This weekend, Jen and I went to the Alley Theatre to check out the much celebrated Toxic Avenger musical. While that might sound strange or awesome to you depending on whatever whacky lens you use to view the world, rest assured — it was one of the greatest live performances of anything I’ve seen, ever.

For those unfamiliar with the tale of the Toxic Avenger, it’s a musical re-creation of the cult classic of the same name produced in 1985 by Troma Entertainment, purveyors of other iconic B productions such as Redneck Zombies and Cannibal! The Musical. The short of it is that a guy gets dumped into a vat of toxic waste and emerges as the Toxic Avenger, New Jersey’s eco-friendly superhero with a bit of a super violent streak. As you can imagine, seeing this campy story in musical form is an experience like no other. Add to that the fact that the music itself is excellent, and performed by some amazingly talented singers to boot.

The whole performance was aided by the fact that you could tell the entire cast (which comprised a total of 5 people playing all the roles) was absolutely loving every minute of it. They weren’t just doing their jobs — they were doing what they were born to do and having a blast. Every time I see that, whether it has to do with movies or music or whatever else, I can’t help but tear up a little bit. I guess that sounds weird, but it’s just true. I get misty-eyed when I see people experiencing that, because there’s just nothing else like it.

And the funny thing is, sometimes writers get the short end of that joyous celebration stick. As much as I love writing, there’s absolutely not a rockstar equivalent whatsoever. I know that’s kind of a vain thing to think about, and I’ll own that, I suppose. But writers don’t get to type in front of a screaming audience and then smash their keyboards over a set of speakers when they’re done. Nobody gives a standing ovation when you turn around a really terrible first draft or think of the right quirky turn of phrase for a seemingly innocuous event. I don’t think anybody in the world demands an encore of watching you stare at the blinking cursor or correcting every time you went with a terribly cliche piece of simile.

Not that I think about these things often. Clearly it’s not something I care about a great deal, or I would have figured out a different way to spend my free time. Still, it’s a funny thought. Maybe someone could come up with Writers! The Musical or something next. But it still wouldn’t be nearly as good as the Toxic Avenger.

Or at least, the first dozen drafts wouldn’t.

Oh, Swagrid.

Several months after part 5, here we are at Part 6 (of 7) of my re-read of Harry Potter and the Sorcerer’s Stone. And here I thought I’d knock this thing out in just three short essays. I apologize for the delay, but Jurassic Park knows best when it tells us that “life finds a way”, and that includes interrupting all of our plans to write about wizards.

In this edition, we talk about Ridgebacks, centaurs and the stars. The end of our last session found Harry spying on Severus as he threatens Quirrell for the Sorcerer’s Stone. Or so it seems. Dun dun dun, and so forth.

Chapter Fourteen: Norbert the Norwegian Ridgeback

Now that they expect the Sorcerer’s Stone to be stolen at any minute, Harry and the gang are feeling particularly stressed about their days at Hogwarts. I’m not sure what all they expect will happen when Snape gets the Sorcerer’s Stone (since they don’t realize Voldemort is behind it) other than having the moody Professor around for 665 years, but they’re worried. However, it seems that Quirrell is made of stronger stuff than they first thought: although he is paler and thinner and looking rather sickly, he is holding out on divulging information, and rather admirably at that. Of course, the stronger stuff he’s actually made out of is the disembodied spirit of Lord Voldemort mooching on the back of his noggin, but that’s neither here nor there.

They actually take to defending Quirrell of all things, because they feel pretty sorry for him. When they’re not advocating for the rights of stuttering evil wizards everywhere, they’re getting ready to study for their exams. Hermione is already freaking out about finals and just like us, still has no idea what the twelve uses of dragon’s blood are. I think I’ll make up a few: baking a cake, making an everlasting fire and highlighting blonde hair. Also: why was it that in school, the smartest and most prepared people were always the ones freaking out the most? Guess that’s something Muggles and magic-folk have in common.

During one day of their studies, the gang stumbles upon Hagrid the giant (which is the same as saying they stumbled upon Shaquille O’Neal) in the library researching dragons. Because they’re so very nosy, they decided to see what Hagrid is up to at his hut, in addition to bugging him some more about the stone’s security measures.

