As part of my ongoing obsession with getting the word out—and following up on last week’s post about Kirkus’s paid review service—this week we’ll take a look at Publishers Weekly’s monthly supplement dedicated solely to the self-pubbing industry, PW Select, that debuted in September, 2010. The supplement promises "interviews with authors, book announcements and listings, news, features, analysis, book reviews, and more." Like Kirkus Indie, PW suggests that:
"PW Select is a great way to help your book stand out in a crowded market. When you sign up to participate in PW Select, you’ll be reaching Publishers Weekly’s readership of book and film agents, booksellers, editors, distributors, librarians, book reviewers, and national and international media--just the kind of people who can take a book and make it a bestseller. We’ve helped launch a few writing careers already. Maybe you’re next."
And maybe you would be. After all, they state that their mission is to find those "undiscovered gems" that every author hopes her work just might be. So, obviously, when the biggest trade mag in the country—about 17,000 subscribers (or roughly three times Kirkus’s reach)—supports reviews of indie-published works, this could be a very big deal, right?
Well . . . it depends.
Unlike Kirkus Indie, where a flat fee of $425 guarantees you a review, PW doesn’t make that guarantee at all. Your book might get a review, and while the odds aren't astronomical, your chances are about 20-25%.
So then, what does $149 buy you? (I’m sorry, but you just gotta laugh when you see a price like that, as if PW’s taken a cue from Amazon. Like, wow, what a bargain. While we’re talking about money, though, I should mention that PW offers the same service plus Vook for $199. This is for folks who have a manuscript or print book that's not been published in ebook form; that additional $50 gets you access to Vook—a NY-based publisher of e-books, book apps and interactive e-books—and its e-publishing platform:
"Vook has created a special package for PW Select + customers entitling them to the creation of one e-book (including an ISBN number) using the Vook platform. There are no subsequent fees for publication or ongoing subscriptions. If you decide to distribute your e-book through Vook (which offers one-click publication to iBooks, Amazon, and Barnes & Noble), you will not pay any fee to Vook, and Vook details the revenue splits of each e-book store here. You can also download your completed e-book file and distribute it yourself."
So maybe not such a bad deal if your book's still in manuscript form and this is your first rodeo.
But, for simplicity’s sake, let’s say you’re just going with a vanilla-PW Select. Here’s what you’re guaranteed: your book, whether physical or digital, will be listed in the supplement (which is bound into that month's regular issue) and on PW’s website. That boils down to the barest of nitty-gritty details: title, author, publisher, price, number of pages, ISBNs, and a very brief blurb (which you actually provide them). You will also receive a six-month digital subscription to the full PW website and a complimentary copy of the supplement in which your listing appears. And, of course, you buy yourself a lottery ticket and hope they pick your number for a review. They're happy to take your money regardless, and you can't blame them. It's a tough biz, and it's not as if their circulation numbers are going up (they've actually dropped by several thousand over the last few years). If PW Select gets, say, roughly 200 sub-pubbed books per month? Even after paying for the 25% of books that are reviewed—say, about $25 a pop—that's still about $30,000 in revenue for them. Not exactly chump change, and if you're the one who's doing all the legwork (the blurb, etc.), then that means more in their pocket, period.
So before we even get around to whether or not a PW review might help you, let's be clear on what you're really buying: an ad. A teeny-tiny ad. A snippet listing that may not even feature the cover you were so nicely invited to attach and which might not be even properly proofed (as happened to this writer). A very small ad in a supplement that’s only seen by folks with a regular print subscription, and only found online if you decide to go looking for it.
Now, maybe some people do go looking. As I said, PW’s reach is much greater than Kirkus’s. Publishers read the magazine, and so do agents, and anyone in self-pub wanting to promote their book in PW is aiming for those folks. (I don’t know about librarians so much; my n of two suggests they’ll pay attention to their own trade magazines, Library Journal and School Library Journal, and other librarians before PW.) I know film people at least trawl the website because I’ve been cold-contacted a couple of times from film industry folks after a PW review or interview.
