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The quest for anti-fans

Back in the 1990s, there was a diesel mechanic in Portland who liked to go home and write disturbing novels. His small writer's group told him he was good enough to get published, so he polished off his first novel, and searched for a publisher. The response was the same every time: This book's too disturbing to publish. Our heroic diesel mechanic did the opposite of what you'd expect. He rolled up his sleeves and started a new book. This one, he swore, would be even more disturbing than his first. It'd be so violent and filthy that it'd stick out like a steaming turd on top of the publisher's slush pile. You might not like steaming turds, he reasoned, but you certainly don't forget them. The...

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