This book was just "eh" for me. I watched the movie right after I finished reading it and was mad that I didn't just do that in the first place and save myself a couple days of reading. At least then I wouldn't have had to listen to so much of her whining about how much her life sucks. Uh, hello, you've kind of been all over the world, you write for oodles of money, and you're apparently "too skinny." Sorry bitch, but I just can't feel bad for you. Oh yeah, and the whole writing in a journal and hearing God speak/write back to her was just retarded. Anyone who believes that God is possessing their arms to write little encouraging notes to them like their own personal BFF-in-a-pocket needs professional help. I think Elizabeth Wurtzel may have ruined memoirs forever for me (although I really hope she didn't). It doesn't help that this woman's name is Elizabeth too, but this book got a little too Prozac Nation for my taste in a few parts. Fortunately, this Elizabeth gets the hell over it and eventually stops talking about that crap and gets on to talking about her travels. Overall, this book just wasn't that interesting to me. It definitely wasn't inspiring. You're better off just watching the movie.