If it were not for Fred and George, I would probably not be here.
It’s a reasonable assumption. I had no real ambition to be a published (or blogging) author beyond that vague feeling that ‚there must be a book inside me‘. As far as I knew I had the ‚wrong sort of brain‘ for writing fiction. Yes, I knew I loved writing, but I had been told that my only attempt at fiction was rubbish, and I believed that.
Then Fred and George came into my life.
I was looking for a pet, since I had changed job and location, and felt I wouldn’t be travelling much, so I could give a good home to an animal. Whether I was a suitable person to take responsibility for an animal troubled me a little. What if after a couple of years I felt it wasn’t working? What if my infamous…
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