Worst successful writers and authors

[CalMeacham]

@bmoak

I’m going to go with Clive Cussler. I spent a few weeks staying with a relative in a small town with limited material in the tiny library and worked my way through Cussler. Dirk Pitt is the biggest Marty Stu I’ve ever seen in a work by a mainstream author.

Not only that, but Cussler puts himself in his own novels under his own name. He even put his wife in, once. The man id utterly shameless. Even Philip Jose Farmer only retains his initials (Peter Jairus Frigate, for one) when he puts himself in his own books.

[CalMeacham]

And now, as threatened, some excerpts from Don “The Executioner” Pendelton’s science fiction.

He’s not Fanthorpe, so I’m not going to spoiler these.
From Cataclysm: The Day the World Died, a wonderful End of the World story:

“Sex, si – science, no,” Karen sang out gaily. “Love me and leave me, if you really love me. Slip a ring on your Peter, Paul, but leave Mary’s – I mean Karen’s – finger alone. Emancipation through sexual excess. The virtuous virgin’s vagina was verily vacuumed with venerable verities, so she vulcanized her vulva with vibrating verisimilitude. Isn’t that a vicious vista?”
“My God, she’s a Bippy,” Dickinson cried, staring at her wide-eyed.
“She’s a drunk geologist,” Masters argued.
“Love me with no limp lingams,” the beautiful blonde intoned somberly. “Leave me in limp langout, lull me with lilting lullabies of lust, but lag not, neither limp along with the lethargic lyrics of a limp lingam.”
…
…
……
Karen stirred and murmured something like , “Vilify the vagrant virgin. Vivisect the vaginal vault.”

From the same book:

The astronomer paused, laughed shortly, scratched his head, and went on, “Look, I’m no mystic. I wouldn’t recognize a mystical experience if one bit me. Science is my bag, and just about everything I think and feel is carried in that bag. There are two ways to approach reality, though – from the outside, looking in, and from the inside, looking out.
Most of our twentieth century astronomy has found itself on the outside, looking in. we can’t learn a hell of a lot from that point of view. It’s like standing outside a house, peering through a window into the darkened interior – a dirty window, at that – and trying to figure out what it’s like inside there. You with me?”
Masters nodded. “So far.”
“So far, then, so good. If you want to understand a house, Masters, you have to go into it. And if you want to understand a reality, then you have to go into it, also. The human mind lies asprawl a double infinity. There are two sides of infinity, you see, and man, the marvel of the universe, is poised directly between the two sides. Looking down, we see an infinity of microscopic worlds. We take note of their various properties, their actions, their reactions, and we nod our collective heads in a scientific recognition of a reality. And we develop our observations into the various schools of biology, chemistry, nucleonics, electronics, and so forth. But with all our scientific disciplines, and perhaps because of them, we remain on the outside, looking in, peering through a glass darkly. There is something down there, Masters, in the atom, knowing what the atom is doing. But we never look at the thing – we content ourselves with studying its effects. Still with me?”
Masters grunted an affirmative and refilled both glasses.
“On the other side of infinity, we assault the larger reality in much the same manner, peering out through our little eyepieces and recording the reality unfolding before us. We’re still on the outside, though, looking in. We stand between the infinities, see, without once realizing that we, ourselves, constitute a sort of third infinity. We are consciousness, you see, and in that infinite consciousness we bridge the gap between the other two infinities – we become a mobile infinity.”

