This weekend, as the Harry Potter fandom continued to recover from LeakyCon Portland/ started getting excited about LeakyCon London/ continued to moan about not being able to attend a convention, something happened. It shook us all up, and ignited sparks we had long considered extinguished.
In case you somehow haven't heard, J.K. Rowling was revealed to be the author of a well-reviewed but not commercially successful crime novel, The Cuckoo's Calling. Writing under the pseudonym Robert Galbraith allowed her to explore a new genre and get honest feedback, without the pressure and insane hype that surrounds her every move.
Around 7pm I was in the middle of a casual Saturday night Disney movie, when I picked up my phone and lazily dragged my thumb down to refresh Twitter. And then I saw it. A tweet from the Leaky Cauldron account - which, to be honest, is not an account I expect breaking news from, simply because Potter news is hard to come by in 2013.
It said something along the lines of "This is not a drill. There is a new J.K. Rowling book out." Before I could catch my breath, my feed was flooded with the news. I paused my movie and dug into the story of how a linguistics professional used software that found extreme similarities between TCC and Harry Potter. (Which I'm still nerding out about, btw).
When I had finally assured myself that this wasn't, in fact, a dream, I was left wondering what to do. I couldn't simply go back to my lazy evening.
Of course, I wanted to get my hands on the book right away. My town's last bookshop closed years ago, leaving Walmart as my only option. I had no car, but a garage full of bicycles in various states of disrepair, and after all, it was only a few kilometers down the road. The fact that I hadn't ridden a bike in years barely entered into the mental calculations.
Fuelled by the pure energy that Harry Potter fans around the globe were radiating, I set off. After an exhausting, painful and slightly frightening journey (the shortcut through the woods behind the catholic school revealed some interesting artifacts) I arrived at the mothership of consumerism.
Of course, they didn't have it. I would later learn that almost nobody had it - the book had not been successful enough to earn a place on the shelves of stores that also sold everything from fishing rods to fruit loops. So after consoling myself with some ice cream (because what retail experience is complete without McDonald's?) I headed home.
By this time, the news had reached nearly all of my fandom friends, and the freaking out commenced. I watched as friends in bigger cities dashed to their local bookstores and emerged victorious, clutching what we would all come to realize were now rare first editions.
Unable to wait until I could get myself to a bookstore, I made my first ever ebook purchase and started reading it on my iPhone. Although I tried to tune out the buzz, I couldn't fully tear myself away from twitter and tumblr and the full-on fandom freak out that was happening.
As a fandom, we have had plenty to get excited about lately. From the WWoHP expansion, to Leaky, to new book covers - not to mention the shiny new fandoms we have all welcomed into our hearts. The Harry Potter fandom hasn't felt absent or asleep - just spread thinner, with our energy being directed to SO MANY new things.
But this - this was different. This was everybody finding out at once. This was frantic tweets and texts in all caps. This was stop what you are doing right now sorta news. This was just like the good old days. With everyone caring, for at least a while, about the exact same thing. Which is really freaking cool.
In the big picture - like, the BIG picture - this book isn't all that important. And our community, although it has certainly grown, isn't too special either. But to me, and to a lot of you as well, that moment was really important. Because this thing was special to us. In that moment (.... I swear we were fandom) there were a bunch of other people who cared about the same thing as us. And their passion, their enthusiasm and uncontrollable excitement was enough that it didn't matter how inconsequential all of it really was. It didn't matter that this book won't be as good as Harry. It didn't matter that we might be teased by friends and family for our passion. It didn't matter that we are so spread out across the globe. It didn't matter that I suffered horrible scratches on my hands from prickly plants while trying to navigate the shortcut to Walmart.
All that mattered was our passion. And that it was still there - perhaps tucked away under a layer of Lizzie Bennet Diaries squeeing, or TFioS feels, or Sherlock shipping - but still, undeniably, there.
Goodnight, bloglings.
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