I just feel tricked for the way it was delivered, abandoned and betrayed as a reader willingly engaging with a writer's mind. Knowing that it wasn't, in fact, the author's mind changes everything.

It's “not our capacity to generate content, but our ability to experience meaning. Not our productivity, but our presence.

I'm going to put these two things together: what it's stealing from us is our ability to enjoy reading. Now, we never know if the experience is going to be ruined by a sudden twist of slop stink.