There’s no question that people pay attention to the magazine and its website. The issue is whether these same people pay attention to a listing—without a review—in PW Select. (This is all independent on whether any of the feature articles are worthwhile or helpful. I'll be honest; I looked at a few. By and large, they were fairly generic and no worse or better than anything you'll find in something like Romance Writers Report, a magazine I happen to like. Some were more worthwhile than others; for example, there was a nice listing of some this year's book fairs and conferences (both in the U.S. and aboard), a few of which are geared toward indie authors. But the majority of these articles were nothing you couldn't find on your own and on any number of blogs, just by executing a few searches.)
Anyway, back to that crap shoot of a review . . . let’s put it this way: if you’re hoping to interest an agent with a listing in PW Select . . . good luck. Agents are busy, busy people who already get a gazillion submissions. Unless you happen to write just an absolutely stunning blurb—and presuming an agent makes it a habit to scan the listings—the chances an agent will get in touch are probably diminishingly small. Ditto a publisher. Film people . . . who knows? I kind of doubt it, and I'll bet librarians don't even bother. (If a librarian out there does, let me know. Seriously. I was very surprised to find an indie-published book in a system library not long ago, but I've no way of knowing just how it found its way into the system to begin with. It's the only book of its kind I've seen, too. So I am curious.)
So, really, the best outcome for anyone who invests a buck shy of $150 is to win that crap shoot and get an actual review.
Now, go do a web search on this, and predictably, writers’ experiences with the program haven’t been that great. Most are simply listed, and that’s it. As for the reviews, these seem to be a mixed bag. Many point up the scathing nature of the reviews, as this author does, but I found at least one guy who got a very nice review and planned to use that for queries. (I want to echo that this is a very sound strategy. Let's put it this way: a favorable PW review can't hurt, and I'm still convinced that a very nice PW review of the book that became Draw the Dark, which made it to the semifinals of the 2009 Amazon Breakthrough Novel Award, made editors sit up and take the book I happened to marketing at the time—The Sin-Eater's Confession—much more seriously. Not only had my book made it down to the final 100, it had also gotten that great review.)
Nevertheless, the majority of Select reviews are negative, although if you’ve written a children’s or YA book, you stand a better chance at a positive review. (One writer did a nice breakdown you can read here of the January 2, 2012 supplement. I do completely disagree, however, about his assessment that the majority of regular PW reviews are positive and generally negative only if you’re an established author who’s somehow disappointed with your latest outing. My personal experience says otherwise.)
Nowhere did I find a single person who had anything to say about the supplement's other articles and offerings--which I think means that folks are largely indifferent to the rest of the supplement's content. They aren't forking over money for a pricey six-month digital subscription or nifty how-to articles. What they want is a shot at that review.
I also wasn’t able to find much about authors’ experiences with Vook through PW Select one way or the other—anyone out there ever done that?—although I did find one blogger who hired them to convert a compilation of her blogs and seemed to be a pretty satisfied customer. Note, too, that she paid substantially more ($550), but she had nothing bad to say about them, and this might be a matter of getting what you pay for.
The skinny? As with Kirkus Indie, I can’t tell you if it’s worth $150 for a one-in-five shot at a PW review. Unlike Kirkie Indie, if PW Select does skewer your book, you don't have the option of killing the review. On the other hand . . . welcome to the real world.
Is PW more influential than Kirkus? Well . . . its circulation numbers would certainly suggest so. While a simple listing is likely to get you nowhere, a review just might, especially if you can find a favorable pull quote or two to throw into that query letter you’d like to shoot to an editor or agent. Even better, if the review is favorable, there’s a chance (slim) that the review might make it into PW directly.
So . . . if we were talking about me? I admit: I’d roll the dice and go for it, simply because I doubt that most people who really count are reading the supplement to begin with. So the chances of anyone running across a terrible review are small. But if you get a nice one, grab that pull quote and run with it. Worth a shot.
Next week, more on paid review services.
Showing posts with label reviews. Show all posts
Showing posts with label reviews. Show all posts
Monday, January 27, 2014
Monday, December 3, 2012
My Stupid Book
By Dan Haring
Writing a book is a little bit like having a child.
