I’m pretty good at throwing away clutter, in the interests of feng shui and less to do at the annual dusting.
The attic, though, is under different jurisdiction, and piled high with
rubbish mementos. Luckily, moving house six times in six years has given me plenty of excuses to sift through and find things like the first book I ever wrote. Or at least, the first one I bothered to staple-bind.
A dog visits a zoo. But the cover only hints at the peril that will unfold…
The plucky parrot saves the day, they all get an ice cream and catch the bus home. It’s no Just Jake. But I thought the back cover was quite revealing:
ISBN, series promo and priced in three territories… I’m not surprised this seven-year-old ended up in publishing.
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