After some flattery from Hermione, who really might be some kind of con artist or cat burglar at this point, the grounds master dishes out the following: several teachers, including Dumbledore, all put their own forms of protection on the Sorcerer’s Stone. Harry jumps to the conclusion that the only thing Snape now needs is whatever Quirrell did to guard the stone. Perhaps a magical turban or a stuttering riddle?

Before Hagrid can jump too far into his annoying “trust Snape” speeches, Harry and the others spot Hagrid’s new prize: a dragon egg he won from a Nigerian prince in the exchange for a small amount of galleons. Of course, this thing is going to hatch soon, tear apart the countryside and eat Hagrid whole, but the friendly giant could care less about that. He’s going to be a mommy, you see.

Ever the nosy nannies up in everybody’s business at Hogwarts, the trio gets worried. Who dubbed these guys as the Everyone’s Problems Police? Seriously. Anyway, their blabbering on about Hagrid’s business catches the attention of their worst enemy, Malfoy. Draco happens to roll up right when the three of them watch Hagrid become a dragon’s mummy, which of course spells doom for their illegal activities.

In order to help Norbert the dragon get out of the castle, they all hatch a complicated Children of Men plot (with Ron as Clive Owen and Harry as the pregnant chick, I guess) to smuggle him out of the castle to Ron’s older brother Plot Device, er, Charlie. Of course, Malfoy comes in and guffs everything up as always, and it looks like the jig is up – but not before they realize they left the Invisibility Cloak in the tower.

Chapter Fifteen: The Forbidden Forest

This chapter starts with a good old-fashioned scolding from Professor McGonagall. Now that I’ve been watching Downton Abbey, all I can see in my head is the Dowager Countess pursing her uppity lips at all the trouble makers involved, and somehow it’s fairly entertaining. What’s even crappier for Harry than everyone dumping on him for being kind of an idiot is the fact that Neville gets in trouble, too, because he was trying to cover for them. Not only that, but he’s then led to believe that there was no real dragon in the first place, and it was all an elaborate joke at his expense.

Even though everyone is like, woah, that’s a pretty good idea for a way to screw with Neville in the future, they’re even more shocked when they find out that McGonagall is going to remove 50 points each for the transgression. It doesn’t take a mathematics spell for all of them to realize just how totalis screwedicus they actually are. Soon enough, everyone in Hogwarts hates them, including their own house. All I can say, yet again – get used to it, Harry.

The hatred starts to get to the boy wizard so much that he even wants to quit Quidditch. In fact, it’s starting to get to him so much that he finally doesn’t even want to stick his nose where it doesn’t belong – imagine that! Eventually, Harry’s new found mind-your-own-business streak gets compromised when he hears Quirrell being threatened, followed by catching a glimpse of the professor straightening his turban as he leaves the classroom. Harry assumes it’s Snape doing the threatening, but the classroom appears to be empty. For the first time, Hermione says they should tell Dumbledore. If only these kids could adopt this motto for the rest of the entire series.

Soon enough, they brush the haters off their shoulders and get suited up for their detention assignment – The Forbidden Forest. I’ve always wondered, is there another Unforbidden Forest somewhere else on the grounds of Hogwarts? If they have to single this one out, then it only makes sense. Like maybe there are four forests, and people got confused which one was the Forbidden one.

Anyway, Filch says some really creepy stuff to the kids on the way to detention, which pretty much makes him a prime suspect if a kid in your neighborhood ever goes missing. It’s OK if you torture children as long as you’re just a harmless squib, right? Once they get to Hagrid’s, Malfoy drops his first “just wait until my father hears about this” comment, which would make for part of an excellent Harry Potter drinking game. Hagrid, rather wrongly, says he thinks his father would want Malfoy to be punished. Maybe he got Lucius confused with a different Malfoy. Perhaps a distant second cousin, Luscious.

