Badreads

An incomplete list of people I hate.

Lauren Hough — Thu, 23 Jul 2026 03:21:18 GMT

It’s 100 degrees and the air conditioner is working as hard as my estrogen patch, but neither is built for this shit. I can’t write. I can’t focus on this novel. (I am open to suggestions. Think: Big Swiss. The Devil All the Time. Slaughterhouse Five. I know that list doesn’t make sense. But it does.) I’ve been watching House Hunters International for two or seven hours. Literally no way to know.

I am in limbo. I hate being in limbo. I’ve decided to focus my rage on people who probably deserve it. So here’s a list of who I hate right now. And I do mean hate. Some of y’all don’t hate. I know. Well, you do. But you squash that down and call it something else because hate is bad or sinful or whatever religion tells you, or the thing you bought to replace religion.

Hate is fun as shit. Why do you think it sells? I enjoy hating. I hate billionaires and people who breed pugs. I hate the government and cops and the first one to piss on the seat so now we all have to squat. I hate the Red Hot Chili Peppers and people who wear sandalwood. I hate several nemeses, some of whom I actually pity, which is worse than hate, because goddamn pity hurts.

Today I’m hating the guy crossing South Lamar in his little black shorts and calf length black socks and white Converse, his entire body a patchwork of three-month-old black-and-grey tattoos chosen for him by a stylist who brilliantly took his money then persuaded him to turn his skin into a billboard advising women to cover their drinks. Excellent work by that stylist, the tattoo artist too. The guy in the tattoos, fuck that guy.

I’m hating the twink property manager who sent me a link “to upload my proof of income” but it wasn’t a fucking link to upload shit. What they want is for me to give a third party access to every account in my name and my IRS login because they cannot comprehend self-employment and no one can just pick up a phone anymore and check your rental history. They need to stick their heads up your colon, and neck-deep, they still don’t understand what the fuck they’re seeing. Fuck that little shit. (I would’ve told him to suck my dick by now but it’s right down the street and there’s a pool. So. Ugh.)

And I fucking hate Chris Best and the overlords at Substack. For selling our shit to fucking AI. Oh, I know they’re trying to convince us it’s a detection tool. But they’ve been allowing every hack who can write a Claude prompt to fill this fucking website with steaming shit for years now. They’ve been selling our shit to language models just as long. And now fucking drunk on AI cash, they think they can convince us we need to submit to an AI detection tool. It’s for our own good. So people won’t think we’re AI. Fuck you. No one thinks I’m AI, you fuck. Why would I need to scan for AI before I post? I just fucking wrote this. Fuck you. Do you know how many people are fucking whoring their souls here because they replaced us with fucking robots? Because the tech overlords broke everyone’s brains so fucking thoroughly that no one can read a fucking book anymore? Entire libraries were written, by writers, to fucking warn you that when the unfuckables build the robots, we’re not supposed to fucking greet them on our knees with our tongues out. You servile greedy fucks. We know what AI is. So do you. But why ban it, when you can farm us a little more.

Fuck Chris Best the most.

(They really did this. The only way to opt out is to feed my shit to his fucking robot. Fuck you.)

I have a new book, MONSTER OF A LAND. It’s fucking great. Buy it anywhere or at this link. Then log off.

News, if you can find it

Lauren Hough — Fri, 17 Jul 2026 18:58:59 GMT

In book news: Tour is over, the main part anyway. Thank you to everyone who came out to see us. Woody was a perfect gentlemen at all events. We don’t need to talk about his gas attacks. The tour was a blast and I’m very tired and never want to drive anywhere again. (Except I’m thinking of driving to Denver, if I can find a bookstore to host an event. Woody likes Colorado. Maybe in the fall so we can camp in the truck and I can catch some trout on the way.)

We do have a few events coming up—the Chicago Book Festival, the Mississippi Book Festival, the event in Santa Monica on August 27th, you can sign up here. And of course, we’ll be at the Texas Book Festival.

Okay. Where were we? Back in Austin. Waiting on email, as always. Waiting on this guy at Aamco to figure out why my four wheel drive doesn’t work. Waiting to hear back about an apartment. I hate waiting.

