The Casual Fangirls

When I was a preteen, I loved reading. I couldn’t get enough of it. I basically had Jacquline Wilson books on a drip. Then, when I was 11, I became very ill with ME. I spent three years in bed, unable to go to school or do much because of intense fatigue and pain. I tried to read, but my brain couldn’t make the words make sense or my eyes were too exhausted to focus. When I recovered a little, I started reading again - but the love (and attention span, because while I did get much better, I’m sitting here 17 years later still very much an ME sufferer) I once had for it had gone. I tried to read so many different genres, and occasionally I would find a book that captured my attention. The Lovely Bones, The Lost Art of Keeping Secrets (anything by Eva Rice actually), Phillipa Gregory’s Tudor and Plantagenet books and the odd “chick lit beach read” book are the only things in about ten years that I can remember reading. I would buy endless books, determined that this would be the book...