And to finish it up, this dramatic tooth-brushing scene from Lionel Fanthorpe’s Dark Continuum

She screwed up the securing diagram and was overwhelmed by a sudden desire to clean her teeth. It became the be all and end all of existence for a few seconds. The desire to clean her teeth grew absolutely compulsive, she could have no more resisted it than she could have flown unaided between two planets.
Moving quickly from the radio to her living quarters, she squeezed a little water into a plastic container and put a few dabs of toothpaste on her brush. She slipped the brush into her mouth and pressed the small button in the end which activated its electric motor. The bristles-soft, gentle bristles, guaranteed not to damage the enamel or the gum-moved swiftly against the teeth. She began with the top left molars, worked round to the bicuspids, and came round again from them to the incisors, the canines, the laterals and the centrals. Once she had reached the front of her mouth, she-changed her grip on the brush so that it moved round to the top right, travelling over the bicuspids and molars as it moved. Coming down the sides of her teeth, she paused and took a deep breath, placed a little more paste upon the brush and moved it round again this time beginning with the actual chewing surface of the upper right molars, coming round and cleaning again between the crevices until she had worked round to the left-hand molars.
Once more she put paste on the brush in this same elaborate ritual and concentrated her attention now upon the inside of the upper left molars, the inside of the upper left bicuspids, round across the incisors and so back to the right-hand masticators. She rinsed the brush, reapplied the paste and repeated the whole ritualistic process with the lower teeth. She cleaned the brush very carefully and then, in a set way, put it back and moved back towards the radio set.
She had taken barely a dozen paces when she was assailed by a horrible thought that she had not cleaned the top left inside molars. She stood in an agony of uncertainty for five minutes, then went back to the bathroom area of her living quarters, recharged the brush and carefully cleaned again the top left molars on their inside surfaces. She looked at her reflection in the mirror; it foamed back at her like a rabid dog.
“This time I have done them all,” she said. “What about the bottom inside molars?” asked her reflection. “I have done them all,” said Marian firmly. “If you have forgotten them the bacteria responsible for dental caries will get in,” said the voice in her mind. “It is no good being clean on the outside if you have forgotten the inside. Are you sure you have done the left inside?” “Yes, I have, I have.” Marian picked up her toothbrush and flung it savagely across the dome; it bounced from the thick plastic glass and broke on the floor.

[BrainGlutton]

@Left_Hand_of_Dorkness

Uh, no, nobody’s mentioned John LeCarre, because he’s arguably (and I so argue) the finest espionage writer in history.

No, the finest espionage writer in history would be, by definition, somebody none of us ever heard of.

[Left_Hand_of_Dorkness]

@BrainGlutton

No, the finest espionage writer in history would be, by definition, somebody none of us ever heard of.

Hardy hardy har :).

[BrainGlutton]

@CalMeacham

]It is no good being clean on the outside if you have forgotten the inside.

Straight from the red-letter Gospel texts, that is!

[DrDeth]

@CalMeacham

And to finish it up, this dramatic tooth-brushing scene from Lionel Fanthorpe’s Dark Continuum

Damn, Has anyone seen Fanthorpe & Dan Brown in the same room at the same time?

[wonky]

@BrainGlutton

No, the finest espionage writer in history would be, by definition, somebody none of us ever heard of.

God help me, I laughed!

[Aeschines]

@panache45

Give her a break; she was born on Groundhog Day.

Haha, it’s actually true!

[Catamount]

@CalMeacham

And to finish it up, this dramatic tooth-brushing scene from Lionel Fanthorpe’s Dark Continuum

My favorite part is that she brushed every tooth carefully and then forgot to floss. :smack:

[Annie-Xmas]

@nearwildheaven

11 posts and nobody’s mentioned Dan Brown or those people who wrote the “Left Behind” series?

Yes, yes, yes. The books “Secrets of the Code” is better reading than the DaVinci Code. I found the latter on a bus, took it home and tried to read it. I was overcharged!

@BeeGee

Patricia Cornwell ranks up there with Patterson and his super characters. Psychologist policemen who are expert jazz musicians are not my thing any more than doctor lawyers with cordon bleu culinary skills.

Again, yes. Her book on Jack the Ripper is one of the worst I ever read.

@RickJay

Among popular authors, Stephen King is one of the BEST. He is a legitimately great author. Not all his books are his best, but his best are amazing.

