There is a small monster in my brain that controls my doubt. The doubt itself is a stupid thing, without sense or feeling, blind and straining at the end of a long chain. The monster, though, is smart. It’s always watching, and when I am completely sure of myself, it unchains the doubt and lets it run wild. Even when I know it’s coming, I can’t stop it.
I’ve been reading some heavy stuff lately, and I wanted a break from stories about murdered children. I came across Eliza and Her Monsters by Francesca Zappia, and I remembered reading a very positive review about it from Thrice Read. It’s marketed as a YA teen romance, so it’s safe to say I am not a member of the book’s target audience. But what the hell, I decided to give it a shot.
I’m glad I did.