One of the best advice I’d been given as a writer is never read reviews. Good ones. Bad ones. In between ones. Don’t read them.
Seemed simple enough.
But I am a reader first and foremost. I wouldn’t be a writer if I didn’t have a constant love affair with the written word. It just took me a while to make a career out of it.
Where am I going with this?
Well, I have a tendency to obsess. And one of the things I do is check how many adds my latest book has on Goodreads. This is counterproductive to the creative process and a habit I am hoping to kick.
Anyway, I wasn’t going to click on the title. I really wasn’t, but I’m an emotional cutter.
Once at the page that contained my book I started scrolling down. I wasn’t really reading any of the reviews. I promise. But, then again, I think we have established that I cannot be trusted.
My skimming eye landed on a particular one. The dreaded DNF.
As a reader, I have DNF’d many a book. My reasoning: Why continue something I don’t like if there are so many other choices out there?
The DNF didn’t bother me. It was the “It sucked” that accompanied it that was a blow to the heart.
I will admit that I am a sensitive person. Animal commercials make me cry.
In this case, I didn’t cry. But I did feel bad. I’m not immune to criticism. I wish I was, but I’m not. Do I hold the “It sucked” against the reader? Of course not. I’m pretty sure I’ve written those exact words somewhere in connection to a book or a movie.
What I’m getting at here is after the initial depression and the thoughts of never writing again receded I realized I was still alive. Reading about my book sucking didn’t kill me. It made me sad, but it didn’t kill me.
I’m writing this because I’m ready to move on. So my book sucked. For that one person . . . no wait, someone said “Gag me with a spoon.” Okay two people. On Goodreads that I know of. Haven’t been inclined to read the review feed of late.
Regardless, I’m proud of No Love Allowed. It’s a romance I’ve wanted to share with the world for a long time. Didi and Caleb’s story deserves to be told, cheesy as it is. I love myself a good cheese. Is there someone out there who might have done a better job? Heck yeah. But I was the one the story was given to, so I did my best.
Now on to the next book and the next and the next. Writing is what I’m best at. And what makes me happy. Believe me you wouldn’t like seeing me as a doctor.