The myth of finite goodness

Brad nails it. We are in a Renaissance where Story is king. With my Kindle, from anywhere I can have an internet connection I have almost unlimited entertainment. I can support small writers from around the world and enjoy stories created by anybody.

Mad Genius Club

Recently, a friend pointed me to a quip from a source I know (from observation) to be all talk, and no walk. One of those chaps who spends all his time jabbering about writing, publishing, The Art, ad nauseum, but he never actually manages to finish or publish much. I suspect he’s far more in love with the idea of being perceived as a Serious Author, than he is with actually telling stories to entertain people. So I tend to ignore him. But when I looked at this latest assertion, I knew it had to be countered. Because he was making the same asinine claim that many before him have also made: that there is a finite pool of “good” prose in this world, and that increasing the total number of writers actively publishing, somehow dilutes or obscures this “good” prose. Unsaid: therefore, it’s bad that we have so many…

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