Clara picked up her pencil. She didn't try to use big, complicated words. Instead, she wrote about the rough bark of the tree against her sneakers. She wrote about the cool, green light filtering through the leaves and the sweet, sticky taste of the summer peach.
"Yes," Janice said, her eyes twinkling. "You just need to give people a little bit of sugar, and they will keep coming back for more. You don't need fancy, fifty-cent words to tell a beautiful story. You just need to look at the world around you and write down the small, sweet things that matter." janice campbell
"Good," Janice said softly. "Now open your eyes and tell me about it on the paper. Don't worry about spelling. Don't worry about being perfect. Just let the lion out of its cage and see where it runs." Clara picked up her pencil
Just then, her aunt Janice stepped into the room. Janice was a teacher who loved books so much that her house was less a building and more a giant, sprawling library. She was carrying a small tray with two glasses of cold milk and a small plate of warm, gooey chocolate chip cookies. She wrote about the cool, green light filtering
Janice picked up a cookie and broke it in half, letting the melted chocolate stretch between the pieces. "You know, Clara, a lot of people think writing is like eating a giant bowl of raw broccoli. They think it's just hard work, strict rules, and something you have to do because it's good for you. But really? Storytelling is just like these cookies." Clara tilted her head. "Cookies?"
Janice reached over and tapped Clara’s blank paper. "Close your eyes. Don't think about writing a masterpiece. Just think about a memory that feels like a cookie."