Who Wrote It?

The identity of a writer has always mattered, and anyone who says that it doesn’t is lying to you. Either the identity mattered because they were nuts, or the identity mattered because they were cool, or it mattered because they refused to have any identity at all.

It’s silly to think that we don’t look at who has written the book in addition to just the book itself. Even if we know nothing about the author, the name matters. Picture this: you pick up a book with a kickass spaceship on the cover. There is an alien biting into the ship all pissed off. Holy shit, you think, this is fucking rad.

Then you find out that it’s written by Cuddlesheep Flowerpot. That’d throw you off a bit, right? Or let’s say you pick up the latest literary phenomenon. It’s got boring pastel covers and a boring looking plot, and it’s called Memories from My Pan Fluted Honorarium School for Boys, and you’re super ready to dive in. Then it turns out it’s written by Rex Blastgun.

Weird how these things matter, huh? But to what extent?

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