As some of you may know, my last novel, the brilliant Whiskey Rebels (now available in paperback!), was trashed in a New York Times review by right-wing meanie, Walter Olson. Now, my feelings were hurt, and I wept directly into my cat’s fur for several hours, but rather than take the low road, I think I showed who, precisely, was the boss in my clever and scathing response. That’s just the kind of guy I am.
He wrote a mean review of my book. That's not very nice.
Alice Hoffman, apparently, is not the kind of guy I am. I don’t know Hoffman and I haven’t read her work, but I was nevertheless amused by this article in Gawker which describes how Hoffman uses Twitter to — and there is really no other term for this — freak the [redacted] out over what is certainly a mixed review, though not a vicious or irresponsible one — like some people write.
Hoffman calls the reviewer an idiot and posts the reviewer’s phone number, urging Hoffman’s fans to call her up and tell her what a doo-doo head she is.
Maybe this is why I’m not on Twitter. I can’t be trusted with this kind of power.
This is the sort of thing I would do if my wife didn't stop me.
David,
What you do is this: get a pumpkin. Carve the reviewer’s likeness into the pumpkin. Sink a hatchet blade-deep into the top of the pumpkin. Put the pumpkin on the reviewer’s front porch. Attach a note that says “you”.
No harm done, and I’ll bet you’ll feel a lot better afterwords.
Maybe you should require Walter Olson to give you a free Kindle or you’ll threaten to kill yourself and blame your suicide on his bad review of your book.