Pretentious Literary Elitism
Apparently I have finally experienced the Change. Before you start rejoicing at my ascent through puberty, let me assure you, that has already occurred, at least a week ago. I'm sure of it. The change I am referring to is more metaphysical in nature.
I'm not sure, even, what served as the catalyst for my miraculous metamorphosis, and perhaps it isn't a sole cataclysmic event that is to blame.The accusation has been leveled, and the gauntlet thrown. I have been dubbed, at least indirectly, as a Pretentious Literary Elitist.
To some it may not come as a world-shattering shock to think that my ego has inflated enough to earn me the said title. However, like I said, I'm not sure when this development of snobbery happened. I had always just imagined myself as as sci-fi, fantasy, and horror geek. Albeit, one of impeccable discerning tastes, that are most likely superior to yours.
Now just because your favorite authors have no conception of the architecture needed for an engaging plot, lack the necessary social understanding to make believable and interesting characters, and have, let's be honest, downright hideous pictures of themselves in the 'About the Author' section, there is no reason to believe that I'm being an elitist because my favorite authors are not only incredibly attractive, but masters of their craft. That doesn't mean I am a book snob. Or does it...?
Have I become the critical emo-music-freak-with-an-attitude equivalent for the world of literature? If so, I won't bother with excuses, denials, or defenses. I suppose I'll simply locate a tweed jacket as soon as possible and revel in my obvious superiority.