I’ve defended King about a hundred times by saying "When he does it right, nobody does it better. If you don’t agree that The Shawshank Redemption, The Body or The Green Mile are masterpieces, you are very, very wrong.

One name that hasn’t been mentioned is Sue Grafton. Whoever told her she could write was demented.

[furryman]

@CalMeacham

Koontz was the subject of post #63, but feel free to pile on.
I actually have never read Koontz, although I’ve known of him for ages. I may have to pick up one good and one bad book from him.

Tick Tock is hilarious. I wish he’d write more books like this.

I’m always amazed when people mention writers I didn’t even suspect being bad in threads like this. Stieg Larsson? Really? :dubious:

[Sampiro]

[QUOTE=Annie-Xmas]
Her book on Jack the Ripper is one of the worst I ever read.
[/QUOTE]

What irked me the most was her insistence she’d solved the case. She proved that there was circumstantial evidence that Sickert was the murderer, but there already was; calling the book “Case Closed” was not just arrogant but almost delusional.

[ivylass]

I was into Koontz for a while, until I realized I couldn’t remember any of the titles because they were all the same plot. Damaged woman, hero swoops in to save her, golden retriever, mystical events that have a pseudo-science explanation.

[Boyo_Jim]

@Annie-Xmas

…

One name that hasn’t been mentioned is Sue Grafton. Whoever told her she could write was demented.

I particularly liked F is for Fucked UP and P is for Piece of Shit.

[Knorf]

@Annie-Xmas

I’ve defended King about a hundred times…

I defending him in this thread as well. Not a hundred times, that would be a bit much…

Anyway I do genuinely think he is an absolute master of short fiction, especially in the suspense genre. Some of novels are excellent. Some are also rubbish, but that’s true for any prolific writer. Regardless, in no way does King deserve to be considered for this list.

[DrDeth]

@Knorf

I defending him in this thread as well. Not a hundred times, that would be a bit much…

Anyway I do genuinely think he is an absolute master of short fiction, especially in the suspense genre. Some of novels are excellent. Some are also rubbish, but that’s true for any prolific writer. Regardless, in no way does King deserve to be considered for this list.

If he keeps getting such a swelled head that he think his works dont need editing- he will soon- along with GRRM .

[Knorf]

@DrDeth

If he keeps getting such a swelled head that he think his works dont need editing- he will soon- along with GRRM .

I don’t know. I think he has enough legit successes already that he could never compete with the likes of some of the other authors mentioned in this thread for the prize of “worst.”

[Morbo]

@BeeGee

Patricia Cornwell ranks up there with Patterson and his super characters. Psychologist policemen who are expert jazz musicians are not my thing any more than doctor lawyers with cordon bleu culinary skills.

Ah yes. I believe it was Isle of Dogs that made me give up on her. Specifically when a dog warns the hero about impending danger by typing him a message on a laptop. That actually happened.

@Boyo_Jim

I particularly liked F is for Fucked UP and P is for Piece of Shit.

My favorites were B is for Beach House and T is for Try This One, Asshole

[norvalnormal]

Well, as someone (as an editorial freelancer) who’s had about 10 Stephen King manuscripts in my hands over the years, I can assure folks that he isn’t adverse to being edited, when the editorial suggestions are bright ones. Many other, far less talented (and far less renowned, or read) authors I’ve encountered are stubborn as all get-out when it comes to even the most trivial editing (such as added or deleted commas).

Haven’t read everything in this thread yet but has anyone brought up Mary Higgins Clark? Her stuff is Harlequin Romance-quality, with the most trite, thinner-than-paper characters, yet her books are inevitably best-sellers.

(I proofread Brown’s Inferno and one of his earlier novels, and though his writing style screams to be parodied, he’s not in the Worst Successful Writer camp, as far as I am concerned–there are way too many other genre writers who make his writing look good in comparison …)

[bup]

@Morbo

My favorites were B is for Beach House and T is for Try This One, Asshole

Y is for You People Will Read Anything.