** spoiler alert ** Have you ever read a book that made you feel like the author was getting between you and the story? There are two authors who have given me this impression: Dean Koontz, and now Jeff Lindsay.

Jeff. Jeff, Jeff, Jeff. You had a good thing going here. The characters were good, the basis of the story was delightfully wicked, and now you've gone and mucked it all up by trying to explain Dexter's motivations and getting all oogie-boogie on us.

I was willing to grit my teeth through your corny and redundant adjectives for Dexter. I was willing to put up with Deborah (is she that masculine simply because you don't know how to write a woman?). I was cutting you some slack with your portrayal of Rita as a blithering, babbling, annoying woman in spite of the strength she must have to make it through her trials with such grace. But this macabre crap is simply beyond.

Stop it, Jeff. Just stop it. Okay?

Dexter By Design hits stores in a couple of weeks. I hope it doesn't disappoint. My DP doesn't like authors who disappoint.