The genre is pretty hit or miss, so I have nobody but myself to blame for this pick. (Usually love something fluffy to listen to during walks with the dog.) The author seems to think that the concept is new. When are writers going to figure out that there have been a ton of books written about writers and the books they write? Oh, she wrote a novel about authors writing about their lives, therefore duplicating the novel itself? How CLEVER! As another review mentioned, everything was absolutely predictable (both story lines and the outcome). It was also impossible to like/sympathize with the characters, who were unbelievably idiotic. *SPOILER ALERT* How can anyone with a triple-digit IQ think it's a good idea to: 1) write an autobiographical story with enough identifying information for the public to figure out who it's about; 2) use it to spill all of your potentially-devastating secrets; and 3) "disguise" the characters with pseudonyms nearly phonetically identical to their real names?
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