"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."

"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."

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.

The rain drummed a relentless, messy rhythm against the windowpane of the attic room. For ten-year-old Clara, trapped inside on a Saturday afternoon, the grey sky felt like a heavy woolen blanket. She sighed and looked at the small wooden desk her grandmother had given her. On top sat a stack of lined paper and a single, sharp pencil.

As she wrote, the pencil began to move faster. The blank white paper didn't look scary anymore. It looked like an open door.

475 | Creating a Family Culture of Reading, Writing and Creativity…

Clara nodded gloomily. "I want to write something wonderful, Aunt Janice. Something like the books you have downstairs. But I'm just a kid. I don't know how to make words dance."