So out into the forest they go. We learn that something is out there killing unicorns, which is a huge shame because they are so awesome or something. For some reason, it’s especially bad to kill a unicorn in the wizarding realm, and not, say, zebras. Sidenote: could the unicorns have wandered over from the Unforbidden Forest? Like when you cross the train tracks and don’t realize it and then get jumped for your iPad?

Everyone splits up, which is the obvious move when hunting for something sinister that kills awesome pure virgin unicorns. Harry and Hermione end up first with Hagrid. Occasionally, in a fun bit of foreshadowing, they hear something “slithering” across the ground near them. Eventually Ronan the centaur rolls up, high on huffing some star and constellation fumes, and talking crazy talk about prophecies and signs. Bane shows up, too, who is a slightly angrier high. After they leave, Hagrid tells Harry that “centaurs know things”, like where to get the best blue star stuff on the market.

After a series of goofy mishaps involving false sparks and a cowardly Neville, Malfoy and Harry end up together in search for this dark evil. Which, of course, makes total sense. As one might expect, they stumble across a dead unicorn and a hooded figure drinking its blood. Harry’s scar flashes in pain, and the hooded figure creeps towards him. Fortunately for the Boy Who Lived, centaur Firenze gallops up (is that offensive to centaurs?) and saves the day. He totally wants Harry’s autograph and even lets Harry ride him, which pisses off centaur Bane because he totally wanted to be the first centaur Harry rode.

Anyway, before they depart, Firenze says some more wacky stuff about the stars and the planets, and that he’s ready to stand behind humans no matter what. He also says that he hopes the stars are wrong (about Harry’s death, presumably by Voldemort’s hands, which makes the centaurs think that Voldemort could ultimately win). Also, that Voldemort is probably behind everything.

This entire ordeal resolves with Harry getting reunited with the others. Later that night, he receives his Invisibility Cloak back with a hand-written note: just in case.

Random Observations:

- Hagrid shows his habitual love for terribly dangerous creatures. One could even speculate that he loves the unlovable because he was first shown love by Dumbledore. Again, that Deeper Magic business I’ve been rambling about.
- Harry’s Invisibility Cloak proves early on that the Deathly Hallows lead to nothing but trouble.
- It’s interesting that Harry and Malfoy’s little encounter happens up in the tower. This won’t be the last time that these two face some difficult penalties because of that tower. And again, Harry will be hiding.
- We’ve been talking about Dumbledore’s design as we’ve gone through the book – do you think the Forbidden Forest encounter with Voldemort was also by his design? Interesting that Harry gets sent out into the Forest on that particular night.
- Harry’s first encounter with the dead-but-not-dead wizard Voldemort is in the Forbidden Forest. Some years later, the two return there before Voldemort triumphantly brings the dead-but-not-dead Harry back to Hogwarts.

And phew, that’s the end of Part 6. I had a lot to say because I’ve been so quiet about Harry Potter for so very long. Expect Part 7, the final installment of The Sorcerer’s Stone, sometime next week. Any thoughts on these two chapters? Discuss in the comments!

In many ways, being a writer is like being one of those dudes that spins plates. I’m not really sure if there’s a technical name for that, and I really don’t feel like Googling “that dude who spins plates”, but I’m sure you get the gist of it. Basically, with first drafts, there’s always something else to fix. Whether it’s general copy, something thematic, a dumb character, a bad piece of dialogue or just terrible story crafting, some plate is always going to be wobbling. You might drive yourself mad trying to keep up with it all.

I learned this hard lesson firsthand last year, when I spent most of my creative juices fumbling through the wreckage of the first draft of In the Blood, the silly young adult monster hunter book I’ve been working on. Having never attempted a second draft before, my approach was ridiculous. For a while, I spun my wheels copy editing. This was satisfying at first. Hooray, I could say. My words are changing from crap to less crap! Look at all the progress I’m making! But that feeling soon fades once you understand just how broken your 100,000 word mess actually is. Looking back on it, it’s painfully obvious how stupid it was — why go through the trouble of making something sound pretty when the content isn’t even locked?

