The Self-Destruction of a Lit-Blogger

Posting anonymously is a dangerous game. Eventually, as with Dave Eggers on Amazon in 2004, the person will be found out.

There's little doubt many in the lit-world would love to put the Underground Literary Alliance in its place. The problem: there isn't one person in their entire realm able to do this. (The only tough battle we had, early in our history, was with fellow ULAers.) The lit-establishment and its sycophants haven't a chance with us. We own better arguments and newer ideas. We represent the future. Our opponents defend a corrupt and failing literary past.

I don't know much about this Scott McLemee character, other than that he was supposed to write an article on the ULA once and backed out, and that he's a typical lit-world apparatchik. That he gets plum writing assignments from status quo journals doesn't mean he's very intelligent. In his hermetically-sealed world he postures as a dispenser of wisdom. Outside the safety of the lit castle he's lost.

If he's "Frantic" on this blog, then he's embarrassed himself in striking fashion. Frantic's posts without exception are childish, if not idiotic. Every time he's posted he's been quickly slapped down. Is this the best demi-puppets can offer?

Kudos to Marissa Ranello, who is quickly establishing herself as one of the toughest and savviest ULAers.