ALT A Times headline by Giles Coren: Men are write-offs when it comes to novels Subtitle: Unless you’re Richard Osman or Robert Galbraith (who’s really a woman anyway), it’s clear writing is no job for a man

ALT An excerpt: “Even my own 2005 novel, Winkler, was no sooner in print than winning the Bad Sex Award. Three years of effort, some perfectly decent words in roughly the right order, and all I got was a load of raspberries blown by a roomful of plummy virgins who’d only come for the free soave and strippers. Scorn and mockery, boys, scorn and mockery. That’s all there is in the novelist’s life.”

ALT From the Bad Sex Awards: Winkler By Giles Coren “And he came hard in her mouth and his dick jumped around and rattled on her teeth and he blacked out and she took his dick out of her mouth and lifted herself from his face and whipped the pillow away and he gasped and glugged at the air, and he came again so hard that his dick wrenched out of her hand and a shot of it hit him straight in the eye and stung like nothing he’d ever had in there, and he yelled with the pain, but the yell could have been anything, and as she grabbed at his dick, which was leaping around like a shower dropped in an empty bath, she scratched his back deeply with the nails of both hands and he shot three more times, in thick stripes on her chest. Like Zorro.”