I can't really comment on whether or not it's like actually giving birth, since I'm not equipped to make that comparison. And as hard as writing a book is, after watching my wife go through four pregnancies and c-sections, I'd say writing a book is, in fact, very tame. (p.s. My wife is amazing)
But, being a father, I think I'm qualified to make the case of books as children. You spend hours agonizing over decisions and choices and tiny little things that might have huge repercussions. You stay up late with them, you clean up their messes, you strive to make them the best they can be.
Sometimes they reward you for it and you experience emotional highs like never before.
Sometimes they throw up on you at two in the morning.
But at the end of the day, they're your creation, and you love them.
Your parents and family and friends will adore them too. They'll see past whatever flaws they might have and praise the good. At least they should. You need to have that support system, both as a parent and an author. But then things get trickier, because at some point, you send them out into the world, hoping that you've prepared them as well as you can for what's to come.
And here's the hard part. Your kids and your book are going to be judged.
They're going to be judged on how well they perform, how well they can exist in the outside world, and so on and so forth. And those judgements are going to be a reflection of you, of your skills, of your abilities, of how well you did your job.
I've heard authors say they never read reviews. While it might be noble to refrain from reading them, it's not really for me. When a movie I've worked on comes out, I religiously check Rotten Tomatoes to find out what people think. I don't read all the reviews, but enough to get an idea of what worked and what didn't. The same with my book.
Criticism is good, to a certain degree. Not only does it keep you humble and grounded, it can help reveal problems with what you've created that can be avoided in the future. No one has ever written a perfect book, or raised a perfect child, and having the flaws pointed out can help in your next endeavor.
When my book came out, the reviews were generally pretty good. Like I said, family and friends were very supportive. And people I didn't even know seemed to respond well to it also.
Then one day, I got my first one star review on Goodreads. Since it's short, I'll quote it here:
"Probably the stupidest book I have ever read. Just stupid."
I went through a lot of different emotions when I got that review. I was mad, annoyed, frustrated, hurt, and many other adjectives. I considered responding to the review, then figured it would be a bad idea. After I'd cooled off a bit, I decided to just write a short note saying something along the lines of "Thanks for reading. Sorry you didn't enjoy it." But when I clicked to make a comment, Goodreads showed this warning:
"Goodreads has found that it is not in an author's best interest to engage with someone over a negative review. Please think twice before commenting on this review."
Fair enough. I decided to simply hit the "like" button on the review and leave it at that.
As time has passed and I've thought about it more, I'm glad I didn't say anything to the reviewer. I'm also glad I "liked" the review. For those reasons listed above, I'm actually thankful for the criticism. Not only does it compel me to work harder on my next book, it serves as a reminder that not everyone is going to love my work, no matter how good I think it is. And really, that's fine. It's just a book, and I'm glad the person took the time to read it.
That's all we as authors and parents can really ask for. Give our creations a chance. Let them show you what they can do. Hopefully you'll find something of redeeming value in them. If not, we'll simply move on. No harm, no foul.
But fair warning: If you ever call my kid stupid I might punch you in the face :)
Writing a book is a little bit like having a child.
I can't really comment on whether or not it's like actually giving birth, since I'm not equipped to make that comparison. And as hard as writing a book is, after watching my wife go through four pregnancies and c-sections, I'd say writing a book is, in fact, very tame. (p.s. My wife is amazing)
But, being a father, I think I'm qualified to make the case of books as children. You spend hours agonizing over decisions and choices and tiny little things that might have huge repercussions. You stay up late with them, you clean up their messes, you strive to make them the best they can be.
Sometimes they reward you for it and you experience emotional highs like never before.
Sometimes they throw up on you at two in the morning.
But at the end of the day, they're your creation, and you love them.
Your parents and family and friends will adore them too. They'll see past whatever flaws they might have and praise the good. At least they should. You need to have that support system, both as a parent and an author. But then things get trickier, because at some point, you send them out into the world, hoping that you've prepared them as well as you can for what's to come.
And here's the hard part. Your kids and your book are going to be judged.
They're going to be judged on how well they perform, how well they can exist in the outside world, and so on and so forth. And those judgements are going to be a reflection of you, of your skills, of your abilities, of how well you did your job.
