What kind of dream witch can’t even make herself fall asleep? A tired witch. A middle-aged, raising-her-teenage-son-alone witch.
I’m supposed to keep the magic world a secret. I’m supposed to dream about the future. But supposed to’s are for suckers. At forty-one, I’m done with doubt. And I’m not about to let anyone else tell me what I can or can’t do.
My life is a scrapbook, a collection of adventures, each one leading to the next until every page is full. I’m learning, adapting, growing. Armed with my sleepy sloth tea and my golden spork, and with my coven by my side, I’ll take on every challenge that comes my way.
Nightmares better watch their backs, because I’ll be sporking them.