After a couple of months of copy-editing, I realized that I was, in fact, going to have to scrap a good third of the story altogether. That blow took a bit of time to fade, but when it did, I hit the story hard and focused all my energy on fixing it. But then I ran into the problem I mentioned earlier: too many spinning plates. The father/son themes were wildly inconsistent. The story itself didn’t make a lot of sense. I was forcing my main character into situations he didn’t belong. The climax needed to move back to his home town. The home town needed to be just as much of a character as Gabe. How could I fix all of it at the same time?

So I decided to stick to one plate for the second draft. It was the only thing that made sense to me. I would make each draft about a new plate that I needed to fix within the story itself. I’m not sure if it was the best way, but it was how I finally powered through and got the thing done. I had to ignore all the other plates that were screaming for my attention.

Now, with the monumental task of yet another draft of the story ahead of me, I’m wondering if there’s a better way to write a book. Fortunately, my good buddy Jeff James linked me to an interesting thing called the Snowflake Method, wherein writer Randy Ingermanson poses a more formulaic approach to writing.

The basic idea coincides with making a paper snowflake. You make a shape with a piece of paper, then you make the shape again, and you keep repeating the shape until you unfold the creation and an intricate snowflake is born. He proposes that writing a novel works the same way. Step 1: write a sentence about what your novel is about. Step 2: turn that sentence into a paragraph, with each sentence representing an act or turn in the story. After that, you turn each sentence into its own paragraph, building out the story piece by piece. Eventually, you’re writing a page long description of each character, along with page long descriptions of each individual act.

The whole thing sounds a bit daunting, but it forces you to work out the kinks in your story before you end up in my situation — staring at a third draft and wondering how the heck to fix it without ripping the whole thing to shreds in frustration. So far, I’m using the Snowflake Method for my new project, and I have to say the results are more than satisfactory. I’ll admit that it removes some of the spontaneity of discovery writing, but it’s also forcing me to confront problems at a much simpler level than holding several chapters in my hand and curling into a brown ball on the floor.

I’m definitely curious to see if it makes tackling the first draft any easier once I’m finished, but for now I’m taking my time and seeing how much I can figure out before I jump into something new.

So how do you guys approach writing or working on new projects? Have you ever tried something like the Snowflake Method, or do you tend to wing things more?

The Snowflake Method

OK, to say that the ideas has fascinated me is putting it a bit lightly. It’s more accurate to say that it has consumed me almost completely. In fact, when the idea hit me, it was so put together that I swore I must have been Incepted. Fortunately, I haven’t spotted Leo or fake Ra’s al Ghul hanging around me.

While I’m not ready to go into it just yet, I will say that it’s a story that blends absurd fantasy with the most mundane setting on the planet — the corporate office. I’m in the process of trying out a new means of outlining and pre-writing this novel at the moment, but I thought I’d take a little survey to give me some guidance.

For those of you that have experience in the corporate world, could you share some of the biggest cliches or headaches that you deal with? I’ve already got most of the corporate tropes that I’m building the story around, but I wanted to see if the things I’m focusing on are the same ones that other people actually deal with. These cliches can be anything from annoying buzzwords used by soothsayer vice presidents to the types of co-workers that you generally deal with in a given department (Steals Everyone’s Lunch Guy comes to mind).

So, what say you guys? Feel free to share.

Two days ago, I ran for 13.1 miles, finishing my second half marathon in the last few years – and well, ever, I guess. To be able to say that I’ve done two of these things now is something I never would have believed back in 2009, when I was in the midst of some Internet shows, 110 pounds heavier and largely (pun entirely intended) unsatisfied with my creative and professional trajectory.

The most recent half marathon was much more fun than the first one. Considering I weighed 70 more pounds for that race, that should be a tad less shocking than Paula Deen having diabetes. Back in 2010, it took me almost 3 hours and 20 minutes to go the distance. In 2012, I barely skimmed in under my goal of 2 hours, with a total time of 1:59:56.

Here are some pictures:

2010

2012

Next year, I’ll see if I can combine those distances and run the full marathon without keeling over somewhere in southwest Houston.

The other day, a friend of mine asked me if I liked running, or if it was just something I do to keep the weight off. Without really hesitating, I told her that I do, in fact, enjoy running. Quite a bit, actually.

“Why?”

