You can find advanced chapters on my patreon.
.
.
.
Patreon.com/simpysensei
___
Within an hour of the BBC broadcast ending, the internet had completely fractured into factions over Michael Owen's first-ever video interview.
Clips were sliced, edited, and spread across every social media platform on the planet.
On YouTube, the comments section under the official BBC upload was a chaotic warzone of pure adoration and fierce skepticism.
@Bookworm_Sarah99:
"I am physically sobbing. The way he looks at Emma? It's exactly how he writes his romantic leads. And that final quote about being the captain of your soul? I am framing that on my wall right now."
@MysteryJunkie22:
"Okay, I loved Guide to Murder, but the author is so smug. He barely spoke! He just sat there acting like he owned the network. He's way too arrogant for a guy who just started out."
@EmmaMyersFanClub:
"THEY ARE HOLDING HANDS OFF CAMERA I CAN SEE HIS SHOULDER DIPPING. THIS IS NOT A DRILL. THE SHIP IS SAILING."
@LitMajorDan:
"Everyone needs to calm down. He's an industry plant. No one writes three distinct, record-breaking genres in one year without a team of ghostwriters. Now he's doing fantasy? Please. The bubble is going to burst."
In living rooms across the globe, families debated his demeanor.
Teenagers swooned over his sharp and intense gaze, while older, more cynical viewers scoffed at his quiet confidence, labeling it as unearned bravado.
Michael Owen was no longer just an author; he was a polarizing celebrity.
While the public argued over his attitude, the literary establishment was preparing its artillery.
The most vicious attack came not from a random internet troll, but from one of the most respected and feared literary critics in the world: James Wood of (The New Yorker)
Wood did not just write a review; he filmed a ten-minute video essay for the publication's digital front page, sitting in a dimly lit, leather-bound library, looking directly into the camera with an expression of profound disgust.
"Let us dispense with the pleasantries and the commercial hysteria," Wood began, his voice dripping with condescension.
"Michael Owen is not a literary prodigy. He is a fraud. A highly successful, well-packaged charlatan who has somehow convinced the reading public that emotional manipulation is a substitute for actual literary talent."
Wood leaned forward, adjusting his wire-rimmed glasses. "Mr. Owen possesses absolutely no ability to write a proper, deep novel. He cannot construct a complex psychological profile. He cannot write a normal character navigating the subtle, quiet tragedies of human existence. No, when Mr. Owen realizes his narrative is shallow-which it always is-he resorts to the cheapest parlor trick in the history of fiction: he kills someone."
Wood held up a copy of *The Fault in Our Stars* and practically threw it back onto his desk. "He has to carry the entire weight of his books by giving his characters terminal illnesses or violently murdering them. Take away the bodies, and all the things Michael has written are nothing but shallow, pedestrian, bad novels that do not even come near the best works of our century. They are pulp, masquerading as prose."
He took a slow sip of water, his face tight with indignation.
"And now, during his little televised coronation, he announces he wishes to write an epic fantasy. Let me issue a disclaimer to the world right now: it will be the worst fantasy novel of this generation. Mark my words. He does not have the intellect, the patience, or the linguistic capability for world-building. He is a fraud who hides his glaring insecurities behind teenage angst and shock value. His foray into fantasy will be his ultimate, humiliating undoing."
James Wood's video essay hit the internet like a grenade. It immediately trended on X under the hashtag #WoodvsOwen.
Michael's fanbase was furious, but no group was more fiercely protective than Emma Myers's loyal supporters, who had officially adopted Michael as their king.
A prominent fan account, @Emmas_Bunny, quote-retweeted Wood's video essay with a direct challenge.
@Emmas_Bunny:
@JamesWoodNY You are just a bitter old man who is mad that a young guy is out-selling your entire lifetime reading list in a single afternoon. You say he's a fraud who can't write fantasy? I challenge you. If Michael writes this novel and it becomes a massive cultural phenomenon like the rest of his books, what are you going to do? Apologize? Or just keep crying in your dusty library?
James Wood, known for his massive ego and inability to ignore his detractors, made the fatal mistake of engaging with stan culture. Less than twenty minutes later, Wood replied from his verified account.
@JamesWoodNY:
@Emmas_Bunny If Mr. Owen manages to produce a fantasy novel that is anything more than unoriginal, derivative garbage—if it actually becomes a respected 'cultural phenomenon' based on its literary merit—I will leave novel critiquing entirely. I will resign.
The internet stopped. And then, it exploded.
Wood had just handed millions of highly motivated, chronically online fans the ultimate ammunition. The trolling was immediate, relentless, and ruthless.
@Zains_IcedCoffee:
SCREENSHOTTED IN 4K. 📸 Enjoy your retirement, Jimmy!
@BookTokCentral:
Bro just bet his entire career against the guy who literally broke the global supply chain with a romance novel yesterday. 💀 RIP James Wood's career (1990-2026).
Memes flooded the timeline.
Pictures of James Wood working at a fast-food drive-thru with the caption "James Wood next year when the fantasy book drops" gained hundreds of thousands of likes.
People started setting calendar reminders, tagging Wood with countdowns.
Users began rage-baiting him continuously.
@Literary_Demon:
@JamesWoodNY I heard Michael is naming the villain in his fantasy book 'Jim Woods'—a weak, pathetic goblin who lives in a cave made of unsold New Yorker magazines. Thoughts?
@Asha_Fanpage:
@JamesWoodNY Start packing your office, Jimbo. Michael hasn't missed yet, and you just signed your own resignation letter on main.
Every time Wood tried to tweet about another book or author, his replies were instantly hijacked by thousands of bunny emojis and gravestone emojis.
By the end of the day, James Wood had to turn off his notifications, having completely underestimated the sheer, terrifying power of the very audience he had just insulted.