A big ol' waste of time

I recently finished reading a book titled "Fidelity" by Michael Redhill. It's actually the first book I've read outside of school in about three years or so.
It wasn't a novel, just an assortment of short stories that are all loosely or directly related to sex or relationships. I picked the thing up at Chapters for $5, intending to read it on the Dominican trip, but I ended up reading my dad's Steve Earle biography instead (and I'm still working on it).



And fuck me was this book ever horrible.

Every story had a good intro and midsection, and everything was very well written, but there were no conclusions. No climaxes, no surprises at the end, no resolutions, just an abrupt stop in the flow.

Judging from the guy's picture in the book jacket, he's a yutz of the highest order. A real prick with an intellectual ego who think's he's the shiznit and ought to be held in higher regard than the common folk. The kind of guy who would talk of yuppy bullshit in front of people who aren't "in the know" just to hold that over them. The kind of guy who, if you asked him what _____ was, he'd say "Well if you don't know then I obviously can't tell you!"
I could tell all of this from his little picture don't ya know.

And he used some brutally irritating phrases in his writing. The one that's stuck in my brain is "the satellite dishes drank up the sky's signals". Who the fuck sits down, writes that kind of tripe, and thinks to themselves "Wow, I'll publish that!"

A real loser, that's who.

Someday I'll write a book, and some fuckin kid will write about it bitching about how bad my writing was. And on that day I'll think to myself it's better that he thinks for himself rather than not think at all.