Current Status: Book-Dumped! (And honestly, I feel ten pounds lighter)
Okay, we need to talk. I have officially done the unthinkable. I have broken up with a book.
I know, I know! I’m usually the one who insists on finishing every page (it’s a matter of principle!), but I’ve decided to stop reading the sequel to That Book. You know the one.
The main character? Well, she’s... intense. She’s harsh, she doesn't cry (honestly, is she even human?), and literally everything she touches turns to dust. At first, I was like, "Okay, I get it, she’s 'edgy' and 'broken'—very chic, very dramatic." But then... Chapter 30 happened. Thirty chapters! We are thirty chapters in and she is still smashing things and refusing to have a good, honest sob! I’ve reached my limit. My mental health can only take so much "gritty realism" before I start wanting to hide under my duvet with a bag of Maltesers.
So, I’ve staged an intervention for myself. I’ve closed the book. I’ve put it on the high shelf (where it can’t judge me).
I think I’m taking a "strategic hiatus" from Chick Lit for a while. It’s not you, it’s... well, it’s definitely her.
Instead, I’m pivoting. I’m entering my Detective Era. I want clues! I want trench coats! I want a mystery that doesn't involve a woman being unnecessarily mean to her own furniture!
Does anyone have a good murder mystery recommendation? Ideally one where the detective actually, you know, solves things? Help!
The "Why I Stopped" Official Tally:
Tears Shed by Heroine: 0 (Suspicious. Is she a robot?)
Items Smashed: 47 (Including my patience)
Chapters Wasted: 30 (I could have watched three rom-coms in that time!)
Current Mood: Ready for a magnifying glass and a very smart hat.
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