I found this pair of tweets by government-funded wannabe Damien Walter to be more than a little amusing:
You should feel a little pity for Vox Day. He will never have the self-awareness to admit he can’t write, and so he’ll never learn.
I stayed in bed TWO WHOLE DAYS to read the 5th and final volume of The Malloreon. Felt grief, like all my friends had died, when I finished.
It’s always fascinating to see this sort of supercilious superiority from people who aren’t able to publish and sell books themselves. About the only way I could be less concerned about the opinion of someone who considers David Eddings to be the crème de la crème of literature would be if he also turned out to be a particular admirer of Dan Brown.
It would be bad enough if it was The Belgariad that Walter had so admired. My first thought after reading The Malloreon was: “I liked it better when it was called The Belgariad.” My second thought was: “How did he talk his publisher into paying him twice for writing the same thing?”
And then, there is this:
As far as fantasy novels go, I think Pratchett is a better role model for new writers than Tolkien.
The Colour of Magic vs The Hobbit. Ye cats. You have to feel sorry for the poor would-be writers being taught by this poseur. In any event, there is only one real answer to these anklebiters, and that is to simply keep doing what you’re doing. That’s the beauty of writing and publishing these days. You don’t need anyone’s permission anymore.
In any event, since I have the very good fortune to read some of John C. Wright’s work fresh from the pen, it’s not as if I’m under any illusions with regards to my own writing.