I wrote a book. One, where if it were a movie I would not be old enough to watch it without an adult. No, you can not buy it at Barnes & Nobles or your local bookstore or anywhere books are sold. But I would gladly give you a printed 8 x 11, arial, black and white, 5 font size, unstapled copy in exchange for a Jackson. A little more if you want it signed. I have been reading the minute I realized how boring and typical TV was. Seventh grade. Same plot, same look alike actors. But books are not like that. In my head when I read the characters never look the same. Even though the first paragraph of chapter two mentions her flowy blonde hair that Goldy Locks envied, I picture her with shoulder length bouncy black curls. Maybe a touch of acne, freckles, crooked teeth, messy hair, curves, a regrettable tattoo here and there, all in my head. They never look like movie stars. And that’s part of the power of books. And somehow I found myself up at one in the morning reading, Just a Little Series (Part One) by Tracie Puckett, with Julie and Luke. Before them books were something my teachers assigned me and those books were good but they were not my books. But Part One led to Part Two, and so the story goes.
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I should have known then by my protest and the fact that I thought the idea was ridiculous that there was more to my
I should have known then by my protest and the fact that I thought the idea was ridiculous that there was more to my