But instead of buying it, you smash the display case, grab it, and run off.

That’s theft. Plain and simple. I think we can all agree.

Now imagine a Hollywood producer walks into a pitch meeting—and hears a brilliant original idea. He loves it. He has to have it.

But instead of buying it, he shrugs. “Thanks for coming in,” he says to the writer. “But your project’s not for us. Good luck to you.”

Then he turns around and makes a movie that’s almost identical.

Is that theft?

Apparently, it’s not.

It’s just called “show biz.”

For an industry built on telling great stories, storytellers don’t get much respect.

We get strung along. Gaslighted. Ignored. Lied to.

And that’s on a good day.

On a bad one, we’re outright stolen from.

And I speak from experience.

Idea theft in the entertainment industry is a tricky thing to prove. Mostly because, usually when it happens, it’s unintentional.

Usually.

In any given week, thousands of producers hear thousands of writers’ pitches. They take thousands of meetings. Read thousands of scripts.

With that many ideas floating around, there are bound to be some repeats—and plenty of innocent, creative “co-mingling.” A scene from a movie pitch heard on a Monday might stick in an executive’s mind, then unconsciously find its way into a TV development call on Friday.

I get that. That’s how the artistic process works. (I’m using that phrase loosely here.)

Similarities between projects aren’t just inevitable. Sometimes, they make it all the way to the screen.

The “twin film” phenomenon happens all the time. Look at Deep Impact and Armageddon, two big-budget asteroid flicks both released in 1998. Or Olympus Has Fallen and White House Down, two action movies about attacks on 1600 Pennsylvania Avenue that each hit theaters in 2013. Or the pair of Pinocchio movies—one directed by Robert Zemeckis, the other by Guillermo del Toro—released in 2022. Or the biopics Elvis, also released that year, and Priscilla, which came out the next.

Coincidences like these are going to keep happening as long as films and TV series keep being made. Often, creative minds really do think alike.

But once in a while, creative minds can get lazy.

And thievish.

Here’s my proof.

Not long ago, my agents sent a thriller I’d written to a well-known producer to consider adapting into a movie.

He politely declined.

A few months later, they asked if I’d read an original screenplay he was developing to consider adapting it into a novel. It was an unusual request, and the logline sounded similar, but I agreed to take a look.

I hadn’t finished the first page when the déjà vu set in.

The opening scene felt eerily familiar. So did a chase sequence a few pages later. So did a major first act cliffhanger.

I kept reading. Maybe I was imagining things.

Then the script introduced some new characters.

With the exact same names as the ones in my novel.

Really.

I stopped reading. And called my agents.

Was this some kind of joke? Was it an honest mistake?

Or was it theft?

Did the producer really think I wouldn’t notice? Did he really think I’d want to turn this script into a novel—that I’d already published?

This was an extreme case. A rare one. A flagrant one.

I still don’t know exactly how it happened.

But I do know this kind of thing goes on. Too often. Especially to writers with less clout and success. Writers so desperate to land their big break, they keep their mouths shut—even when they’re getting ripped off.

Here’s my plea to all the producers and studio executives out there.

Hollywood is hard enough already. The least you can do is be ethical.

There are plenty of great ideas in the world. Go find your own.

And when you do?

Don’t poach them.

Pay for them.

Like what you just read? Share it, post it.

Today I want to talk about something even worse.

The horrors of actually trying to use your health insurance.

Meet my cousin, Charlie. Some years ago, working at a construction site in upstate New York, he shot a nail through his left thumb.

He went to the ER, got it cleaned up and bandaged, and was told to contact a good hand surgeon, right away.

No problem, he thought. He had solid health coverage. He paid an arm and a leg for it. All he needed to fix was a finger.

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And there is something to it—this thought that some significant segment of our nation’s population is dangerously uninformed, ill-equipped to productively contribute to the healthy discourse that prevents our democracy from falling apart.

