An impassioned rant about Leaving Time by Jodi Picoult

This is not a review of Leaving Time by Jodi Picoult. It is an impassioned rant about it. Is it a good rant or a bad rant? I’ll let you decide.

Rain: This is my rant about Leaving Time, and the first thing I want to say is what an uninspiring title for a beatiful book. “Leaving Time”. Two words that are entirely unemotive and suggest nothing about what the book’s about. Okay, sure, you see where the phrase comes from and it does mean something to the characters at a time, but this aspect is so lightly developed that it really doesn’t do it for me. And to someone who hasn’t read the book the words mean nothing. Ugh! I almost didn’t read it because of the title.

Sebastian: Ah, but you did read it.

Rain: Well, yea. Because elephants. The elephants were glorious and beautiful and touching and I want to meet them all now! The book should have been called something about elephants. “The Grief of Elephants” seems appropriate and captures the feeling of the book so much better than “Leaving Time”.

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Not a review of Gone Girl by Gillian Flynn

My writer half and my reader half discuss Gone Girl by Gillian Flynn and even agree on a few things about it. I’ve tried to avoid major spoilers, but if you don’t want to know anything about the book then don’t read this post until after you’ve read it.

Sebastian, Rain and I just finished reading Gone Girl by Gillian Flynn, and now we’re not going to write a review about it. But we are going to talk about it.

Gone Girl got on my list of mega-popular books to read because of its 44,974 Amazon reviews (and counting).

However, it’s somewhat interesting that it only has four stars. Even the lamest of self-published books usually manages an average of four stars, so I have to assume a lot of people hate this book.

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The physical inspiration for my WIP

Mushrooms, wrestling, and a few glimpses into my work in progress.

I don’t write about my life as such, but that doesn’t stop little bits of it sneaking into my novels.

When I was ten and started writing my first novel it was autumn and field mushrooms were popping up everywhere in the garden. I don’t like eating mushrooms, but I love the idea of finding food in the corner of the lawn.

For a whole book my characters ate nothing but mushrooms.

They probably didn’t have much choice because they were seven years old and lived in the middle of nowhere with no parents or other means of support.

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Thoughts dredged up by #MeToo

The #MeToo campaign–which encourages women who have been sexually harassed or assaulted to speak out to show how widespread the problem is–has made me stop and think. I’m not going to detail any horrific incidents in this post, but if you find the #MeToo conversation triggering you might still want to skip it.

When Twitter broke out in #MeToos, my first instinct was to feel incredibly lucky that I’ve never been sexually harassed or assaulted and sad and angry for all the people who have been.

We shouldn’t have to live in a world where women are lucky if they’ve never been sexually assaulted. That should be all women.

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I’m not short, you’re short. Now stop it.

I’ve been told I’m short, which I thoroughly dispute. Here are my guidelines for how tall you should be–for everyone’s sake.

I’ve mentioned before that I’m a scary person, but did I also say I’m of normal height? I’m five foot three and a half inches, which I swear is exactly average for women. If you don’t believe me… look, just believe me.

On occasion, people have told me I have short legs. I don’t. They go all the way to my feet, which reach the ground.

Clearly my legs are the perfect length.

But today I don’t want to talk about my height. I want to talk about your height.

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