All We Do Is Read The Stupid

I Think What Is Probably Hard For People To Imagine Is How Wrapped Up The 17 Years' Work On Harry Potter Is With What Was Going On In My Life At The Time. I Was Mourning The Loss Of This World That I Had Written For So Long And Loved So Much. I Was Also Mourning The Retreat It Had Been From - From Ordinary Life, Which It Has Been. And It Forced Me To Look Back At 17 Years Of My Life And Remember Things.

I Am Not A Particularly Thick-skinned Person.

I'm Serious, Harry, Don't Go." But Harry Only Had One Thought In His Head, Which Was To Get Back In Front Of The Mirror, And Ron Wasn't Going To Stop Him. That Third Night He Found His Way More Quickly Than Before. He Was Walking So Fast He Knew He Was Making More Noise Than Was Wise, But He Didn't Meet Anyone. And There Were His Mother And Father Smiling At Him Again, And One Of His Grandfathers Nodding Happily. Harry Sank Down To Sit On The Floor In Front Of The Mirror. There Was Nothing To Stop Him From Staying Here All Night With His Family. Nothing At All.

Perhaps Just One More, Master Harry, For Luck?

Be Ruthless About Protecting Writing Days, I.e., Do Not Cave In To Endless Requests To Have "essential" And "long Overdue" Meetings On Those Days. The Funny Thing Is That, Although Writing Has Been My Actual Job For Several Years Now, I Still Seem To Have To Fight For Time In Which To Do It. Some People Do Not Seem To Grasp That I Still Have To Sit Down In Peace And Write The Books, Apparently Believing That They Pop Up Like Mushrooms Without My Connivance. I Must Therefore Guard The Time Allotted To Writing As A Hungarian Horntail Guards Its Firstborn Egg.