Listening to what passes for discourse these days, it’s not hard to have the impression our leaders and our fellow voters are not as deeply versed in the issues as they ought to be. And that a direct result is that a lot of not-so-smart decisions are being made, and then ratified.

An educational deficit—a deficit that prevents people from developing the critical self-discipline to study issues thoroughly, think them through and, in an articulate fashion, to act on them—would seem to explain many of the worrying things we see and hear.

There’s an expression that it’s more dangerous to half-know a matter than to know nothing about it. I don’t know who said it but I’m guessing it was uttered a long time ago because these days, a lot of people appear to be comfortable pontificating with far less than fifty percent of an issue under their belts. One is sometimes tempted to believe the qualifying figure is closer to three percent. (Which, coincidentally, is the portion of its budget that the federal government’s spending on education.)

But I think it’s wrong-headed—or, at least, futile—to articulate it like this.

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This whole smart-stupid, good-education-versus-bad-or-no-education thing is—I believe—part of why we’re in our current situation. You may have noticed a lot of people out there feel disenfranchised, cut off, shut down, and fed up with the presumably well-educated folks who’ve been running this country’s show for a good long time.

All those sleek big city, Ivy-educated elites have made regular Americans feel, well, stupid. Which leads to anger. Which leads to venting. Which leads to not just ill-informed, but destructive choices at

ballot boxes and elsewhere. Which leads to . . .

So, we College Educateds opining that education’s the Big Problem—it seems to me—makes things worse. If nothing else, it emphasizes education as a differentiating force; not the leveling, empowering, motivating one it ought to be.

Imagine a politician saying the following, “As Americans, we are dangerously undereducated on key issues that will determine the well-being of this and future generations. I am therefore championing an unprecedented investment in our nation’s schools so that our children will be less ignorant and the damage being done by our recent ill-informed decisions can, one day, be undone.” I think that politician would have trouble stirring up even his or her most dedicated canvassers with a message like that.

But, you know what we Americans will get sufficiently riled up about? Yes, my fellow geniuses, that’s right—the Economy. The Economy—even if we don’t quite understand how it works—we know when it’s working. And, when it’s not.

As a political issue, the Economy has two big things going for it that Education doesn’t. First, while there are complexities and exceptions, the Economy can generally be portrayed as a non-partisan topic. Poor people, rich people, coastal people, interior people, northern people, southern people, religious people, irreligious people—we all can tell when the economy is doing well (or badly). The results are right there at the gas pump, the grocery store, the casino, the liquor store, the monthly credit card statement. And, in this world of hyper-partisanship, the only issues that have a chance of surviving our political-crossfire culture are the ones that carefully find a path down the center of the aisle, straying not a step to the left, nor one to the right.

Second, unlike Education, the Economy does not inhabit the dreaded Long Term Results Column. Politicians talk about the world we’re leaving our grandchildren, but it’s seldom the keystone of whatever argument they’re making.

But, as more than one successfully re-elected politician can attest, and as the shockwave emanating from the recently distressed stock market remind us—significant changes in the Economy can happen swiftly. Immediate changes to economic policy can have immediate effects.

So, here’s the big idea: let’s marry these two topics and drive them both forward. Right now.

Let’s make education a wallet-filling topic. Let’s never fail to stress the short-term economic benefit of educational investment. Be it in school buildings or in giving decent salary to our millions of local-economy-stimulating educators.

And let’s stay out of the weeds of standardized testing and which versions of history we’re teaching. For Pete’s sake, let’s let the intelligent discourse of a solidly educated population settle which Facts are Alternative, and which aren’t.

Let us simply and clearly resolve that we all stand by a fundamental curriculum built around the three Rs. I would love if we were all at the bleeding edge of biological and computer sciences (and had minors in Greek philosophy), but let’s please just focus on giving our fellow citizens—and their, and our, children—the fundamental tools with which they can grow up to be biologists or astronauts or truck drivers or preachers or authors. Well, maybe not that.

