“Dream that my little baby came to life again – that it had only been cold and that we rubbed it by the fire and it lived – I awake and find no baby – I think about the little thing all day.”
— the journal of Mary Shelley
The last few months have made it impossible to be on here. All the conspiracy chat about my relationship, my son or even stretching sometimes to opinions on my Mum. It’s just too much and too hurtful for me to see!
Thank you to everyone who always has my back!
Not all literature is created equal and I shouldn’t have to pretend every fantasy, romance, and booktok slop novel has literary merit just bc it was written in the format of a book