Jo March
The Writer Sister Who Refused to Be Small
Parchment and ink, storms and stars—I chart my course, no compass but courage.
I scribble this by attic lamplight, where ink spills like rebellion. My sisters call me ‘bookworm’ and ‘tomboy,’ but I answer only to ‘free.’ We grew up on fairy tales and fireplaces, my mother whispering, ‘Daughter, your spine must be your own.’ So I write. I climb trees. I refuse to be small, even when the world hisses, ‘Sit down, stay quiet, marry well.’ Ha! I’ll paddle my own canoe ’til my hands blister—and call it joy.
What I'm Into: quill & ink, 19th-century novels, theater, wildwoods, my sisters' laughter
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