Completely NON-spoilerific post. Promise.

I knew when I hit chapter 25 at around 9pm last night, that I would have no choice but to keep going from that point until the very last word of the book. The word I uttered upon closing the novel: “damn.”

There’s a lot contained within that one simple word. The joy of finally having all the questions answered. The amazement of Rowling’s phenomenal storytelling talent. The sadness of completing a series, and stowing away on a dusty shelf the characters that have become so close to me over the past several years.

I don’t want to get too sentimental, because the completion of the series really puts such a satisfied finality to the entire story that it feels right. You aren’t left wanting incredibly more than Rowling gave. It just feels complete.

But there definitely is a sadness there. It’s unmistakable. As you begin to piece together all the time you spent reading these marvelous stories, intricately weaving your memories of the characters up with Rowling’s graceful prose. You come to understand that it’s all over, and that there won’t be anything more. No 8th year in Hogwarts. This is it. And, yeah, there’s a sadness there.

There’s another kind of sadness, too. A frail, pathetic sadness for those of us that feebly refer to ourselves as aspiring writers. We close this final tome and humbly mumble to ourselves: “I could never do what she did.” I could never create that world. I could never breathe such life into my characters. It’s an empty feeling. A bit painful. But I know that as time wipes away the clear memory of the wonderful power of her words, I’ll eventually feel more comfortable in my own writing skills again. It will take time. It always does.

But hey, on the plus side, it’s not necessarily over, is it? There’s always the movies.

More later. I need to digest it all.