Why I hate Neil Gaiman

Where's the fun in writing an unending list of reasons for hating Neil Gaiman? Well, it's fun for me, so I expel the demons that lurk in the dimmed corners of my heart. Sitting at the place that pays for my existence, allowed only to wait for my next task, I decided to see if Neil Fucking Gaiman had written anything new. Imagine me painted not surprised when I found that he has two books coming out this year. Then, I find myself rummaging around amazon, looking at a ton of books that I hadn't read, which he authored. I will begin with hating his prolific writing skills. Digging through the bibliography of Neil Gaiman is a exploration in excitement, adventure and extreme imagination. Everything sounds like an interesting read. The concepts are original. From graphic novels to children's literature, there is no limit to what he writes about and the fact is, I don't have that kind of money. I totaled up nearly $300 worth of reading in about seven minutes. This is AFTER I had touted myself as somewhat of a Neil Gaiman go-to fan. Clearly I am living in a what-the-hell-do-I-know world. Now, as a writer -or, in the shadow of the unending list of Gaiman's work, I am a woman who has written a couple of novels - I get depressed. His ideas are so simple and elegant that I find myself bemoaning my lack of innovation while grimacing at my flaring hatred for this man... this author... I am not throwing a pity-party here. Only, I think that it is unfair that Gaiman gets to have the mega-imagination. He is taking more than his share from the universal pool of great ideas. If he filches all the original concepts and characters, what is left for the rest of us? As a reader, I devour his stories with a heroic reverence, blathering to anyone who will listen about his greatness. As an author, I loathe him for illuminating -with stunning effect- how mediocre my writing then appears to me. So, thank you Neil Fucking Gaiman. Thank you for the hours of entertainment, the endless guilty pleasure I am now handing down to my small son, by reading your books. Thank you for building a castle in the stars. Stars that live so far out in space that nobody can possibly reach their stunning distances. I can't even see the damn star, but I know it's amazing. I know that it shines through the darkness. I know that there will someday be some punk kid that can make it there- and show you up. I hope I'm there to witness it.