Look, we all know—in the grand scheme, in the long-term, in the history that will written about this great republic—that it’s all about Education.

But, for the moment, given the choices we have, and the levers right now available to us, can we please not say, “It’s the Education, Stupid.”

And, instead, “Education IS the Economy.” And let’s leave stupid out of it altogether.

The only stupid thing is going to be if can’t get our nation to spend more than 3% of its vast wealth on ensuring the sort of educational foundation from which a citizen can become an actively engaged and productive member of society. A competently educated populace, I think we can all agree, possesses thorough reading, writing, and math skills.

And, as I hope we forever continue to articulate it, investing in this critical infrastructure is Economics 101.

Good food.  Friendly service.  But there’s a catch.

The prices don’t make a lick of sense.  They’re all over the map—but they’re not printed on the menu.  So until the check comes, you won’t have a clue how much you owe.

A salad might set you back fifteen bucks.  Or five hundred.

An iced tea costs just a few of dollars.  But they charge a fortune for every ice cube.  And there’s a separate fee for using the glass.

A side of fries?  Better talk to the kitchen first and have your order “preapproved.”  Otherwise it’ll cost you triple.

With a business model this wacko, that place couldn’t stay open for a single lunch shift.

So why the hell is that how the entire U.S. healthcare system works?

I know I’ve spilled a lot of digital ink on the subject here in “Stop the Insanity.”  Allow me to rant just a little more.

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You were lied to.

We all were.

And we fell for it.

Hard.

Technology, they told us, was going to make our lives better.  Trust us, they said.  Just you wait.

Ha.

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But read carefully.  There’s a catch.

Question: Which best describes the Battle of Antietam?

A) Near Sharpsburg, Maryland, on September 17, 1862, the Army of Northern Virginia engaged the Army of the Potomac, resulting in 22,727 casualties.

B) Beginning in a cornfield at dawn, Union troops ferociously fought back a rare Confederate attack on northern territory—on what would become the single bloodiest day in American history and a turning point in the Civil War.

Well?

Remember, I didn’t ask which was the right answer.  Both of them are factually true.

I asked which was the better answer.  The more vivid answer.  The more interesting one.

That’s the question I wish more teachers, administrators, and especially textbook writers would ask when it comes to educating our kids.

I don’t know what your history and civics classes were like growing up, but I sure remember mine.

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Everybody I met was nice to me.

But I found out pretty quickly that on most sets, the novelist ranks somewhere below the caterer.

People on set know why the caterer’s there.  But the writer?  Why was I there?  All I did was come up with the idea for the movie, create the plot, the characters, the dialogue, the sequel…

If I ever lose my mind and write a novel about Hollywood, I already have the first line.

“Hello,” he lied.

I’m kidding.

Sort of.

Honestly, I would probably never do a book about Hollywood. Budd Schulberg, William Goldman, Carrie Fisher, they all beat me to it.  And they wrote about the lunacy of that industry better than I ever could.

Here’s something I would really never do.

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For me, it was my maternal grandmother.

Nan. 

She was the one who told me “hungry dogs run faster.”

And I’m still running.

Just a frisky, young pup.

Forever young.

A regular feature of my mutterings will be something called “Stop The Insanity.”

Here’s one for today.

TO PUT IT KINDLY, BOOK BANS ARE DIVISIVE, DESTRUCTIVE, SOULLESS BULLSHIT.

I don’t want imperfect strangers telling my family what we should and shouldn’t read.

Maybe you agree, maybe you don’t. 

We’re not always going to see the world the same way. 

That’s what I hope will make “Stop The Insanity” interesting, sometimes provocative, frequently irritating.  

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I’ve written and co-written a whole lot of books. I know, I know, way too many.

But telling stories is a tough monkey to get off one’s back. 

In the coming weeks, I’ll try to help you understand how and why I do what I do. 

