well, that’s just a bonus.
3. Brienne of Tarth, Game of Thrones. She’s so seriously badass it’s hard to even describe it. If I’m reborn in a medieval time one day, I want to be like Brienne. It doesn’t matter that she’s big, and ugly. Brienne is, simply put, a woman who will not submit to stereotypes. A woman who will live her life in her own terms. And, isn’t that what we all want?

Murphy was an optimist

Si algo puede salir mal, saldrá mal, dijo Murphy, hace mucho tiempo, en una galaxia muy, muy lejana. Bueno, en verdad, seguramente no estaba ni tan lejos, porque el condenado de Murphy era panameño, cosa que no debería ser ni sorprendente, porque, como ha demostrado la vida, si algo te puede salir mal, no solo te saldrá mal, te saldrá mal en el peor momento, será tu culpa y todo el mundo se dará cuenta. 

Hoy ha sido un vivo ejemplo de eso, y apenas son las once de la mañana. Me desperté con un plan en mente (lo cual ya, de por sí, resulta un problema, si uno se despierta sin expectativas las cosas no le comienzan a salir mal tan temprano), pero el desayuno me quedó demasiado salado, el cabello no cooperó, la ropa que me quería poner no estaba planchada (Y planchar a las 7 AM is where I draw the line) y, para colmo, se me olvidó ponerme rímel.

Cuando llegue al carro me di cuenta que se me había olvidado el Ipod, así que tuve que escuchar radio. Ah, y, obvio, el día que no puedo ni distraerme cantando, me encuentro con el tranque más horrible en la historia de los lunes por la mañana.

 Me debí haber esperado, ya que todo lo demás me había salido mal, que, cuando llegara a mi trabajo, alguien estuviera estacionado en mi parking. Pero, no, fue una sorpresa. Ya sé que siempre me quejo del frio, pero hoy, hoy estaba esperando con ansias las temperaturas gélidas de mi oficina, a ver si se me enfriaban los ánimos. Pero, oooobvio, como así es mi vida, se dañó el aire acondicionado.  Y el internet no funciona. Y mi data es una cosa que depende del humor del universo, o algo por el estilo.

Y hoy no traje ningún libro. Ni tampoco un snack. Así que será yo y el té verde for the foreseable future.

 

Es como si Murphy en verdad hubiera agregado: If you perceive that there are four possible ways in which something can go wrong, and circumvent these, then a fifth way, unprepared for, will promptly develop. 

Corollary: It will be impossible to fix the fifth fault, without breaking the fix on one or more of the others

Pero el día no ha terminado. Oh, no. El día ni siquiera va por la mitad. Las cosas todavía pueden empeorar. Murphy me ha enseñado eso. Es más, a veces, las cosas pueden empeorar tanto que Murphy comienza a sonar como un optimista.

Será muy temprano para cerrar los ojos y pedir que sea mañana??

J.K Rowling, a new book, the old book, and Harry Potter

So, I just bought my very own copy of The Cuckoo’s Calling, the new book J.K Rowling published under a pseudonym. ( And Robert Galbraith is a damn nice one. Has a ring to it, doesn’t it?). I decided I was going to buy it as soon as I heard the news, because, let’s face it, J.K Rowling and me? I’ll buy anything she writes.

(While I’m on this subject, Mrs. Rowling, I’d appreciate it if you wrote the damn HP Encyclopedia. I really would.)

I don’t have anything to say about the book yet, I have not read it, but I’ve heard plenty of good stuff. Almost as much good stuff as I heard bad stuff about The Casual Vacancy, which I also bought, and read. I did not hate it as much as most people I know did, though I confessed I expected something a little more lively. This was, after all, the woman who gave us The Marauders and the Weasley twins.

But I read it. Had no problems getting through it, though it did take me much longer than most books I read. Found it to be brilliant writing. But it lacked a little bit of …well, magic.

For me, and I think for a lot of people my age, older, and, well, honestly, most people who at some point or another got their hands on a Harry Potter book, the whole Harry Potter experience was …pure magic. Everyone had a favorite character. (Mine was Lupin). Everyone cried at one point or another (I cried plenty. Mostly at the end of Book 5 and …eh, well, most of Book 7). Most people had a shipping preference (H/G for the WIN). 

It’s hard to write anything after that. It’s hard to measure up to yourself. But, in a way, I’m glad for The Casual Vacancy. I’m glad for The Cuckoo’s calling. I’m glad she’s still writing, even if we don’t get to know what happened to Harry after that last train left for Hogwarts. (In a way, this is what makes HP special .We don’t know what happened, and in a way, we do know. We’ve imagined it countless of times.). Even if we end up hating the new book, or, maybe, in the case of this new one, loving it. Even if we think the writing is not the same, the magic is not there.

Because, that’s being a writer. You don’t stop. And, for the woman who gave us Harry, Hermione and Ron, I promise to continue reading. She’s earned that much.

Andy Murray, Wimbledon the movie, and the power of finally.

On Sunday, Andy Murray won Wimbledon. Now, most of you already know that I’m not a big Andy Murray fan. Well, that’s putting it lightly. I don’t really like Murray, or at least, I haven’t historically liked him. I was, however, very happy to see him win on Sunday, for a whole host of reasons, including, but not limited to the fact that Rafael Nadal and Roger Federer were not around to win the thing, anyway, and I abhor Novak Djokovic, so, it was better to see Murray win, and also, because, well, 77 years is a very long time.

During the final, and, at specific moments during the tournament (After my two favorites quickly lost, making the thing almost un-watchable), I was reminded of the movie Wimbledon. Now, I know most people seem to either hate this movie or love it, but I’m firmly in the love it category. I think Paul Bettany is a brilliant actor, and he should make many more movies, for I’ll go see them all.

But that’s not the point. The point is, the actor, playing, GASP, a British player on a quest to win Wimbledon, has a few (many) moments of doubt. In one particular instance, we hear his internal monologue as he’s about to serve. It goes something like this.

“Don’t choke. Don’t choke. Don’t choke. DON’T CHOKE ….I’m going to choke.”

In a way, I’ve always thought that has been Andy Murray’s internal monologue for most of his career. He’s a good player. On a good day, he can probably take any of the other three elite players tennis has on this day and age. It’s just that, for some bizarre reason, he didn’t believe this. He believed they were better than him. And maybe they are, marginally better. In his mind, though, they were unbeatable. In his mind, every time he was about to beat them, doubts resurfaced. In his mind, he couldn’t do it.

For a moment there, on Sunday, I thought that Andy Murray was back. Three championship points, and then, it seemed like two seconds later, it was AD Djokovic, and I was thinking, boy, if Djokovic wins this set, Murray is done for. And, then, just like in the movie, he paused, and, quite possibly, said to himself:

“Please don't choke. Please don't choke. Don't choke.”

And, quite possibly, he replied, still inside this internal dialogue: 

“I'm not gonna choke, damn it.”

You all know how the story ends. He didn’t. Sometimes real life does have Hollywood-type endings. Sometimes you win Wimbledon on your eight try. You just gotta keep trying, I guess. Well, that, and tell yourself that THIS time, this time you’re not going to choke.

It worked for Andy Murray.