Being Fair to Stephenie Meyer

I've spoken out against what I perceive to be the critic's tendency to treat the artistic endeavor as if it were a gladiatorial event. They seem to boo and hiss and jeer from the sidelines while the artist struggles with the lions of snark and put-down until what makes artists artists chokes on all that bile and dies.

I know, I know: the Cadaverous Jaded Critic stereotype is not always true and standards have to be met and kept if we want to make good art. 

So. 

What I know of Stephenie Meyer and Twilight--accusations of Mary Sue-ism, shoddy research, purple prose, hollow plot--has basically been pre-processed by the Cadaverous Jaded critics and by the Critics Whose Fairness I Respect.  While these criticisms foreshadow my future disappointment with Meyer's literary product, I can't quite fault her so much for her process. 

The story of how Edward Cullen's and Bella Swan's romance (can I call them Bedward now?) came to be was as legitimate a creative jumping point as any: it came to Meyer in a dream. It niggled, unsatisfied with staying in the back of her head until the story had to be written, however badly or well. It's as valid as Stephen King's birthing of Roland in The Dark Tower series.

Regarding the possible travesty that is Twilight, I've decided that it's time for me to put my money where my mouth is and see it for myself. I can't get all snarky and contemptuous about something I haven't seen unless it is patently horse turd, or produced by people who consistently produce horse turd (A-kon, Gunther, Soulja Boy: I'm looking at you.) 

So, if you've bought the Twilight novel, may I look at it? If you've bought the DVD, may I borrow it?