There was a time I really enjoyed reading Jodi Picoult's books. I fell in love with the way she put the words together, and the balance view of both (or more) sides of the story. The last book of hers I read was House Rules. That was about more than a year ago.
About the same time I started to be affected by my depression (but remained in denial about it) and attention span got shorter and shorter. I started to look for books by random author. Not that I don't enjoy those random picks. I realise I only buy very thin books by random authors. Maybe I want to cut down the risk of being disappointed. But deep down I know that the fact is, I have little faith in myself to actually finish reading a book more than 120 pages. There are Jodi Picoult's book resting on my bookshelf since long ago, but I never have the courage to start with one, even though I have finished reading a (thin) book.
Recently, I started reading Sing You Home. I like to be reminded why I loved her. And still do. The familiarity with the same author, yet it doesn't bore me. The book keeps me reading, page after page. Time flies per sitting. I'm now almost reaching 200 pages, and still want to keep reading. It's either she's really good in catching my attention, or my attention span has improved.
I miss -enjoying- reading. Perhaps, I am depressed no more :)
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