📖 Book Journal Entry

Title: Passion Project: A Novel

Author: London Sperry
Rating: ⭐⭐⭐⭐✨ (4.5/5)

Mood: Spiraling into an existential crisis... but make it ✨artsy✨.

Dear Chaotic Bookish Brain,

I just finished Passion Project by London Sperry, and whew, I am EXHAUSTED—in the best, most soul-cleansing, cry-in-the-bathroom-stall kind of way. This book hit me where it hurts (aka, my creative insecurities, my inner perfectionist, and my mildly self-sabotaging tendencies). Let's just say, if you’ve ever screamed into the void while working on something you're supposed to love, this book is basically your personal therapy session—with extra snark.

Plot Vibes:
Our girl (bless her spiraling heart) is stuck in the artistic equivalent of quicksand. She’s talented, passionate, and just a tiny bit (read: wildly) terrified of failure. The book follows her descent into creative chaos as she tries to finish her magnum opus—a.k.a. the art project that might finally prove to the world (and herself) that she’s worth something. But, surprise, art doesn’t come with an instruction manual, and neither does figuring out your self-worth.

Cue: self-doubt, burnout, self-sabotage, angsty romances, and the kind of big career break that comes with a side of emotional implosion.

What I LOVED (with heart eyes and jazz hands):

✨ The heroine is messy. And I mean gloriously, unapologetically messy. She’s not the quirky-perfect rom-com heroine; she’s the chaotic, spiraling, slightly-disheveled, staying-up-till-3-AM-questioning-her-life-choices type. AKA: the most realistic heroine I’ve read in ages.

🎨 The ART. THE PROCESS. THE BREAKDOWNS. As someone who has started (and abandoned) too many creative projects to count, I felt seen. The book dives into the toxic relationship artists can have with their work, the imposter syndrome, the desperate need for external validation—and it does it with raw, aching honesty.

💥 The romance subplot. UGH. Insert dramatic hand fan noises. It’s the kind of romance that sneaks up on you, smacks you in the face, and then leaves you wondering how you ever lived without it. It's subtle, emotionally loaded, and when it finally hits its stride? BABY, it HITS.

💡 The mental health discussions are chef’s kiss. There’s no sugar-coating the anxiety, the self-loathing, the crash-and-burn moments. And yet, Sperry writes it in a way that feels... weirdly hopeful? Like, yes, you can be a glorious mess and still find your footing. Maybe even love yourself a little in the process.

What made me roll my eyes (gently, with love):

⏳ Pacing drag in Act Two. There was a brief lull where I felt like I was trapped in an endless loop of artsy self-doubt monologues. I get it, girl, you’re spiraling. But I needed the plot to throw me a bone, or at least a chaotic art gallery scene to spice things up.

🥗 Side characters = slightly undercooked side dishes. Some of them were giving vibe, but others felt like they were placed there to move the plot along rather than being fully fleshed-out humans. I wanted more from them, especially her art nemesis (who had SUCH villain potential but kinda fizzled out).

Final Emotional Debrief:

Passion Project is the book equivalent of an angsty indie film where the protagonist has a midlife crisis at 27, drinks too much overpriced wine, and somehow makes peace with their inner demons through messy art, messier relationships, and a LOT of ugly crying.

London Sperry understands the broken, bleeding, beautiful chaos that is the creative process, and she doesn’t romanticize it. She lays it bare, makes you sit in the discomfort, and then (gently) reminds you that you are enough, even when your art—or your life—feels like a dumpster fire.

Final verdict:
I laughed, I cried, I wanted to throw paint at a wall. This book is for the artists, the perfectionists, the burnt-out dreamers. It’s for anyone who’s ever felt like a fraud while trying to chase their passion.

Would I recommend it?
Yes, but with a shot of espresso and maybe a therapist on speed dial.

Spice Level:
🌶️🌶️🌶️ Emotionally scorching with a dash of bedroom spice. Sensual but also soul-achingly intimate.