Somewhere out there, there is someone who had a Creative Writing class in college with E.L. James.
He remembers her as that annoying sheltered Mormon girl in class always telling people about how great a writer she was and reciting her bad poetry to anyone who pretended to listen.
He remembers fondly the time she sobbed to her friends because of the D she got on her final project and the time the professor told her: "Sometimes passion just isn't enough. You've got to have talent too."
He knew that if he never made it as a writer at least he could take solace in the fact that wasn't as bad as that Erika chick.
After college, he cried weekly over his mountain of rejected manuscripts and eventually abandoned the pursuit of his art altogether in favor of work that pays the bills.
Years later, he comes home from work at his 9-12 factory job he finally, reluctantly, gives in to his wife's demands to take up ******* in the bedroom -
- and Mid-****** she calls him Christian Grey
So, what I'm saying is this: Somewhere out there, there is someone who killed their loving wife in sudden rage - because of poorly written Twilight fanfiction.