I was sitting on the twin bed that occupied most of the space in the one small bedroom that came with the studio apartment I was renting. I had my favorite book open on my lap: The Lord of the Rings. It was a great copy of it, leather-bound, parchment-like paper with ragged edges, ribbon bookmark, metal snap with a lock and key, and loads of extras, like photocopies of Tolkien's notes and rough sketches of maps and locations and people. Tonight I was starting from the beginning, reading them all the way through in one sitting and enjoying it all at one time. It was a sort of ritual for me now, having done it once every semester during grade school and college. Now I was out of college, living on my own, making a living as best I could with bachelor's degrees in communications and graphic design. But that didn't mean I was going to stop loving the book that inspired me to take writing seriously.

Sitting cross-legged, I began reading the pages of the most well-loved book on my shelves. My eyelids drooped, and I jerked awake as my head fell forward. I felt my face twist into a puzzled expression as I realized that I'd fallen asleep while reading, something that never happened to me, especially not with The Lord of the Rings. I sat up fully, rubbing my eyes to get the sleep out of them. Still rubbing my eyes, I uncrossed my legs, stood up, stretched, and began to walk out of the room to get a drink. Suddenly, I stopped as my mind registered that something was fundamentally wrong. I wiggled my toes and realized that 1) I was no longer wearing my favorite pair of socks and 2) the floor was no longer the thickly carpeted floor of my studio apartment. This floor was wooden, and my feet were bare. The air smelled different too, more earthy. I slowly opened my eyes.

The room I was now standing in was, to say the least, round. The ceiling and walls were curved, the door and the single window were perfect circles. I turned on the spot slowly, taking in the sight of the new room. Something swished at my ankles, and I looked down to find myself wearing a long white nightgown. What shocked me the most, however, were the huge, hairy feet that were now attached to the ends of my legs. I stifled a cry of alarm. I looked back at the bed where I had been sitting, and saw the indention in the mattress, the crease in the covers, and, surprisingly, the book. It was shut now, the lock engaged. I went over to it, looking for some familiarity in this strange place, and bent over it. A chain fell out from under the neck of my gown; on the end was the key for the book. I took the key off and opened the book, but inside was not the story of Frodo Baggins and the One Ring, but rather, it was a journal. I read the first entry:

2 Afterlithe (that is, July), 1382

Mr. Bilbo Baggins has given me a journal to practice my letters in. He says all young Hobbits should know how to write their letters and be proper. He teaches me when I'm not helping the Gaffer in the gardens. Mr. Bilbo has beautiful gardens, with lots of posies and roses and begonias and lilies, which are my favorites. Mr. Bilbo says I should practice writing my name lots of times so that I can sign things, like letters. I can't think of any one who'd want a letter from me, though. But Mr. Bilbo said I should, so I shall.

I sat down on the bed, astonished at the diary. Lilies were my favorite flowers, but it wasn't just that. It was the name that was repeatedly written on the page: Dawn Gamgee. Dawn was my name, but Gamgee wasn't. I skimmed through the rest of the journal, which was about eighteen years' worth of entries, but not even a fourth of the journal was used. The entries told of my life as the eldest daughter of Hamfast "the Gaffer" Gamgee and Bell Goodchild. The Gaffer took me along on all his gardening duties because my oldest brother, Hamson, was away with our uncle Andy, my second brother Halfred had run off to the Northfarthing with some Bracegirdle or another, my first younger sister May was married to a Bolger in Frogmorton, and my youngest sister Marigold was more interested in cooking with Mother than in gardening.

You may think I'd forgotten Sam, but I haven't. The strange thing is that in my diary, I say that although Sam had been coming along with the Gaffer and I, he recently moved away to live with our Uncle Halfred and Cousin Halfast in Overhill, to do some forestry. Somehow, things changed in Middle Earth, and I got the feeling that it was my fault. I found the most current entry in the journal and read it:

7 Halimath (September), 1401

The Bagginses of Bag End have begun to send out the birthday invitations. There are hundreds of letters, all signed by Mr. Bilbo, though not all written by him. He asked Mr. Frodo and I to help him write and address them, and mail them off. It was rather fun, like a small party for just the three of us. I of course did not expect to be getting a letter, since I was unconditionally invited, but then Mr. Frodo walked down to our hole and handed me a letter he had written himself. The signature on it was his, not Mr. Bilbo's. It was strange of him to do that.

The rest of the entry listed all the preparations that I was a part of and helping with. There was nothing in the diary that suggested I might know of the Ring and the Red Book, although I did see notes about Merry and Pippin, goofing off as always. I looked around the room and discovered a small desk in one corner. On it was a simple inkwell and quill, and a candle that I lit from the lamp by the bed. I started a new entry with the date that corresponded with the date in the other world, normal Earth:

12 Halimath, 1401

The other entries in this journal seem to be the thoughts that have been given to me so that I may fit into this world. Now I will record the thoughts that I have as I really live here, not dream-thoughts.

I don't know how I came to be here, but I feel like there might be a purpose for it. Hopefully, the fact that I seem to have changed many things will be fixed in the course of however long I'm going to be here. I don't want the story to change.

I set the quill down, blew lightly on the ink to dry it, and shut the book carefully. After blowing out the candle, I opened the shutters slightly. It was still dark, though there was a shining gleam along the horizon, signaling dawn. Dawn Ingle, arrived in Middle Earth as Dawn Gamgee at the dawn of the eleventh day before Bilbo's big Party. I lay down on the bed, and a sudden weariness took me, and I fell asleep, dreaming of home.