So, am I just to sit quietly while Max totally forgets who her best friend is?
Because, I am fairly certain this will be the only one of your books that I cannot finish.
Max remembers Insight, which means it takes place post falling into the river, post Markham going into hiding… nope this feels like the greatest betrayal of all time.
Glad others could enjoy the book. So far, I cannot.
Dear Jodi, I’ve read every single St. Mary’s and Time Police book — every glorious, tea-fueled, pod-malfunctioning, history-defying escapade. So when Out of Time arrived, I did what any loyal reader would do: ignored all medical advice, propped myself up on pillows, and leapt headfirst into the Timeline.
Because really — what better way to recuperate from sepsis than a nail-biting, seat-of-your-pants, likely-unsanctioned romp with the Time Police and Dr. Maxwell herself? One minute I was pale and woozy, the next I was cackling so loudly my wife checked my vitals twice.
This one had everything — Romulus being incorrigible, the Princes in the Tower performing their royal disappearing act, and bureaucratic anarchy at TPHQ that made me oddly nostalgic for St. Mary’s. You’ve done it again: peril disguised as slapstick, catastrophe kissed by kindness, and friendship brewed strong enough to bend time.
And perhaps — just perhaps — this was kismet. Destiny. The Time Map, in all its unfathomable mischief, must have known I would need this story, now. Because what if the Map doesn’t merely chart the past and future, but senses our heartbreaks, our weariness, our need for laughter in the dark? What if it sends the right book to the right reader at the precise moment she forgets how to hope?
You didn’t write this one for me — or so you’ll claim — but I’m going to keep pretending you did. Because somehow, just when I needed it, you delivered the perfect cure: absurdity, affection, and a world where even catastrophe has impeccable comedic timing.
I’m filing my hospital bracelet under Recovered Artifacts and logging Out of Time as Prescribed Reading: Restorative Laughter, 500 mg, to be taken with tea.
Thank you, dear Jodi, for reminding us that the Timeline may twist, but joy never fractures — and the Map, in its mysterious way, always knows where to find us.
With admiration, inappropriate giggles, and one very smug pulse oximeter,
I have fond memories of Toppings. I went to do a signing there once while suffering from the worst case of food poisoning ever. I literally could barely stand up. God knows what I wrote in people's books. Afterwards I was bundled into a taxi and driven home. I'll have to go back one day - if they'll let me in through the door. It looked wonderful and I would have loved to browse a while.
(chronic library patron laughing helplessly)
Yes, it will be!
So, am I just to sit quietly while Max totally forgets who her best friend is?
Because, I am fairly certain this will be the only one of your books that I cannot finish.
Max remembers Insight, which means it takes place post falling into the river, post Markham going into hiding… nope this feels like the greatest betrayal of all time.
Glad others could enjoy the book. So far, I cannot.
Dear Jodi, I’ve read every single St. Mary’s and Time Police book — every glorious, tea-fueled, pod-malfunctioning, history-defying escapade. So when Out of Time arrived, I did what any loyal reader would do: ignored all medical advice, propped myself up on pillows, and leapt headfirst into the Timeline.
Because really — what better way to recuperate from sepsis than a nail-biting, seat-of-your-pants, likely-unsanctioned romp with the Time Police and Dr. Maxwell herself? One minute I was pale and woozy, the next I was cackling so loudly my wife checked my vitals twice.
This one had everything — Romulus being incorrigible, the Princes in the Tower performing their royal disappearing act, and bureaucratic anarchy at TPHQ that made me oddly nostalgic for St. Mary’s. You’ve done it again: peril disguised as slapstick, catastrophe kissed by kindness, and friendship brewed strong enough to bend time.
And perhaps — just perhaps — this was kismet. Destiny. The Time Map, in all its unfathomable mischief, must have known I would need this story, now. Because what if the Map doesn’t merely chart the past and future, but senses our heartbreaks, our weariness, our need for laughter in the dark? What if it sends the right book to the right reader at the precise moment she forgets how to hope?
You didn’t write this one for me — or so you’ll claim — but I’m going to keep pretending you did. Because somehow, just when I needed it, you delivered the perfect cure: absurdity, affection, and a world where even catastrophe has impeccable comedic timing.
I’m filing my hospital bracelet under Recovered Artifacts and logging Out of Time as Prescribed Reading: Restorative Laughter, 500 mg, to be taken with tea.
Thank you, dear Jodi, for reminding us that the Timeline may twist, but joy never fractures — and the Map, in its mysterious way, always knows where to find us.
With admiration, inappropriate giggles, and one very smug pulse oximeter,
Gloria, Historian-at-Large (Currently Alive)
Filed under: Sepsis Recovery, Temporal Shenanigans, Recommended Reading
If you’re near Bath, I saw copies in Toppings & Co yesterday
I have fond memories of Toppings. I went to do a signing there once while suffering from the worst case of food poisoning ever. I literally could barely stand up. God knows what I wrote in people's books. Afterwards I was bundled into a taxi and driven home. I'll have to go back one day - if they'll let me in through the door. It looked wonderful and I would have loved to browse a while.
Eep! Cannot WAIT.
Will it be available on Kobo, please?