It’s funny. I didn’t have an answer. And I’m not sure if I will have one anytime soon. That probably makes it sound like some kind of zen thing, but it’s really not. My answer is more like a picture than something I can put into words.

Whenever I think about why I like running, I think about the only time I ever tried to run a mile in elementary school. It was a muggy fall morning in Sugarland, Texas, and my fourth grade P.E. coach herded all of us outside to do a series of exercises. After forcing us to contort our bodies in a variety of torturous scenarios, he then told us we were going to have to run a mile. As a nine year old, I of course had no concept of just how far a mile actually was, but in my head he might as well have asked us to run to Saturn.

So I ran. I didn’t have a choice. Or a prayer. I was an unathletic chubby kid that parted my hair down the middle and pretended like I was on the bridge of a starship during recess. I remember the cramps that hit my side like thousands of daggers, the muggy air as I tried to huff it down into my lungs. My parents’ divorce was rough, but running a mile outside of Highlands Elementary felt like the worst thing that had ever happened to me. When we were done, I threw up in the bathroom and went to the nurse’s office to lay down because I was embarrassed. All the other kids had run the mile without a problem.

For some reason, that morning stuck with me. It was almost a decade before I would try to start running again, with similar results in high school. I’m not sure what it is about childhood, but memories like that leave marks somewhere deep inside of us.

I guess that doesn’t answer the question of why I like running, though. As I said, it’s more of a picture than something I can put into words. The best way I can describe it is that when I run, I think of that nerdy kid who didn’t have a lot of friends. I think of him giving up in 4th grade and him giving up in middle school and him giving up in high school. I think of all the times he didn’t have the confidence to do something that he should have been able to. I picture the insecurities that ran him around by his nose until his self esteem finally hit rock bottom.

And then I want to rewrite that story.

Somewhere along the way, that picture was enough to keep me running, one step at a time.

I’ve got a bit of a confession to make. As much as I know and love movies, there is a tremendous gap in my experience when it comes to classic films. I can’t really pinpoint why, but for some reason or another, I haven’t seen a few movies that many consider to be among the all time greats.

Naturally, this results in a lot of balking and the “What?! You’ve never seen (movie that everyone claims is mind-blowing) before?! And you call yourself a movie buff?!” line of questioning that just makes me want to hammer punch people in the throat before they can finish the sentence. I think some day, some poor soul’s utterance of these words will finally make me snap, and then things will get very real.

As a result of this, my good friend Chris inspired me with something that he’s been attempting recently. You see, he dove headfirst into Flickchart’s 100 Greatest Movies of all Time List. He is now watching all of the movies he hasn’t seen in order to get caught up.

I believe the challenge has been accepted, good sirs. It’s a bit daunting, but here are the movies I have yet to watch from that list. Do not mock my shame too much. Because of the aforementioned hammer punches.

Goodfellas
The Godfather Part II
Black Swan
Drive
Fargo
One Flew Over the Cuckoo’s Nest
Rear Window
Let the Right One in
Taxi Driver
Apocalypse Now
Dr. Strangelove or: How I Learned to Stop Worrying and Love the Bomb
American History X
The Good, the Bad and the Ugly
City of God
North by Northwest
Casablanca
Chinatown
Yojimbo
Clockwork Orange
Oldboy
Citizen Kane
Raging Bull

So I guess that can be a pretty good goal for me in 2012. Where should I start? Which of the movies on the list have you not seen?

I feel like I hopped in a DeLorean or fast-forwarded through the last 90 days or so of 2011. Things have been bananas, and not in the fruity, delicious way. As a result, I accidentally abandoned my Harry Potter blog, but that shall return soon. I promise I have a few good reasons.

1. Traveling

I wouldn’t call myself a jet setter, really, but I did end up out of town about four or fives times from October through November. This included a visit to Rooster Teeth in Austin (more on that in a moment) and trips to Galveston and Orlando for work. Oh, and back in October I went to a cool place in Seattle. I’m not really able to talk about it much, but here’s a picture:

And I’ll just leave it at that.