If you’ve read Monster, please review it somewhere. I don’t care if the review is good or bad or says MESSI IS OVERRATED. It doesn’t matter even a little. All that matters to the algorithmic overlords is that there are reviews. And if Monster’s going to find its audience, it needs some reviews. We all know how I feel about those websites. But it’s the way things are and things aren’t great for nonfiction in this time of what the fuck. Thank you.

It’s impossible to discuss current events because no one knows what the fuck is happening. The news isn’t news and social media is just people trying to sell you things and AI videos making fun of AI videos. I don’t know where to find news. Does anyone?

Here’s a picture of Woody before the paywall.

Happy Fucking Fourth of July

Lauren Hough — Sat, 04 Jul 2026 17:43:39 GMT

It’s almost two on the fourth of July, and I’m hiding upstairs with my dog, trying to pregame some decompression. Company will be arriving soon, or hours from now. No way to tell. The mother in law first. She’s great. But there’ll be a tray of cutlets she’s brought because once, upon noticing no one was eating the cutlets she’d brought, I ate a cutlet. I cannot watch someone watching the food they brought be ignored. I know that pain. The casual salesmanship of someone who’s trying to not look desperate. “Try a cutlet. I brought them. They’re pretty good.” Had to be done. I ate a cutlet. I told her, “This is delicious.” For ten years now, she’s come in carrying a tray of cutlets. “Lauren. I brought those cutlets you love.”

I don’t even understand the fucking point of a tray of cutlets. You’re just supposed to chew on a deep fried cutlet? Dry? Jesus Christ.

I’ll have three of them.

I just remembered I get to paywall things again. God I missed that.

Dunkin and Diesel

Lauren Hough — Thu, 02 Jul 2026 17:51:21 GMT

Before I forget, again. I am coming to the West Coast—LA, or Santa Monica, which, as a Texan, is also Los Angeles. I know there are other cities on the West Coast. I have lived in a couple of them. But I am not Ann Patchett. I don’t get a corporate card. If I want to go to the West Coast, I was told I’d have to arrange it and pay for it. I don’t have a…

Rest

Lauren Hough — Tue, 23 Jun 2026 21:50:44 GMT

It’s been a week. Goddamn has it been a week. I’m currently parked in a wildlife refuge off I-40 in Arkansan where all I can hear are the birds and locusts. The pond looks a little gator-y so we’re staying clear but a walk was good. Trees are good. The sky is a little threatening but I think we outran the storm

We need a nap. I think I can speak for Wo…

BOOK.

Lauren Hough — Tue, 16 Jun 2026 00:09:17 GMT

Listen. I’m drunk and can’t legally sign a contract, but I have a Substack account, (and a woman who’s willing to read whatever nonsense I put here before I post it. Nobody panic.)

I have a book coming out tomorrow, and somehow I’m still around for this event. I mean that I realized last week, while following a man I’d never met to his van, that I’ve be…

Monster of a Land: In Conversation with Lauren Hough

Lauren Hough — Wed, 10 Jun 2026 17:56:27 GMT

Available for iOS and Android

Estrogen laced Pop-tarts?

Lauren Hough — Tue, 09 Jun 2026 19:21:56 GMT

I’ve been talking about poptarts a lot. More than anyone should be talking about pop-tarts. We’re all a little concerned, with my pop-tart diatribes. The concern has been conveyed. “You’ve been talking about pop-tarts a lot, Lauren.” “This is the third pop-tart mention today.” “Do you want a pop-tart?” I do not. No one knows that the pop-tart thing mean…

Bob Dylan had it coming.

Lauren Hough — Fri, 05 Jun 2026 18:03:45 GMT

Do you think Bob Dylan’s a wake up and listen to NPR kind of guy? This is a real question, insane as I sound. Here’s the thing: I wrote a passage about Bob, or his music really. I was, in this passage, driving in northern Minnesota along this highway that was more potholes than highway. And I was listening to his music. That turned into a whole thing, a…

Getting There (and godawful smells)

Lauren Hough — Wed, 03 Jun 2026 20:05:07 GMT

You ever finish writing a book, rewriting a book, editing a book, copy-editing, all that shit, then three weeks before it launches, you remember a thing you should’ve put in there. I’d be pretty upset about it, but I do drugs. What it looked like, when I realized that I forgot to put this in the book—I stood up, hose in hand, refrigerator full of suds, …

Estrogen Cigarettes? Is that a thing yet?

