Kevin J. Anderson
“MORE COKE! AND HOOKERS!”
Kevin James Anderson (born March 27, 1962) is the most prolific sci-fi novelist of the last thirty years. Most famous for his novelization of The Eye of Argon by L. Ron Hubbard, he is also responsible for thirty-three Star Wars novels, eight StarCraft, twelveteen Titan A.E., a couple of X-Files rehashes, the leatherbound acid-free Heritage editions of Pokémon, and the dribbling remains of what was once the Dune books (collectively known as Expanded Dune).
He wrote an original work or two once, but sobered up soon after.
Anderson was created by a team of ketamine-addled computer scientists for the cause of bureaucratic jihad over the corpses of good stories: snatching your beloved memories in his gummy jaw like a demonic Yorkshire terrier gone senile and shaking them in a desultory fashion while drenching them in drool. He was raised in small town Nebraska, an environment he describes as "a cross between a J.G. Ballard short story and a William Burroughs painting."
Welcome to Dune, Mister Anderson
“Whatever you do, don't let him write another Dune novel!”
“Whatever you do, don't let him write another Star Wars novel!”
Anderson is the most reliable writer known to editorial science. Editors have too much work to do already — professionalism, delivering on time, is NINETY PERCENT OF THE WRITER'S JOB.
- You have young readers to serve: exposition, not pretentious "subtlety" or "allusion" that goes over their heads. Remember to give the events from five different viewpoints to make it clearer what's going on.
- The characters were established in the original; plot keeps things moving. The need for characterization can be addressed by telling the same events from five different viewpoints.
- Fantasy is sold by weight — keep that page count up! Describe events from five different viewpoints.
- Tell things from five different viewpoints.
- When in doubt, add more E-numbers.
You have a DUTY to the fans. Kevin has had three extra pairs of arms grafted onto his body to ensure he will meet his professional commitments. KEVIN J. ANDERSON is YOUR BEST GHOSTING VALUE.
“He taught me everything. Did you know you can outsource the writing to India now?”
“I wrote the plot outline before I started the epic. By the ninth book, I was bludgeoning the keyboard with my face, hating each and every word as I beat it out of the machine. If only I'd called Kevin!”
“He got someone in to ghost our wedding night. But I still copyedit for him.”
“With And Kevin on board, working from a left-over bassline from one of Mizz Rosenbaum's old demo tapes, we can't see how this one won't be a hit. Hell, I'll do a gay cowboy film if it fails!”
A Tleilaxu Master reports that Anderson was found earlier this week in Bandelong surreptitiously gathering up the waste by-products of a melange-substitute axolotl tank, feeding it to sligs and wiping up the messy consequences with toilet paper. He was scanning the marks on to his laptop to forge yet another blockbuster when he was caught brown-handed. Unnamed sources reveal that the title of the new work The Butlerian Did It marks a hybridization of the Dune mythos with crime fiction and is the first of many many works that will feature major characters (and minor characters, not to mention inconsequential characters mentioned only in passing once the major and minor characters have run out) taking a break from the jihad to solve mysterious and puzzling crimes against humanity such as the tragic fact that Anderson himself continues to churn out books.
Brian Herbert reacted to the news by saying that it was a vicious slur and that the various plots for the works in progress had been found inscribed on tablets of stone in a recently discovered safety deposit box owned by his father, the keys of which he had found down the back of an old sofa.
— from Hopscotch of Dune by Mark V. Shaney and Kevin J. Anderson, chapter one
“Fucking ... fuck. I read that fucking Cock-Gobbling Hack Writer Whores of Dune novelization. I want to hurt Kevin J. Anderson. In the face.”
You Talifans are all the same. Kevin J. Anderson cannot be killed. Robert Jordan annoyed Kevin J. Anderson and had to finish his series himself. Kevin J. Anderson is what baby book reviewers' parents warn them about if they don't eat their broccoli. Kevin J. Anderson is what baby trees' parents warn them about if they don't jump out in front of enough cars. Kevin J. Anderson puked down the front of your shirt last night. AND he pissed your pants. You think he has a FACE?
KEVIN J. ANDERSON. ON AN ASTRAL MOTHERFUCKING PLANE. THE THREAT IS REAL.
Kevin doesn't have a real home. He lives in the Rocky Mountains where he spends his time talking to himself about nothing in particular. Occasionally he records his verbal diarrhea and releases it verbatim as novels. He purports to be married to his state-funded caretaker, Rebecca Moesta, who visits him monthly to collect Dictaphone tapes and cleanse him.
He's apparently a very sweet, nice and sincerely lovely fellow, the sort of fan you wish you had more of at conventions, someone no-one has a bad word about (except his writing), and I almost felt guilty about this article until I read his writing again.