Eventually, everyone realized no one really likes to read fiction by obscure writers. But everyone had become an obscure writer. So, they divided up daily by a new automated lottery into readers and writers. The readers were paid for their time. The idea of buying books became so outdated no one could remember that model.
Some people screwed with the system, and used their behind-the-scenes clout to avoid being readers, and were able to be only writers. Social classes were formed, with the permanent readers near the bottom, though at least they were gainfully employed. The writers had to steal from them to survive, but it was better than reading that awful stuff.
The readers revolted, and killed off most of the writers. They had no more source of income, but they didn’t care. No more words. Silence. Peace. Death. Finally.