On Reading Reviews (And Other Adventures in Narcissism)
Since I'm a working mom, I don't spend any time on internet chat groups (and I try to avoid the internet most of the time altogether—HA!). However, my lovely publicist thought it would be a good idea if I joined Twitter. And so I did.
A lot of it is silly, but I was able to make friends with Jock, Winston Churchill's Chartwell's cat (and now Chartwell will be having a contest for winning signed copies of Mr. Churchill's Secretary).
Also, the copyeditor for Princess Elizabeth's Spy, queried my use of the word "dog tag" recently. Well, after endless research and discussions with friends who are historians, no one could find anything. Then I tweeted the RAF Museum — and lo! Behold! I was informed by Principal Historian Nigel Steel and Uniforms Curator Martin Boswell of the Imperial War Museum in London that the term then was "Identification Disk." This exchange justifies being on Twitter — and makes my inner geek swoon.
People, not professional reviewers, but real readers, have also tweeted me to point out different reviews they've written, either on goodreads or personal blogs, or other sites. They have been lovely.
I had no idea before this that these places existed. No. Idea.
You know, most of the reviews were actually quite good. There were a few that were off (yes, women DID wear pillbox hats in 1940! Really!) and a few pieces of constructive criticism. And then there was... THAT review.
The review where I read it — I felt I'd had a bucket of acid thrown into my eyes.
Seriously.
It was that bad, that vitriolic, that oddly personal.
That unprofessional.
I started to wonder if I'd stolen the woman's boyfriend in high school or something.
However, author, neighbor and friend Alice Bradley had already gone through this kind of experience with the publication of her books, and has written an amazing post about it in her column, "Write Anyway" at babble.com: "Should You Read Reviews?"
Here's the best part:
No matter where you are in your career, it's painful to read a negative review. Painful, and counterproductive. The problem is, they're inevitable, if you're writing the way you should be. You must be fully yourself in your writing if you want to reach the people you're meant to reach. So: someone's going to disike you. It's a fact. An unpleasant, painful fact. And the wider an audience your book (or article, blog, etc.) reaches, the more people are going to read it who don't get you at all. Or who begrudge you your popularity, or who think you might be anti-Irish because you said the color green doesn't work with your skin tone. Sometimes people are just unhappy, or having a bad day, or nuts. You can't control who reads your work, or how they'll react.
Preach, sister!
Or, as another of my writing friends quoted to me: "Remember that's the only taste of success some people have is when they take a bite out of yours."
So, the bottom line is that I think it's AMAZING when people reach out to me, I will NOT be reading any more reviews. I even pinky-swore on it with my son (who promised to stop cracking his knuckles for his side of the bargain).
Besides, I've figured out my own way of getting over it....
Said reviewer (all names changed, of course) — who has put up waaay to much personal information on The Internets — is going to end up fictionalized as a a particularly unpleasant character in Maggie Hope novel #4.
Because sometimes you can't make this stuff up — and, really, when someone like that presents herself, why should you have to?
And, by the way, all of this reminds me of one of my favorite scenes ever from the TV show The West Wing: "Lemon-Lyman—Josh Discovers the Internet."
CJ Cregg: You posted on a website?!
Josh Lyman: I was communicating with the people.
CJ Cregg: Really?
Josh Lyman: CJ, it's a crazy place. It's… it's got this dictatorial leader who I'm sure wears a muumuu and chain smokes Parliaments.
CJ Cregg: What did you go there for in the first place?
Josh Lyman: It's called LemonLyman.com
CJ Cregg: Let me explain something to you, this is sort of my field. The people on these sites: they're the cast of One Flew Over the Cookoo's Nest. The muumuu wearing Parliament smoker? That's Nurse Ratched. When Nurse Ratched's unhappy the patients are unhappy. You? You're McMurphy! You swoop in there with your card games and your fishing trips…
Josh Lyman: I didn't swoop in! I came in exactly the same way everybody else did.
CJ Cregg: Well, now I'm telling you to open the ward room window and climb on out before they give you a pre-frontal lobotomy and I have to smother you with a pillow.
Josh Lyman: You're Chief Brom…
CJ Cregg: I'm Chief Bromden yes at this particular moment. I'm assigning an intern from the press office to that website. They're going to check it every night before they go home. If they discover you've been there, I'm going to shove a motherboard so far up your ass…what?!