2. Writing

I finally buckled down on the second draft of In the Blood. I’m just a couple of chapters away from ridding myself of that beast (only to start a new beast in January), but unfortunately it had to come at the expense of the blog. Someday I’ll figure out how to have a good balance between those two.

In terms of other writing, I’ve also started a freelancing gig with the aforementioned Rooster Teeth in Austin to do some writing and revisions for Red Vs Blue Season 10. I will not bore you with the amount of squees that I utter daily about this. As a long time fan of Red Vs Blue and RT in general, I’m kind of geeking out every time I get to take a pass at the script. I first became enamored with RvB all the way back in its first season, so getting to work on Season 10 is a nerd’s dream come true. Needless to say, clocking in some hours for them has taken away some of my time here.

3. Life Stuff

My brother got married in October, which, if you’ve ever had a close family member get married, that tends to drop a bomb into a couple of weeks of your personal life. I was also busy training at my Krav Maga school for another rank test that I passed just a couple of weeks ago. This officially makes me a P3 and eligible for instructor training next year. Who knows if that’ll happen or not, though.

And last but not least, my wife’s pregnant. So there’s that as well. I’m pretty thrilled with this piece of news. Jen’s dad doesn’t want to know the gender, so if you’re reading this, Jim, look away now – the rest of you can know that we’re having a little girl in April. Can’t wait. Seriously.

And that about sums it up. With the nutty fall behind me, I’m going to resume the Harry Potter blog, post some thoughts about my writing process, post some pictures I’ve been taking as I get used to my new Canon T2i (purchased for the little one) and just generally plan on having a good time here. So yeah. Stay tuned, friends.

In case you aren’t a Netflix subscriber, or you didn’t read that weird personalized e-mail from CEO Reed Hastings, you might have missed out on the news that Netflix is splitting DVD and Streaming not only into two plans — but separate businesses. One of these businesses will remain known as Netflix and will be purely devoted to streaming. The other will be Qwikster, which sounds like a really terrible villain in a Saturday morning cartoon, and will focus on the DVD side of the business, with video games thrown in for good measure. If you want both of these things, you have to sign up for two separate services, and there will be no crossover between them — so you can forget that whole bit where you check to see if something’s streaming before you rent out the DVDs.

The sensibility of this business decision aside (there are numerous pros and cons, but in the end, it just makes Netflix look silly and out of touch more than anything), this turned into an entirely different kind of marketing animal today thanks to Twitter and one Jason Castillo. You see, Jason Castillo is a young man that enjoys the recreational blaze as well as the occasional trip to the gym. He also happens to own the name Qwikster on Twitter, complete with a blunt-smoking Elmo profile pic.

In its rush to announce Qwikster, it seems that Netflix had forgotten to properly handle the social media marketing aspect of this whole thing, and now their brand re-launch’s conversation is dominated by Mr. Castillo on Twitter, who got over seven thousand followers today. To add to the virality of this fiasco, people are now retweeting everything he says, acting like he’s the official arm of Netflix. The whole ordeal is a new kind of hilarity that’s only found on the Internet, and it’s been killing me today. A few samples of Jason’s wonderful insight into the world of Qwikster…

Prior to this afternoon, Jason’s last tweet was made a couple of months ago. I’d like to think he was smoking until this morning:

Apparently he’s got a bug problem:

And maybe even some kind of poltergeist in his house:

Jason realizes the gravity of the situation:

And now he wants to capitalize on the opportunity monetarily:

How embracing indeed, Jason!

Seriously, this is why the Internet is amazing. You can’t even make this stuff up. A note to Internet marketers: take care of this kind of thing before you announce your brand. This is the worst sort of nightmare for the people at Netflix, but at least the result for us is pure comedy.

After a long Labor Day weekend, Prior Incantato is back, with the piece of Harry Potter and the Sorcerer’s Stone that I’ve been waiting to cover ever since I first got the idea for this thing. We’re going to talk about mirrors, desires, phantoms and Flamels. At the end of Part 4, Harry vanquished a troll and got his Quidditch on. What’s next?

