Mickey Spillane dies at 88.

From the New York Times:

Scorned by many critics for his artless plots, his reliance on unlikely coincidence and a simplistic understanding of the law, Mr. Spillane nevertheless achieved instant success with his first novel, “I, the Jury,” published in 1947.

...

Mr. Spillane referred to his own material as “the chewing gum of American literature” and laughed at the critics. “I’m not writing for the critics,” he said. “I’m writing for the public.” He described himself as a “money writer,” in that “I write when I need money.” 

“I have no fans,” he told one interviewer. “You know what I got? Customers. And customers are your friends.” 

(Ahem.)