I've heard authors say they never read reviews. While it might be noble to refrain from reading them, it's not really for me. When a movie I've worked on comes out, I religiously check Rotten Tomatoes to find out what people think. I don't read all the reviews, but enough to get an idea of what worked and what didn't. The same with my book.
Criticism is good, to a certain degree. Not only does it keep you humble and grounded, it can help reveal problems with what you've created that can be avoided in the future. No one has ever written a perfect book, or raised a perfect child, and having the flaws pointed out can help in your next endeavor.
When my book came out, the reviews were generally pretty good. Like I said, family and friends were very supportive. And people I didn't even know seemed to respond well to it also.
Then one day, I got my first one star review on Goodreads. Since it's short, I'll quote it here:
"Probably the stupidest book I have ever read. Just stupid."
I went through a lot of different emotions when I got that review. I was mad, annoyed, frustrated, hurt, and many other adjectives. I considered responding to the review, then figured it would be a bad idea. After I'd cooled off a bit, I decided to just write a short note saying something along the lines of "Thanks for reading. Sorry you didn't enjoy it." But when I clicked to make a comment, Goodreads showed this warning:
"Goodreads has found that it is not in an author's best interest to engage with someone over a negative review. Please think twice before commenting on this review."
Fair enough. I decided to simply hit the "like" button on the review and leave it at that.
As time has passed and I've thought about it more, I'm glad I didn't say anything to the reviewer. I'm also glad I "liked" the review. For those reasons listed above, I'm actually thankful for the criticism. Not only does it compel me to work harder on my next book, it serves as a reminder that not everyone is going to love my work, no matter how good I think it is. And really, that's fine. It's just a book, and I'm glad the person took the time to read it.
That's all we as authors and parents can really ask for. Give our creations a chance. Let them show you what they can do. Hopefully you'll find something of redeeming value in them. If not, we'll simply move on. No harm, no foul.
But fair warning: If you ever call my kid stupid I might punch you in the face :)
Monday, April 30, 2012
Sticks and Stones . . . and the Kobayashi Maru
News flash: All of life revolves around Star Trek. Everything you ever needed to learn, you can learn from that show, and this is nowhere more self-evident than the (in)famous Kobayashi Maru scenario. For all you neophytes, let me briefly summarize: the Kobayashi Maru is a Starfleet computer simulation all cadets must take. The explicit objective is pretty straightforward: the Kobayashi Maru has somehow bumbled its way deep into the Klingon neutral zone and become stranded. If you do nothing, the crew's so much Klingon gagh (blood worms), which--trust me--is pretty disgusting, no matter if you prefer those squiggly things alive (how real Klingons show they have hair on their chest) or not.
Do something--cross the border and try and rescue the ship--and not only have you now violated the Organian Peace Treaty (don't ask), but you're also hopelessly outnumbered and soon to become one more plasma smear.
The Kobayashi Maru is the classic no-win scenario. Natch, it goes without saying that James T. Kirk beat it, but he cheated. So you can debate whether that really counts. Distilled to its essence, however, the Kobayashi Maru is a test of character.
We writers also have our peculiar Kobayashi Marus. They're called reviews.
Now, every adult knows you can't please everybody all the time. But we'd like to think that we can just as I think we might also like to pretend that reviews don't matter.
Case in point: I once heard this crazy-famous writer give a talk, and someone asked if he ever read reviews. Now, this crazy-famous writer's newest book had just come out a bare five minutes before this particular conference, and so I wagered that he, like everyone remotely human, would be interested in hearing how people reacted to what he'd written. Well, he said he never looked at reviews because he just didn't need to--and, ooohhh-kay, I thought that was pretty flat-out, shut-mah-mouth amazing. I mean, we're talking some serious willpower here. This guy was so sure of himself, his place in the universe, that I bet he was a Klingon in another life.
But I also thought he might be lying, and here's why. The guy's crazy-famous. He might pretend to be a Klingon, but we all know he's human and you're telling me he NEVER reads one of those fab reviews? You expect me to believe his editor NEVER shoots him a review from PW or Kirkus or what-have-you? Look, I'm not even a gazillionth as crazy-famous, and when my editor sends a review, I read it. (And, sometimes, yeah, I wish I hadn't. Like, wow, life is hard enough and now I'm all depressed. Like, wow, thanks a lot; I really needed that; am I bleeding?)
