Words by: Karen Grace Prince

In my early teens, I had a phase where I’d pen letters to various female literary heroes whom I fantasised were my friends. I’d pour my heart out to characters who embodied qualities I admired: Jane Eyre’s passion, Hetty Feather’s resilience, Anne Shirley’s boundless imagination, and Tracy Beaker’s spunk. And of course, my ultimate heroine, Jo March whose unwavering literary ambition would eventually influence my own aspirations.