The Writing School
an excerpt

CHAPTER ONE
My name is Rachel.
That may not mean much to you, but it certainly means a lot to me. I mean how many ‘Rachels’ are there out in the world? A freaking lot. Rachel itself means ‘Ewe’, meaning ‘young lamb’. What that says about my personality, I don’t know. I personally don’t much care for the name in general. If I had children, I would name them something exotic, like ‘Phoenix’ or ‘Sanchello’.
Anyway, what I’m worried about right now is the present. And presently, I am standing in front of the university that may change my life. I’m only eighteen years old, but already I’ve decided on the course that few dare take.
I am going the world’s writing school for authors—The University of Writing, I think it’s called. The name seems to change from day to day—part of the ‘magic’ of the School, they say. (Who’s ‘they’ anyway? And why do They say such weird things?). The creativeness that comes from writing inside these walls has ‘leaked out’ and made the school have weird magical properties—kind of like Hogwarts in Harry Potter. There are a lot of Rowling fans in the Fantasy Section, which is the worst. Apparently.
The Building itself is… big.