When I arrived at the doctor’s office the other day, the assistant handed me a clipboard and said, “This is a government survey on depression. It’s stupid, but we have to do it.”

It’s stupid.

Depression isn’t stupid.

Depression is never stupid.

And I know, because two years ago, my answers would have placed me much closer to the “depressed” end of the scale. 

And I have friends who struggle or have struggled with depression.

And you know what? You do, too. 

"They could have Sherlocked and Watsoned it from both ends of the timeline." 

I read Rainbow Rowell’s Landline today, and I’ve come to the conclusion that, while writing it, she decided that she was famous or well-respected or well-liked or just plain confident (that’s my guess) enough to be permitted Harry Potter references every third chapter, plus a character continually referred to as “the hobbit,” plus Doctor Who… and I’m so in love, because it feels like it was written for me, but it’s better than that, because it’s actually (hopefully) being read by all those thousands of other people who will also stare at the page and grin and re-read sentences and think, this was written just for me too. 

The fanart, when it arrives, is going to be epic.


There are no Jack Kerouacs or Holden Caulfields for girls. Literary girls don’t take road-trips to find themselves; they take trips to find men.

"Great" books, as defined by the Western canon, didn’t contain female protagonists I could admire. In fact, they barely contained female protagonists at all.

At one point in Rainbow Rowell’s Eleanor & Park, Park thinks:

He loved how much they loved each other. It was the thing he thought about when he woke up scared in the middle of the night. Not that they loved him—they were his parents, they had to love him. That they loved each other. They didn’t have to do that.

And I think that Hamish Watson-Homes would think of exactly the same thing. Sherlock will snog John when he comes home from the surgery, and Hamish will wake up to the sound of Sherlock’s violin and the knowledge that his parents’ love is… miraculous.