The Trouble With Fiction
Jojo had read every single book in the Library and she had not fallen into a single one of them. She’d spent hours in her Grandpa’s closet and never once stumbled on a fawn, or a talking beaver or even a witch trying to corrupt her with Turkish delight. On her eleventh birthday, neither an owl nor the mail had brought an invitation to wizarding school.
Life, she decided, was rubbish. And books, well, they were the worst rubbish of all.
Pens, though, pens could take her anywhere. She need only pick one up and she could change the world.
elmowrites 