An angry review of The Fault in Our Stars

Note: if you are not interested in being enraged along with me or learning why you should not read “The Fault in Our Stars”, then feel free to skip over this post. It’s more of a rant than a post, anyway. Sometimes a girl’s gotta rant. I also broke this into five parts to make it easier to digest (though you will probably end up with gastrointestinal problems after this anyway).  

Sage words. source

An angry introduction

In the past week, I have been reminded why I hate summer reading.

I have also begun to hope that this fancy-ass new private school to which I am transferring is not as shitty as its choices in literature, because damn. I have been traumatized.

I should write a book

I have been doing a lot of soul-searching lately. And by soul-searching I mean doing a fuck ton of hemming and hawing.

We’ve all said it at some point. I should write a book. That would make a great book. Ohmigodz, that would totes be a bestseller.

There are a lot of reasons to write a book. Creative expression. Truly brilliant ideas. A love for words. And then there are reasons not to write a book, including the often unheeded fact that most of us don’t know shit about novel-writing and are prone to believing we could give Aretha Franklin a run for her money if only we invested a bit of time into the effort. 

Oh, sure you could, honey. source