Chapter Twelve: The Mirror of Erised

I’ve been mentioning this chapter for weeks now, and the simple explanation is this: the Mirror of Erised scene is where J.K. Rowling finally shows her hand. All of this stuff about the magical world and an evil dark wizard has had some nice fluff to it, but it’s cotton candy compared to the meat we get here. This is a story about something else. The deeper magic. And not just book one, but the entire series. But I’m getting ahead of myself again.

It’s beginning to look a lot like Christmas at Hogwarts – when the students aren’t throwing snowballs at the back of Quirrell’s turban (can you imagine if one of the Weasleys had actually knocked it off?), they’re enjoying the crisp cool air down in Snape’s dungeon. Draco makes a comment about Harry not having any family, because that’s so hilarious, and Harry thinks about the fact that he’s staying at Hogwarts over Christmas Break. Fortunately for him, Ron will be there, too, as his parents will be visiting Charlie in Romania.

Without any regard for the Jewish wizards and witches, the Great Hall is completely made over with a new Christmas theme. Harry, Ron and Hermione watch Hagrid bring in the last tree as they tell him they’re going to go study in the library to learn more about Nicholas Flamel. Apparently they’ve been through hundreds of books, but can’t find anything about the mysterious figure, which begs the question – why haven’t the wizards thought of Google yet?

After checking through even more books, the trio starts to wonder if the stuff on Nicholas Flamel isn’t buried in the restricted section, where all the books on horcruxes are. Unfortunately, none of them are old enough to have any access, so they’ll just have to forge some fake IDs to get past the bouncer, Madame Pince.

Once the school holidays arrive, Harry and Ron totally forget all pursuits of Nicholas Flamel, but instead start playing lots of Wizard Chess in order to give Ron something to do during the climax. However, their quest receives a shot of new life on Christmas Eve, when Harry gets one of his Christmas presents – the first of the Deathly Hallows, his invisibility cloak. Attached is an anonymous note from Dumbledore, whose handwriting is narrow and loopy, I guess. For some reason, Harry’s dad left it to Dumbledore before he died, and now the kindly old headmaster is leaving it to Harry at just the right time. A few weeks back, I posed the question about how much of what is going on behind the scenes is designed by Dumbledore. This is him clearly steering the narrative, by giving Harry the tools he needs to find out just a little bit more about the Sorcerer’s Stone.

Harry takes the bait and decides to use the cloak that night. Sneaking into the restricted section, he enjoys having his run of the whole castle. That is, until a book shrieks at him like he stole something. Which, I guess he kind of did. The Boy Who Lived runs past Filch and Snape (who is keeping an eye on the restricted section) and finds himself in an empty classroom… except for one important set piece.

The Mirror of Erised, or Desire of you’ve got a bizarre sort of dyslexia that flips words around backwards. As the mirror itself claims, it shows not your face but your heart’s true desire. The funny thing about this mirror is that you might not even know what your desire is, which is the exact case with Harry. And what he sees truly astonishes him. Here, Rowling peels back the layers to give us a peek not only into our main character, but also into the heart of the whole series: it’s a story about death and love. Harry sees his parents for the first time, and all the cards are on the table.

“Mum?” he whispered. “Dad?”

They just looked at him, smiling. And slowly, Harry looked into the faces of the other people in the mirror, and saw other pairs of green eyes like his, other noses like his, even a little old man who looked as though he had Harry’s knobbly knees — Harry was looking at his family, for the first time in his life.

The Potters smiled and waved at Harry and he stared hungrily back at them, his hands pressed flat against the glass as though he was hoping to fall right through it and reach them. He had a powerful kind of ache inside him, half joy, half terrible sadness.

A hunger that Harry didn’t even know was there comes bubbling up to the surface. Whether it’s because he had grown up not knowing his parents or because he was too young to really handle these questions and feelings in a mature way, it’s hard to say. But now he’s been awakened to something truly powerful, something greater than all the magic he could ever learn at Hogwarts. Yeah, we’re back to that love thing again. Harry spends the next seven books trying to resolve that ache of joy and sadness.

