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Different skin, different bones
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Reading time: 0.56 220 words Hey Reader, It was sunny out, but I was inside, in the dining room, burrowed under the table in a pile of cushions. The long tablecloth formed a den around me and my book. Nothing existed outside the little patch of light from my torch, which is why I didn’t notice my parents mobilising the neighbourhood to look for me. While the grownups grew increasingly frantic, I disappeared into my story. Stepping through the book and into the Enchanted Wood, I tried on a different skin, different bones. What would it be like to be this person, or that one? How would they think about this problem? It was different to how I would solve it. Was it better or worse? I didn’t know. So I tried that on, too. Wondered what it would feel like to be friends with a squirrel or an elf or the trees themselves. Had entire conversations with them. By the time my parents found me under the dining room table, I was a different person. I don’t read because I have to. I read because it changes the way I think. The book you write will change the way your readers think, too.
TTFN, Vicky 🫡 p.s. This email was inspired by Edward Ferris, who wrote a LI post ages ago and tagged me and my book. Thank you Edward. p.p.s. Know someone who might enjoy this email? Please forward it to them and get them to sign up here.
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Learn to Write Like You Mean It
Join 500+ writers, creatives, misfits, and weirdos and learn to write like you mean it in 10 minutes a week. Get ONE practical tip, story, or shenanigan every Tuesday + a creative goodie bag on Friday 🖖🏼
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