A few days after the release of the latest book in the Harry Potter series, I couldn’t help noticing how many people were carrying a hardbound copy of Harry Potter and the Half-Blood Prince on the bus ride to work.

Not being a Potter fan myself, I am amazed by the following it has generated, but I am more interested in the story behind the author of those books, J.K. Rowling.

While the nay-sayers lay waste to her writing, she has managed to tap into a story that gets people reading, which I think is a bit more important than her abundant use of cliches. What most people take away from a novel is the story, not the writing style.

She carried Harry in her head for years before he came alive in a manuscript. It wasn’t until the death of her mother that she made a change in her life to bring Harry closer to being.

“Nine months later, desperate to get away for a while, I left for Portugal, where I had got a job teaching English in a language institute. I took with me the still-growing manuscript of Harry Potter, hopeful that my new working hours (I taught in the afternoon and evening) would lend themselves to pressing on with my novel, which had changed a lot since my mother had died. Now, Harry’s feelings about his dead parents had become much deeper, much more real. In my first weeks in Portugal I wrote my favourite chapter in Philosopher’s Stone, The Mirror of Erised.”

I wonder if someone, a wizard perhaps, had been able to show her a quick glimpse of her future wealth when she first started the book, would that have changed her motivation to finish the novel sooner? One would think so, but I wouldn’t place any bets on it.

Is there an idea or story banging around in your head that needs to get out? What would it take to get you to commit to it?

I went for a walk tonight. These days, taking a walk is an event. It takes planning, checking in with others, and setting aside other duties. It is more necessary than ever.

I want to walk. I want to walk out. I don’t want to stop.

I have always been a walker. Not a jogger, not a runner. There is no hurry. I enjoy a stroll, a meander through the neighborhood, a casual plodding down the sidewalk. To take a walk is to deliberate. It’s not about anything. It’s not about physical fitness. It’s not about going anywhere. It’s not about recreation.

Walking connects the feet to the ground, one after another. Morning, afternoon, evening, they are all different. The people are different. The sounds are different. The pace is different.

Walking can set you free. I am surprised by the number of people I meet who are afraid of walking. “You walked how far!” they exclaim. It seems that they forgot, somewhere in their lives, that walking consists of steps, one after another, that takes a person from point A to point B. They forget the steps and focus on the distance in terms of time, machinery, and convenience.

They forget the joy, amazement, and miracle of learning to walk.