Immediately, Harry runs to tell Ron of his parents, and drags Ron back to the mirror so that he can see his family. This only makes sense, as Ron is the only family Harry really has. However, when Ron stands in front of the mirror, he sees visions that surprise him, too: him as head boy, as a Quidditch champion, etc. Basically, he sees all the things his brothers are, where he’s out of the shadows and under the limelight.

Against Ron’s pleading, Harry visits the mirror for several days in a row. And when Ron’s telling you that something is stupid, it’s probably reached a new level of stupidity. On the third night, Harry gets a surprise. Instead of the mirror, Dumbledore is there, waiting for him. This is our first extended conversation with the wizard, who is no doubt here to drop some wisdom, which he got one of his many magical degrees in.

Dumbledore explains just what the mirror does, and that he’s going to move it somewhere else. He also asks Harry not to go looking for it, which is about as good as asking Harry to please go looking for it. Harry asks Dumbledore what he sees in the mirror, and I love this bit:

“I? I see myself holding a pair of thick, woolen socks.”

Harry stared.

“One can never have enough socks,” said Dumbledore. “Another Christmas has come and gone and I didn’t get a single pair. People will insist on giving me books.”

It was only when he was back in bed that it struck Harry that Dumbledore might not have been quite truthful. But then, he thought as he shoved Scabbers off his pillow, it had been quite a personal question.

One does wonder what Dumbledore truly saw in the mirror.

Chapter Thirteen: Nicholas Flamel

And of course, now that Harry’s seen his parents, the nightmares start. These aren’t just any nightmares though — Harry keeps reliving the night of his parents’ death, the night he got his scar from Lord Voldemort. This could either be because that hunger inside of him to know his parents has been awakened, or because Voldemort is growing a hunger of his own as he gets closer to the Sorcerer’s Stone. Whatever the case may be for his night terrors, Harry finds that Quidditch training helps significantly, and sinks himself entirely into that.

Unfortunately for Gryffindor, though, it seems that Snape is going to referee the next game. Ron and Hermione freak out at this news, advising Harry not to play. Before they can get too far into the discussion, Neville comes in with a leg-locker curse that Malfoy put on him. This sounds like some sort of awesome wrestling move, but it’s really just something that makes legs unable to walk. Which is kind of cool, I guess, but lame in comparison to the thought of Malfoy dropping the Muggle’s Elbow on Neville. The trio tells Neville that he really needs to start standing up for himself, which comes back to sort of bite them later on.

While eating their chocolate frogs together in the common room, Harry gets the Dumbledore card again and promptly flips out. He finally remembers where the name Nicholas Flamel came up — the back of the Dumbledore card, where it explains that he was an alchemist. Hermione thinks of just the book to find him in, and brings out a tome that’s bigger than the Beatles.

In it, they discover that Flamel created the Sorcerer’s Stone, and all the pieces fall into place: the Stone is what is being guarded by Fluffy, and Snape wants it. He’s planning a heist! All he needs to do is get Dumbledore, Quirrell, Hagrid and Harry on a plane and jump into their dreams inside dreams. Maybe that’s what’s already started going on with Harry at night — he’s being incepted.

Despite all these blockbuster plots, the Quidditch game arrives, and Hermione and Ron are on watch to make sure Harry doesn’t get thrown down into Limbo by Snape. While the game takes place in the sky above them, Malfoy shows up to make some “Weasley is poor lol” jokes (you think the guy could buy some new material), and Neville and Ron get into fisticuffs with him. During all the commotion, Harry spots the Snitch, and in a spectacular dive just past Snape, catches it for the win.

Joyous at his triumph, Harry hangs around after the match is over and spots Snape heading out into the Forbidden Forest. Harry follows the potions master at a distance (with his broom no less) and overhears Snape threaten Quirrell about the Sorcerer’s Stone, thus completing the red herring.

Once Harry informs the others of what he saw, they show their total faith in Quirrell’s unflinching ability to defend himself: they think the Stone will be gone by next Tuesday.

Random Observations:

And there you have it, the end of Part 5. This one was getting pretty long at 2 chapters. We’ve got just 5 left, so it’ll probably be two more parts before we’re done, making it a nice even 7. How about that? Feel free to discuss in the comments!