I got my first official professional book review today in Publisher's Weekly. I couldn't read it until Dan did, because I was too freaked out. Well, let me just say I'm SO relieved to have been getting extremely positive feedback from the "regular" folks who've read it so far, or else I might have been writing this from under the bed.
Some writers say they don't read their reviews. I might take that stance after this. But the thing is I'm just so freaking curious, and I'd hate to have someone say, "What do you think about the comment So-and-So made in their review?" and not have any idea what they're talking about. Although I suppose it sounds very aloof and unconcerned to say, "Oh, I don't read the reviews," and give people the sense that you are confident enough in your work to not care one whit about what the critics say. But the problem is that I care very, very much what the critics have to say. I shouldn't, I know, especially since the people I trust to be honest with me have gushed so far. But then of course you start wondering just how honest they were, and if they were too afraid of bursting your bubble to give you the straight poop.
And to be completely honest, I can't even read my book without finding eight million things I wish I'd changed, and while they might not have made an ounce of difference with the critic, I could have at least been able to say the final product was _exactly_ what I wanted, rather than thinking, "Dangit, I wonder if I can fix all those things and release a second edition..."
This is one of those times when the artist in me really ticks me off. I take my work so personally, I can't just shrug off people's cutting comments. And I'm sure I'll get used to them eventually, not that getting to that point is really something I want to do, seeing as it will require a LOT of cutting remarks. Or maybe I'll learn to stifle my curiosity and turn up my nose at the detractors. We'll see.
And so we come to the end of the blog…
11 months ago