Anyway, as it turns out, I was right. That crazy-famous guy lied, and you know how I know? Because: I happened to stroll past the Amazon site that day to check out his newest, and I saw this one review that completely trashed the book. Utterly and totally. Just ripped that sucker to shreds. And here's the kicker: I know this famous guy read the same review because he tweeted about it, talking about some Amazon meanie. Of course, all his fans jumped in to make him feel better--it was a fascinating feed to follow for awhile--and I'm sure that's why he tweeted it in the first place. (I'm not condemning him, by the way. That's what friends are for.)
But you do have to ask yourself: why did this crazy-famous guy lie, and about something so trivial?
I don't have a clue, so don't ask me. Yet this does bring up an interesting point about reviews, in general.
First question: Do they matter? (Come on, you all know the answer to this one.) So, second question: How much do they matter? Well, we all know the answer to that one, too. It depends--and oh, isn't that a loaded word? What makes one opinion more valuable than another? Because more people agree? Because the opinion is based on observable data and facts? (For example, we might all agree that a book with horrible grammar and terrible spelling just can't be good . . . but then we'd have to diss Huckleberry Finn. In that instance, of course, the story is so damn good, and we all know it. Sort of like pornography, I guess . . . )
My take--the one I spout when I'm not bleeding from some scathing snipe--is that a review is nothing more than a private opinion made public. Now, as in all of life, some opinions mean more than others. Some carry a lot of weight. (And, no, for the record, while I love my mother, her opinion carries no weight at all. She's my mother, and people who love you lie. Ditto for my husband. On the other hand, since he's read absolutely nothing I've written in the last ten years except a few short stories--and, yes, he said he loved them, but he might be lying--he doesn't have to worry about lying at all. As for why he doesn't read what I write, it's simple: he's worried that if he says something nice, I won't believe him, and if he criticizes the story, I'll cry. Honest to God. For him, offering an opinion is the spousal equivalent of the Kobayashi Maru.)
The problem for writers is . . . what do you do about reviews? Do you read them? Do you search them out? A very wise pro writer friend once told me that I should never search out reviews because the ones that are the most bruising are the ones I'll remember. He thought that review-trawling ought to be left to someone else: my husband, a friend, my editor. (He and his wife, both writers, cull reviews for one another.) Great advice, if you can take it or have the luxury of someone who will do that for you. Editors are busy people, though; they'll send you the biggies--PW, Kirkus, Booklist, maybe one or two others--and the rest, they leave out. Which I think is a shame because I've read some very perceptive reviews by readers and fans, some of which find things in books I never realized I'd done but were obvious once they pointed them out.
The problem with searching for reviews is you're going to read some real stinkers. Some people are just flat-out mean. Others are vicious. A great many are even-handed; the book just didn't work for them, and those you can live with a lot easier than the ones which have decided that you're clearly disturbed and in need of psychiatric help. (Swear to God, that's what one person thought of a Mechwarrior book. Blasted me all over Amazon. It was ugly, mean, really going for that jugular. Now, I could've been a very understanding shrink and decided that, whoa, guess my book touched some nerve. Because, honestly, if people rant and foam and decide you're some sort of pervert . . . well, that says a little something about them, doesn't it? But I'm only human, and that review really got to me. Fortunately, it got to a bunch of other people, too, who complained to Amazon that the post was a personal attack and got it removed.)
But reviews--ones that trash your work--are attacks. There's no other way to put it. Some are just a little more civilized than others, a nice jab with that épée rather than a saber slash or mace bash. Make no mistake, though: the reviewer is savaging your work, sometimes nicely and sometimes not. A reviewer with her eye on her audience is more likely to get in those withering bon mots than not--because a review is also a form of entertainment of which a reviewer, like any writer, is always mindful. Think what a bore Maureen Dowd or the late Molly Ivins would be/have been without a touch of that old zingy venom.
