The Gloves Must Come Off

My sister is in town this week, and this weekend, we discussed our holiday traditions. My sister is winning the bad novel Olympics. She's beat me the last two years. Partly, she's beat me because I held back and didn't send her some really cringeworthy stuff. If I want the title back (and I do), I have to bring my A game.

While in the train station yesterday, I picked up a romance novel and read the first few pages. It was mind-bogglingly, eye-crossingly bad. I considered setting fire to the bookstand, it was that bad. I didn't buy it. I couldn't bear to contemplate the horror of the remaining chapters. I now have two problems:

1. It's June. Wretched things will be published for six more months, and one of them might be worse.

2. Even in this noble cause, I'm not sure I can bring myself to do it.