This is too bad. Great authors like Banks die damn near unknown while paint by number fucktards like Grissom and King still make money. Problematic.
Example (of my own)
Normal guy: I picked up a bat and hit him with it.
King: I grasped the bat, sighed, sweated out last nights drinking, swung like a pissed off willies mays, moves the wind, said goddamnit, then struck him in the brisk sweaty, mississippi afternoon monday
:-(