So the question remains: what to do? I'll be honest; I go back and forth. On the one hand, I really want to know. Being told that I've done well is just so primal, you know? It's like running to your mom with a picture you've drawn, or screeching at your dad to lookit, lookit as you pirouette in your sparkly pink tutu.
But, on the other, bad reviews are the equivalent of those zits your mother told you to keep your fingers off of, only you never could because they were just begging to be squeezed and there was something about destroying those suckers, that satisfying little pop. Come on, you know what I'm talking about; I'll bet you stood at the mirror for hours searching out those blackheads and zits until your face looked like you'd gotten carjacked and drug about five miles over gravel. I know . . . as appetizing to think about as gagh.)
In the end, I guess it just depends--on what you can tolerate; how much damage good or bad reviews will do (because good reviews can be just as deleterious if they shake you up enough to wonder just what the hell you did right because you sure don't know); how much satisfaction you get out of the rest of your life; if there's someone there to hold you when you get the zingers; if you're self-destructive (think squeezing zits until you bleed); if you can decide whose opinion really matters; and if you can roll with the punches. Yeah, I know: the trouble with punches is you never know if you can roll until you get hit. But if you don't bounce back well after a couple . . . maybe best to rethink that strategy and not end up in those no-win scenarios. Because, as we all know, for the valiant and doomed crew of the Kobayashi Maru?
So sucks to be you.
Do something--cross the border and try and rescue the ship--and not only have you now violated the Organian Peace Treaty (don't ask), but you're also hopelessly outnumbered and soon to become one more plasma smear.
The Kobayashi Maru is the classic no-win scenario. Natch, it goes without saying that James T. Kirk beat it, but he cheated. So you can debate whether that really counts. Distilled to its essence, however, the Kobayashi Maru is a test of character.
We writers also have our peculiar Kobayashi Marus. They're called reviews.
Now, every adult knows you can't please everybody all the time. But we'd like to think that we can just as I think we might also like to pretend that reviews don't matter.
Case in point: I once heard this crazy-famous writer give a talk, and someone asked if he ever read reviews. Now, this crazy-famous writer's newest book had just come out a bare five minutes before this particular conference, and so I wagered that he, like everyone remotely human, would be interested in hearing how people reacted to what he'd written. Well, he said he never looked at reviews because he just didn't need to--and, ooohhh-kay, I thought that was pretty flat-out, shut-mah-mouth amazing. I mean, we're talking some serious willpower here. This guy was so sure of himself, his place in the universe, that I bet he was a Klingon in another life.
But I also thought he might be lying, and here's why. The guy's crazy-famous. He might pretend to be a Klingon, but we all know he's human and you're telling me he NEVER reads one of those fab reviews? You expect me to believe his editor NEVER shoots him a review from PW or Kirkus or what-have-you? Look, I'm not even a gazillionth as crazy-famous, and when my editor sends a review, I read it. (And, sometimes, yeah, I wish I hadn't. Like, wow, life is hard enough and now I'm all depressed. Like, wow, thanks a lot; I really needed that; am I bleeding?)
Anyway, as it turns out, I was right. That crazy-famous guy lied, and you know how I know? Because: I happened to stroll past the Amazon site that day to check out his newest, and I saw this one review that completely trashed the book. Utterly and totally. Just ripped that sucker to shreds. And here's the kicker: I know this famous guy read the same review because he tweeted about it, talking about some Amazon meanie. Of course, all his fans jumped in to make him feel better--it was a fascinating feed to follow for awhile--and I'm sure that's why he tweeted it in the first place. (I'm not condemning him, by the way. That's what friends are for.)
But you do have to ask yourself: why did this crazy-famous guy lie, and about something so trivial?
I don't have a clue, so don't ask me. Yet this does bring up an interesting point about reviews, in general.
