James Frey is like my ex-boyfriend of the literary world. Yeah, sure, I enjoyed A Million Little Pieces as a memoir, but after I found out he'd lied to me about the whole dental surgery without Novocaine thing, I wanted him gone. I didn't want him dead, but he was dead to me. He keeps on calling me with new works of fiction, and it's like, enough already. We're over. I was willing to look past the fact that A Million Little Pieces was overwritten and self-aggrandizing when it was a memoir, but as fiction, he could have at least written himself into a likable character. And now he has a blog, which would normally be totally annoying, but just confirms why I dumped him in the first place.