Authors are born not made

A little girl was staying with her grandparents, who worshipped the ground she walked on. Her grand-dad was surprised to see her pounding away on the laptop with intense concentration.

What are you doing, my little treasure?”

Writing a novel.”

What’s it about?”

I don’t know. I can’t read.”


This entry was posted in Humour and tagged , . Bookmark the permalink.

Leave a Reply

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in: Logo

You are commenting using your account. Log Out /  Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out /  Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out /  Change )

Connecting to %s

This site uses Akismet to reduce spam. Learn how your comment data is processed.