When I’m writing, I imagine there’s one person sitting across from me.  I don’t want them to get up ‘til I’ve finished. 

Right now, that person is you.

So here are a few thoughts on today’s topic. 

The current round of book banning is one of the dumbest and most mindless things we’ve done in years.

And we’ve done some epically dumb shit recently.                        

I think I understand the impulse of some of the banners. Especially when I’m thinking as a dad.

We’re living in crazy times. The desire to protect our kids, to shield them, can be intense. 

There’s so much crazy stuff we can’t control in our lives. I agree with the book banners about that.

They think part of the solution to “protecting” kids is taking control of what’s on the bookshelves of our classrooms and libraries. 

And that’s where they completely lose me.

I don’t buy it for a minute. 

Libraries have books that can help you see the world in new ways. And that may even lead you to think self-critical thoughts. But they are not portals to hell. 

Usually these people ban fiction. They claim some novels make kids uncomfortable. 

And so, they’ve banned The Color Purple, The Handmaid’s Tale, even Amanda Gorman’s poetry in The Hill We Climb.    

Let’s shine a light on that. 

Usually, this fiction features characters who look different, think different, act different, pray different, love different, or vote different from the book banners.

Coincidence?

Another thought—you ever notice it’s the people with the weakest platforms and the least confidence that make the most noise? The ones who are about to lose an argument who get the most angry? And the ones who, after they’ve lost the argument once, will do all they can to prevent that discussion from ever happening again?

Small wonder we’re more divided as a country now than at any other moment during my lifetime. All of these islands. These tribes. Each fearing the other side is out to get them and doing all they can to shut those others up. And thinking that yelling is a good way to go about it.

My Nan had a word for people like that—busybodies.

Book banning isn’t the solution to anything.  Actually, it creates new problems.

Want to keep kids from being exposed to “harmful” material?  Okay.  Maybe.  But who gets to decide what that is?  

You do. In your house.

I do. In my house.

And what about those phone-sized computers just about every kid has in their pocket, hooked up to the big, bad Internet? 

Talk about potential portals to hell.

Today, anyone, at any age, can post or view anything online with a few taps—and we’re talking some shocking, explicit stuff.

If there is a serious problem, it isn’t books, it isn’t libraries, it’s iPhones and iPads.

So, do I want iPhones banned?

Occasionally, yes. But that’s just me being irritable. iPhones can’t possibly be banned. Hey, major league sports would lose millions if the public didn’t have access to online betting.

I think a lot of this book banning comes down to misguided politics.

The same folks who say they don’t want the government in their business, who claim they don’t want people in Washington, DC telling us how to live our lives or raise our kids, have no problem telling other people what they can and can’t read.

You’re a libertarian except when it comes to other people’s freedoms?

That doesn’t wash. 

Imagine if a stranger barged into your house one day and started pulling books they didn’t like off your shelves. Just because. Then they cut articles out of your favorite magazines.  Unsubscribed you from newsletters and Substack pieces you’re interested in.  

Because that is what can happen here.

Unless we get off our duffs and get the book banners to find a new hobby.

I’ll end on a personal note. 

Over the years, novels of mine have been banned. One is my popular YA series, Maximum Ride.  It’s about a group of cool teenagers raised in a secret laboratory and surgically given wings. 

Another is The Jericho Commandment, a novel about the dangers of terrorism and antisemitism.

Maximum Ride was banned in a school district near my home in Florida. One woman—who hadn’t even read Maximum Ride—complained to the school board.  One woman. In a community of tens of thousands.   

And, a while ago, The Jericho Commandment was outlawed by the Russian government.  

I’m not an alarmist by nature.  But banning books doesn’t protect our kids. It keeps them in the dark. Who wants their kids to grow up in the dark?   

It also cuts down the chances they’ll find great stories they connect with.

Stories that might make them fall in love with reading.

Like I did as a kid.

Like you probably did.

