Bookworm, Flash-fiction

Literary Witching


A young witch wearing thick rounded glasses and blue stockings appeared in front of me.

“Make a wish!” she said brandishing a long magic wand. “You can become an obscure novelist whose work will be admired and studied by a select few for decades…”She paused giving me time to weigh the offer, then continued, “or a popular paperback author whose books give pleasure to millions. What do you choose?”

“H’m,” I stepped back in fear of being hurt with the wand. “To start with, I like your stockings, very fresh color. But your idea of choice sounds strange to me. Why do you think obscure and popular are mutually exclusive? Stephen King is so dark some people can’t sleep at night, and still he’s loved by millions.”

“Oh, Stephen King is not my client, he’s with another witch.”

“I see. And why do you think the pleasure is opposed to quality? O. Henry’s books made people laugh a hundred years ago, and still do.”

“I never met the old gentleman, I wasn’t born yet,” she sighed. “But I’ve heard of him.”

“You mean only heard, never read?”

“Well, yeah. I’m too busy to read.”

“I’m sorry to tell you, but you don’t seem to be qualified for the job of a literary witch.”

“I know,” the witch suddenly sobbed. “I’m only a trainee at the witch literary agency. I just wanted to practice some miracles.”

“I see. Well, come back when you’re promoted to an assistant. Maybe then your miracles will make sense.” I waved at her and left her scratching her head with the magic wand. “Literary witches these days!” I thought to myself. “They only look bookworms. It’s better not to count on them at all and write whatever you want.”


The Daily Post

14 thoughts on “Literary Witching”

    1. Thank you for the compliment. I’ve read your post, and yes, we are agreed on the subject. And I like the way you put it, “There’s nothing to prevent you from being a best-selling author and a fine writer.”

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