First question: Do they matter? (Come on, you all know the answer to this one.) So, second question: How much do they matter? Well, we all know the answer to that one, too. It depends--and oh, isn't that a loaded word? What makes one opinion more valuable than another? Because more people agree? Because the opinion is based on observable data and facts? (For example, we might all agree that a book with horrible grammar and terrible spelling just can't be good . . . but then we'd have to diss Huckleberry Finn. In that instance, of course, the story is so damn good, and we all know it. Sort of like pornography, I guess . . . )
My take--the one I spout when I'm not bleeding from some scathing snipe--is that a review is nothing more than a private opinion made public. Now, as in all of life, some opinions mean more than others. Some carry a lot of weight. (And, no, for the record, while I love my mother, her opinion carries no weight at all. She's my mother, and people who love you lie. Ditto for my husband. On the other hand, since he's read absolutely nothing I've written in the last ten years except a few short stories--and, yes, he said he loved them, but he might be lying--he doesn't have to worry about lying at all. As for why he doesn't read what I write, it's simple: he's worried that if he says something nice, I won't believe him, and if he criticizes the story, I'll cry. Honest to God. For him, offering an opinion is the spousal equivalent of the Kobayashi Maru.)
The problem for writers is . . . what do you do about reviews? Do you read them? Do you search them out? A very wise pro writer friend once told me that I should never search out reviews because the ones that are the most bruising are the ones I'll remember. He thought that review-trawling ought to be left to someone else: my husband, a friend, my editor. (He and his wife, both writers, cull reviews for one another.) Great advice, if you can take it or have the luxury of someone who will do that for you. Editors are busy people, though; they'll send you the biggies--PW, Kirkus, Booklist, maybe one or two others--and the rest, they leave out. Which I think is a shame because I've read some very perceptive reviews by readers and fans, some of which find things in books I never realized I'd done but were obvious once they pointed them out.
The problem with searching for reviews is you're going to read some real stinkers. Some people are just flat-out mean. Others are vicious. A great many are even-handed; the book just didn't work for them, and those you can live with a lot easier than the ones which have decided that you're clearly disturbed and in need of psychiatric help. (Swear to God, that's what one person thought of a Mechwarrior book. Blasted me all over Amazon. It was ugly, mean, really going for that jugular. Now, I could've been a very understanding shrink and decided that, whoa, guess my book touched some nerve. Because, honestly, if people rant and foam and decide you're some sort of pervert . . . well, that says a little something about them, doesn't it? But I'm only human, and that review really got to me. Fortunately, it got to a bunch of other people, too, who complained to Amazon that the post was a personal attack and got it removed.)
But reviews--ones that trash your work--are attacks. There's no other way to put it. Some are just a little more civilized than others, a nice jab with that épée rather than a saber slash or mace bash. Make no mistake, though: the reviewer is savaging your work, sometimes nicely and sometimes not. A reviewer with her eye on her audience is more likely to get in those withering bon mots than not--because a review is also a form of entertainment of which a reviewer, like any writer, is always mindful. Think what a bore Maureen Dowd or the late Molly Ivins would be/have been without a touch of that old zingy venom.
So the question remains: what to do? I'll be honest; I go back and forth. On the one hand, I really want to know. Being told that I've done well is just so primal, you know? It's like running to your mom with a picture you've drawn, or screeching at your dad to lookit, lookit as you pirouette in your sparkly pink tutu.
But, on the other, bad reviews are the equivalent of those zits your mother told you to keep your fingers off of, only you never could because they were just begging to be squeezed and there was something about destroying those suckers, that satisfying little pop. Come on, you know what I'm talking about; I'll bet you stood at the mirror for hours searching out those blackheads and zits until your face looked like you'd gotten carjacked and drug about five miles over gravel. I know . . . as appetizing to think about as gagh.)
In the end, I guess it just depends--on what you can tolerate; how much damage good or bad reviews will do (because good reviews can be just as deleterious if they shake you up enough to wonder just what the hell you did right because you sure don't know); how much satisfaction you get out of the rest of your life; if there's someone there to hold you when you get the zingers; if you're self-destructive (think squeezing zits until you bleed); if you can decide whose opinion really matters; and if you can roll with the punches. Yeah, I know: the trouble with punches is you never know if you can roll until you get hit. But if you don't bounce back well after a couple . . . maybe best to rethink that strategy and not end up in those no-win scenarios. Because, as we all know, for the valiant and doomed crew of the Kobayashi Maru?
So sucks to be you.
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