And here is love to you, dear reader - without you, my words would be pickling around in a tortured word document, or worse, in my head! I’m grateful for every book you buy, borrow, lend, review, or mention in passing. I hope you will always find the adventure you need, just when you need it.

Turn the page for an extract of Amy Wilson’s exciting novel, Snowglobe

‘Literally spellbinding’ Piers Torday

There were three sisters, named for Jupiter’s moons: Ganymede, Callisto and Io. As they had blood in their veins, so they had magic, fine and strong as a spider’s web. They lived in a house of white marble, and the tower stretched to the sky and speared the clouds, searching, they said, for the moon. They filled it with miniature worlds, set whole galaxies spinning, caught within glass spheres. And then they hid in their house while the world changed.

That was their lot.

But lots can change, and change can be chaos.

Callisto was the first to go: she left for love and the laughter of a boy with hair as red as fire.

Io was next: she left for solitude, and found her home in a place none could ever change.

Ganymede was left alone in the house of infinity. She stalked the marble corridors, ruling over everything they had created with a hard eye.

The world never knew of these sisters. Their house went unseen, their stories unheard.

And then came chaos.

It’s not like it’s hurting. Not much. And the lesson is only ten minutes longer – I’ve been watching the clock – so he’ll have to stop soon anyway. I try to ignore it, but it’s prod, prod, at the base of my spine. Prod, prod, like a heartbeat, only not so regular.

It’s science, and we’re sitting on stools, so it doesn’t take much for him to reach back from the bench behind and do it. One, two, prod, prod. I find myself counting the seconds between them. Ten, eleven, perhaps he’s forgotten – prod, prod. Thirteen, fourteen, fifteen, prod.

I don’t know why he took such a dislike to me. It was pretty instant, I remember, on the first day of school. He looked at me; I looked back at him. I tried a smile, but he turned and said something to his friend, and they both began to laugh. It took me a few seconds to realize the laughter was unkind, and the smile froze on my face, heat rushed to my cheeks and they laughed harder. They laughed at everything then. My clothes, my bag, my hair. He said my eyes were weird; that all of me was weird. I went in every morning trying not to be, hoping it’d be different. New bag, bright smile, same eyes – no difference. What was worse, he turned the laughter on to anyone who sat by me. Nobody sits by me now, except those who are made to in lessons.