I really hope Stephanie Meyers gets cancer. No, that is not a joke. There is no punchline there. I wish nothing but ill fate on the bitch and hope her and her shitty teen fiction lame ass writings (note: before I ever call another writer out, I at least graze their shit to see if there is any potential. I've been more than fair with this cunt and she is worse than James Frey) will go away forever.
But, that exposes the fallacy of hope. It's nothing more than a penny dropped in the mall fountain and will remain in that state until some bum scoops it up or nature takes its course.
When I first started slinging self help and bestseller novels about 9 months ago, I still had some bit of faith in the reading habits of America. I can't figure out why but I always thought that human beings would actually read, in general, for substance or understanding instead of just trash novel reads on vacation. Sure, those would obviously be included in the diet but I had naively believed that avid readers balanced out the bacon with spinach. I was so fucking wrong.
I could continue that tangent well into eternity (if you even ask me to look at The Last Lecture, fuck you. The inevitability of death is not a unique experience. Even when it is premature. There has to be some heavy narcissim dwelling deep inside you to feel the need to tell everyone else who doesn't know when they'll shove off how to live and what to prioritize. Fuck you for feeling like the only expert on the subject. And for profiting off of the damaged human beings clinging to the last thread of hope that their dreams will come true if they only pursue them. They probably won't and "living everyday to the fullest" and other such Hallmark dribble is only going to hinder their enjoyment of existence with blind faith in miracles) but instead will lend my current frustrations to the teen lit resurgance that has even adult authors like James Patterson and Nick Hornby (et tu, music nazi?) joining the frey. Fuck, even Dr. Frank from the Mr. T. Experience is horning in on the racket.
It's easy to say that Harry Potter was the first big bang in this universe. And it's probably right. College students at Ivy League universities fucking pretend to play Quidditch for christ's sakes. It's not like the genre had ever been without depth or merit (The Outsiders, The Wave, Roal Dahl, etc.), rather, it had just never been the sure shot it has now become. There will always be sales for Louise Sachar books but no one past 10 will be reading them. That is what J.K. Rowling accomplished. And now, the genre is pot-bellied with authors who generally work in adult realms (et tu, music nazi?) simply because it is a fucking goldmine. Enter Stephanie Meyers who is now being hailed as the next Rowling.
There are multiple problems with this assesment. First, Rowling was a struggling single mom who was living off the government before she got uber-rich. Meyers daddy was a fucking CFO. And, hey, I'm no Potter fan or anything, but there is actual depth and real life implications to the series of novels. Rowling wrote from personal, jubilliant and painful experiences whereas the Tween Mormon Vamp Queen had a dream and decided to type it all out. While she was a stay at home mom in a palacial estate. And while Rowling has a tendency to become very distracted at times, at least she can write. Meyer can barely punch out vacant teen dialogue into her iMac. Seriously, the bitch is that bad.
Now, I can excuse and ignore bad writers. Have you ever heard me rant about Clive Cussler or Danielle Steele? My problem is with PRETENTIOUS bad writers. Those who feel they have actually contributed something valuable to the world by doling out trash. Lisi Harrison's Clique series is pretty much Sex and the City for girls who just got their period but you never hear her talk about the struggle to create, the intense depth of her stories (probably, because she knows there is none) and the unique ability to type shit out and have it printed on paper. Meyer does all that and so much more. My favorite quote, "If you say, 'I"m gonna write a novel,' you never will. You just have to sit down and write it." Great insight, cunt. However, some of us can't stay at home all day and dream up high school fantasies out of boredom and have the time and financial resources to devote to finding some schmuck to publish the fucking thing. Celine was never offered that luxury, neither was Kerouac or Bukowski. They all had to balance art with meticulous, soul crushing brain dead work and while they may have pissed away their considerable talents on booze and excess, they were still able to write circles around your overprivelaged ass.
The video interviews we play on TV at work are so mind numbingly dull, self-infatuated bullshit, over explained horse shit it makes me wonder how people don't pick up on how lame her whole scene really is. After all, it is nothing but a Harlequin romance novel for 14 year old girls without the fucking. It just so happens to factor in vampires and werewolves to spice it up, and make seem not so bland, is my guess.
And the most frustrating thing about it all is Meyer's lack of respect for the mythology of the creatures she is writing about. Look, vamps are a sad, tired sub-genre on the horror scene (zombies are next) but if you're going to utilize the group at least follow the rules. In the Twilight universe, vampires can walk around in the sun and only glisten. What the fuck? Oh, and the good ones eat animals not people and blah blah blah. It's just too retarded to type out.
Pop culture fads come and go and this one might head into the realm of the forgotten as well, but something tells me that just ain't so. Aside from the undeserving celbrity, wealth and accolades handed to a talentless hack it serves another blow to people actually trying to make art or literature mean something. Or at least offer a little more insight into the human condition away from youthful lustings. I'm more angered and disgusted with the whole Twilight phenomenom that Miley Cyrus (oh yeah, that rant is coming) thing because tween music is an obvious sell. Getting kids to read for fun is a lot more difficult. Well, the whole teen lit shabang has changed that but just because a kid is reading is not enough to justify the trash they consume. We offer our kids McDonald's, they get addicted, become obese and die early. Introduce something like lobster or even fucking a quiche from La Maddeline and their tounge gets curious. It wants to experience more of the awesome flavors coating the receptors. It yearns for and experience like the first that awakened their dormant senses. The kid learns to try more, experience all it can in order to replicate that initial, awesome encounter. The brain, and moreover, literature have the same impact. All Meyer has done is force more health threatening, non-nutritional, grade-Z circus meat down our throats.
Will the next Joyce, Acker or Hemmingway be spawned from the Twilight series? Likely not. And we are all the worse off because of it.