Read Ayn Rand’s The Art of Fiction yesterday. To say I’m disappointed is really a misnomer. I’m pissed off. If the book was just bad, without any deeper discussion about writing techniques, I’d be fine. To be fair, there are one or two useful things in there. But to spend almost two hundred pages to say “I’m the best stylist of my generation” and “The best example of what I’m discussing is this scene from my novel Atlas Shrugged…” and “Objectivism is YAY! Besides hating those damn commies (*spit*) we even write with plot! PLOT! And our characters? They have so many layers! Just like an onion! Not only one or two shallow motivations, like the characters in those stupid Naturalist novels. Like the ones from Tolstoy and Joyce” maybe it was just a little bit beyond abusive. Just a little.