Lauren Hough — Thu, 28 May 2026 17:25:39 GMT

I haven’t been panicking about my book launch in three weeks—less. I’m not calm. I’ve spent the morning fighting with VA about estrogen patches and an address change that happened a month ago. Someone in Durham is fully stocked on estrogen that the VA keeps mailing. If you need any, I can give you an address and everything.

Does no one move? This happen…

Updates and Book Tour and Vulture Wars

Lauren Hough — Fri, 15 May 2026 18:46:37 GMT

I don’t know where to begin, y’all. I really don’t. Where were we? Headed to Turkey, right? I could write an entire essas about the nightmare of a failed booking dot com (fuck those guys) reservation and having to drive to the next nearest town, which was fucking Amarillo, an hour away, spending a week fighting with Booking, who charged me anyway. (Seri…

White Whales Named Bob

Lauren Hough — Wed, 22 Apr 2026 17:58:09 GMT

When I tell people I’m going to the Panhandle again, Turkey to be specific, they naturally ask why. So I tell them I’m doing a story on Bob Wills Days, and they say “Who?” So I tell them, “He’s the king of Texas swing,” which doesn’t seem to be the answer they want. I add that Bob Wills Days is my white whale, and they just sort of accept that sometimes…

That's What She Said

Lauren Hough — Fri, 10 Apr 2026 22:43:25 GMT

The Library Journal review comes in early, thank god, or thank librarians. I’ll thank librarians. I still owe them for letting me use the microwave in the library office in Amarillo when I needed a place to go, for telling me I might enjoy Barbara Kingsolver, for saving a copy of Girl Interrupted when it came in, and for Annie Proulx. I did make them co…

Parts We Didn't Imagine

Lauren Hough — Wed, 01 Apr 2026 02:29:10 GMT

The neighbors have a puppy named Lambeau, little tough-girl golden retriever. We met her hours after they brought her home. Nightmare for them, for a moment. You wake up with your little puppy and take her outside, still in your pajamas. Who’ll see you anyway. No need for shoes. Go inside for your phone real quick and your new puppy charges headlong thr…

Book Updates

Lauren Hough — Fri, 20 Mar 2026 16:44:53 GMT

I really did have good intentions about this post. It was gonna be a doozy. But I’ve been working on it all week and all I’ve done is write and delete. The point is, I have family arriving tonight, and I’m supposed to be cleaning my house. I’m packing and dealing with Facebook marketplace, a strange sort of purgatory of “Is this available” and people wh…

Random thoughts from a(nother) road trip

Lauren Hough — Fri, 13 Mar 2026 20:07:58 GMT

I was thinking about my first book buddy. I don’t remember his name and it’s pissing me off. Though it was… Fuck. Guys. I think this was thirty years ago. Is that right?

FUCK.

Anyway. Thirty fucking years ago, or thereabouts, I was sitting in a packed USO at the Baltimore airport. I don’t remember why the USO was packed. The airport wasn’t any busier tha…

Writing Residency Dropout

Lauren Hough — Fri, 27 Feb 2026 18:28:25 GMT

We went for a walk this morning, like we do every morning, or I do most mornings. My dog likes a morning walk. Demands it. But he’ll give me some time, if he’s been let out to pee. I’ll start coffee and take it to bed, let him in, and scroll. I have a message from someone I used to know, and a couple people I really should message back. But I won’t. I w…

We have a winner!

Lauren Hough — Sat, 14 Feb 2026 00:33:25 GMT

We have a winner! We pretty much had a winner on the first day. Sheila guessed 313. And since I definitely deleted one from the copy edit draft, she’s probably got it right on the money.

In other book news, there is no real book news. We’re waiting on blurbs and probably reviews eventually. I guess there is book news. I finally read my book. I’d been lo…

How to promote a book.

Lauren Hough — Sun, 08 Feb 2026 18:23:29 GMT

I’m trying to write an op ed and I’m trying to write a novel and move back to Texas, and I keep looking at the news. Somehow, somewhere in between here, I’m supposed to be promoting a book, collecting blurbs, all that shit. And write substacks. I’ve gotten so bad at selling myself that I’ve lost my bestseller status here. Not that I give a shit obviousl…