And that’s today’s "Stop The Insanity.” 

Let’s raise some hell and do something about this. Maybe we just say before you petition to ban a book, you need to prove that you’ve read it.  

Anyhow, next time you speak to somebody on your local school board, maybe ask what’s being done to protect books and our freedom to read.

If you want to raise some hell with your congressperson about protecting libraries and books—and why the hell not?—you might consider sending them a note. Here’s where you can do it. Shouldn’t take you more than 3 minutes.

HERE’S WHAT’S COMING NEXT WEEK TO HUNGRY DOGS!

- A human-to-human conversation with President Clinton - frank, fun and unfiltered.

- A behind-the-scenes look at the making of my new nonfiction book with Matt Eversmann, on-sale this Monday, American Heroes.

- For the first time EVER, I will be sharing one of my outlines.

- Plus MUCH more! Stay tuned and stay hungry.

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I’m not complaining (much) and I’m not talking about serious or semi-serious reviews.  I’m good with those.  Most of the time. As long as the reviewer reads at least half of the book.

But today in “Stop the Insanity” I want to shine a bright light on the haters. The kind of folks who seem to live online and hide behind the anonymity of usernames. 

Let’s call this piece, GOTTA LOVE THOSE HATERS.

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A few months ago, I wrote a mostly well-received thriller about a volcanic eruption that threatened the Big Island of Hawaii.  I co-wrote the novel with the late Michael Crichton.  I had read almost all of Michael’s novels as well as his non-fiction and I worked closely with his widow, Sherri to complete the manuscript he’d left unfinished. 

I wanted to do a really good job for Sherri and her son and I think the novel Eruption was full of fun, suspense and some creative action scenes to raise readers’ heart rates.

The haters were ready to pounce.

Here are comments posted in The Washington Post following a negative review by Ron Charles.

“Ok, everything won’t be Proust,” wrote someone who called themselves LMTWaPo, “but this stuff is profoundly bad. 🤢”

Dear LMTWaPo,

To be honest, I didn’t make it all the way through Remembrance of Things Past. Congratulations though, because it sounds like you did. Based on what I’ve read of Proust, I think my stories have more pace and less semi-colons.  But maybe I’m just too close to the subject matter. I also think that green face emoji at the end of your note means “I’m trying not to hurt.” Maybe try a little harder.

“Oh man,” commented a wanna-be-Joe-Rogan user named Marell, “and I just got the vomit cleaned up from the last book he wrote with Bill Clinton.”

Quick, get out the pail and mop, because there’s an upchuck epidemic coming from Ron Charles’ loyal readers. Vomit warning: the next time President Clinton and I write a book together (to be published June 2025), I’m not sure our publishers will be sending a review copy to The Washington Post.

“Michael Crichton,” wrote Sukie Sez, “must be rolling in his grave.”

Who am I to criticize writers who use lazy cliches, but c’mon Sukie. You can do better than that. As President Biden used to say, here’s the thing --  if you can tell me where Michael Crichton’s writing stopped and mine began, I owe you a big apology. Send your best guess to Ron Charles. 

Library980 had this to say, “James Patterson is a writer with nary a deep thought in his books.” 

What can I say – I love libraries and librarians. My mother was one. But Eruption is filled with the kind of scientific research Michael Crichton was justly famous for. 

“Let me guess,” wrote K T5754, “It’s already been sold to Michael Bay for  a movie.” 

Sorry K T5754. Here’s a fact check for you. Eruption was sold to Sony.  Oscar winners Jimmy Chin and Elizabeth Chai Vasarhelyi are set to direct. They won an Oscar for Free Solo.  Most recently, they directed Nyad. 

That’s all for now.  We’ll do it again sometime soon.  Thanks for the good fun, haters.

One more thing, I might be fuzzy on my American History, but I think the Constitution gives us all the right to confront our accusers.  Good citizen that I am, I’m James Patterson and I put my name on what I write.

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