author note -- Laurell K. Hamilton

I'll admit to something that I'm not proud of. I love watching directors, writers, artists, anyone creative... well, I love watching them explode crazily on the internet. Seriously, good times, good times when Anne Rice crazily defended her books on Amazon. In fact, I love watching people who are clearly delusional slowly, or swiftly, fall apart on a national public forum.

It becomes even better when these people have crazy fans who defend them in classic fan boy or fan girl behavior. I'm not normally one to slow down for accidents on the side of physical roads, but with the metaphor of the internet as a super highway? I'd be stopped by the side of the road taking pictures and filming. I'm simply fascinated by crazy creators.

So, on that note, you might have heard of Laurell K. Hamilton. She writes porn. She used to write 'urban fantasies' that had police procedurials in an fantasy world. She writes straight out porn now, though. I, who almost never give up on series, have given up on her. Between the fact that I don't want to read porn and the fact that she writes porn about men I find unattractive (or even repulsive) and the fact that her porn is badly plotted, it's just not worth it. For the last year or two, I've kind of forgotten she's existed outside of trips to Barnes and Noble's fantasy aisle. Then, I wonder briefly who buys her, and I move on.

I'm apparently not the only one dissatisfied with her suck ass porns. She has something to say to everyone of us.

My books are logical, to me, understandable to the vast majority of my readers, but they are not neat, they are not utterly organized or clinical. They are big, messy books, a lot like life.

Well, I'll give you this, Ms. Hamilton. They are certainly are a hot mess. I'm not sure why you think this is a good thing, but it's clear you do. You are going crazy, 'ma petite', in much the same way Anne Rice did. You seem to believe that words come to your lips from some force of beautiful nature. You believe that the best selling status of your book means that you write well. Oh, Ms. Hamilton, that's just embarassing. I admit, some best sellers are good writers. Then there are the Robert Jordans and Anne Rices and Stephen Kings of the world. They wrote adequately at one point and the simplicity of their writing garnered them fans. That's what happened to you. You wrote easy novels that were also police procedurals and you wrote them during a time in which people were becoming obsessed with urban fantasies and vampire romances. I'm not saying there's something wrong with writing easy to read novels or for striking when the iron is hot. (In fact, Nora Roberts writes simple to read books and occasionally I love her for it.)

You do not write well. You've never written well. You wrote adequately. You wrote with enough skill to make me believe you could and would improve into a good writer. Instead, the opposite has occurred. You've become a bad writer. Further, you seem horribly insulted that people are stating so in public.

My characters are real to me in a way that makes me miss them. For God's sake, I'll be in the mall and see something, and go, "Oh, it's the perfect gift for (fill in the blank)." I've been in line with the present in my hand, before I go, "Wait, these are make believe people. I can't buy them a Christmas present." I guess I could, but there's no way to give it to them.

Dude, hit a doctor. If you are starting to believe the people you write about are real? It's worrying.

So, if you happen to see any train wrecks on the internet today? Send me a link, 'kay?

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