In Aldous Huxley’s novel Point Counter Point, a critic named Walter spends a good part of his day whacking away at the flood of literary jetsam he is assigned to cover. Huxley, through Walter, has fun mocking the mediocrity which makes up much of publishing (“bad novels and worthless verses … insignificant biographies and boring books of travel”). But there is also a sadness in the description, a sense of wasted effort:

A bad book is as much of a labor to write as a good one; it comes as sincerely from the author’s soul. But the bad author’s soul being, artistically at any rate, of inferior quality … the labour expended on the expression will be wasted…

There are a lot of Walters out there, pens drawn. Bring your best.