Have we reached peak stupidity yet?
Bad What Friend? It’s the title of a punishingly long article in the New York Times that has set the world alight. It’s hard to sum up succinctly, but the story of Who Is the Bad Art Friend? is basically this: a woman donated her kidney to a stranger, and then a second woman wrote a story about donating a kidney to a stranger.
Right. And it all kicked off. Nobody comes out of it particularly well, but it begs the question: are writers allowed to mine the lives of others?
Yes. But isn’t there something vampiric about leeching off someone else’s experience?
For crying out loud! All stories come from life. Everything every writer has written is inspired by something they’ve seen or heard. There is no such thing as a completely novel (see what I did there?) idea. I’ve done it myself and make no apology for it.
God, but I’ve come across some self-righteous garbage in my time, but this takes the biscuit.
I would file this one under first world problems. Even one generation ago, people had more important things to worry about. Things like keeping food on the table, keeping the car on the road, genuine problems. What are these idiots going to do when their government runs out of borrowed money and isn’t there to hold their hands anymore?
Ah, Shakespeare, would thou wert alive now.
You never really killed off all the Danish royal family, stabbed a Scottish king, assassinated a Roman leader, let alone had a significant part in destroying a French army.
You just stole it all.
As for those brothers Grimm.
Exactly.
Er, isn’t this black fantasy month?
I ignore that tripe.