Since the publication of the last Harry Potter book, whatever to heck its title was, sometime last year, I have occasionally felt that its author was just a little bit of a publicity...um...uh...oh! I know. Bore! A publicity bore! All those post-publication appearances talking about her feelings about the book got her more attention, I thought. The great outing of the old guy who I always felt got too much face time in those books was one more way to remind the media that she was still around.
Today, as I started to read an article about this court case she's got herself involved with, I thought, Yup, once again ol' J.K. is right where she wants to be, in the spotlight. Then I was directed to a news article in which she is quoted as saying, "You know, these books, they saved me, not just in the very obvious material sense, although they did do that. ... I would have to say that there was a time when they saved my sanity."
Those words took my breath away. For just a moment. I didn't pass out or anything. But I felt her pain. I could understand why she seems unwilling or unable to let go of Harry and his gang and move on to the next project the way the rest of us do. Or try to. Or have to.
How do you just walk away from something that saved you? And what will become of you, if you do?
The woman must be terrified. Rich, I'll grant you, but terrified nonetheless.