So I’ve been reading A million little pieces by James Frey. I started reading it because when I plucked it off the shelf and popped it open at the second hand bookshop, I was fascinated by the lack of paragraphs, quotation marks, and random capitalization use.

I was not aware that the title was an Oprah’s Book Club selection, nor was I aware of the surrounding controversy.

I start reading what it is labeled as ‘memoir’ and am already having doubts fifty pages in. Don’t get me wrong, James Frey is an excellent Writer, no doubt about that. But is James Frey the drug addict criminal he’s trying to convince readers of?

Probably not.

Why wasn’t I believing James? Because between you and I, and the other few hundred million roaming the net, I know a thing or two about real drug addict criminals.

You can read about them in my memoir.

Never the less someone at work notices the book on my desk today and asks, “Oh! You know about that guy?”

“What about him?”

“Apparently he like, totally lied about what really happened. Supposedly it’s all fabricated. He was on Oprah.”

After a five minute google search I learn that James Frey is a frat bitch with rich parents and a pretty sick imagination. I don’t think people should hate on him for his success. He may have not been a rough and tough drug-oh like he wishes for some odd reason…

But boy can he scribble a page turner.

I just think it’s funny that people will read anything Oprah tells them to. If any of you happen to see her around, tell her to check out my page.

And James, making stuff up is fair game. However you shouldn’t say it’s MEMOIR when it’s fiction. PS. I’m totally jealous of the $3.2 million Manhattan apartment you now live in since Oprah told people to read your book.