Josh Lyman: Well, technically, I outrank you…
CJ Cregg: So far up your ass!
A lot of it is silly, but I was able to make friends with Jock, Winston Churchill's Chartwell's cat (and now Chartwell will be having a contest for winning signed copies of Mr. Churchill's Secretary).
Also, the copyeditor for Princess Elizabeth's Spy, queried my use of the word "dog tag" recently. Well, after endless research and discussions with friends who are historians, no one could find anything. Then I tweeted the RAF Museum — and lo! Behold! I was informed by Principal Historian Nigel Steel and Uniforms Curator Martin Boswell of the Imperial War Museum in London that the term then was "Identification Disk." This exchange justifies being on Twitter — and makes my inner geek swoon.
People, not professional reviewers, but real readers, have also tweeted me to point out different reviews they've written, either on goodreads or personal blogs, or other sites. They have been lovely.
I had no idea before this that these places existed. No. Idea.
You know, most of the reviews were actually quite good. There were a few that were off (yes, women DID wear pillbox hats in 1940! Really!) and a few pieces of constructive criticism. And then there was... THAT review.
The review where I read it — I felt I'd had a bucket of acid thrown into my eyes.
Seriously.
It was that bad, that vitriolic, that oddly personal.
That unprofessional.
I started to wonder if I'd stolen the woman's boyfriend in high school or something.
However, author, neighbor and friend Alice Bradley had already gone through this kind of experience with the publication of her books, and has written an amazing post about it in her column, "Write Anyway" at babble.com: "Should You Read Reviews?"
Here's the best part:
No matter where you are in your career, it's painful to read a negative review. Painful, and counterproductive. The problem is, they're inevitable, if you're writing the way you should be. You must be fully yourself in your writing if you want to reach the people you're meant to reach. So: someone's going to disike you. It's a fact. An unpleasant, painful fact. And the wider an audience your book (or article, blog, etc.) reaches, the more people are going to read it who don't get you at all. Or who begrudge you your popularity, or who think you might be anti-Irish because you said the color green doesn't work with your skin tone. Sometimes people are just unhappy, or having a bad day, or nuts. You can't control who reads your work, or how they'll react.
Preach, sister!
Or, as another of my writing friends quoted to me: "Remember that's the only taste of success some people have is when they take a bite out of yours."
So, the bottom line is that I think it's AMAZING when people reach out to me, I will NOT be reading any more reviews. I even pinky-swore on it with my son (who promised to stop cracking his knuckles for his side of the bargain).
Besides, I've figured out my own way of getting over it....
Said reviewer (all names changed, of course) — who has put up waaay to much personal information on The Internets — is going to end up fictionalized as a a particularly unpleasant character in Maggie Hope novel #4.
Because sometimes you can't make this stuff up — and, really, when someone like that presents herself, why should you have to?
And, by the way, all of this reminds me of one of my favorite scenes ever from the TV show The West Wing: "Lemon-Lyman—Josh Discovers the Internet."
CJ Cregg: You posted on a website?!
Josh Lyman: I was communicating with the people.
CJ Cregg: Really?
Josh Lyman: CJ, it's a crazy place. It's… it's got this dictatorial leader who I'm sure wears a muumuu and chain smokes Parliaments.
CJ Cregg: What did you go there for in the first place?
Josh Lyman: It's called LemonLyman.com
CJ Cregg: Let me explain something to you, this is sort of my field. The people on these sites: they're the cast of One Flew Over the Cookoo's Nest. The muumuu wearing Parliament smoker? That's Nurse Ratched. When Nurse Ratched's unhappy the patients are unhappy. You? You're McMurphy! You swoop in there with your card games and your fishing trips…
Josh Lyman: I didn't swoop in! I came in exactly the same way everybody else did.
CJ Cregg: Well, now I'm telling you to open the ward room window and climb on out before they give you a pre-frontal lobotomy and I have to smother you with a pillow.
Josh Lyman: You're Chief Brom…
CJ Cregg: I'm Chief Bromden yes at this particular moment. I'm assigning an intern from the press office to that website. They're going to check it every night before they go home. If they discover you've been there, I'm going to shove a motherboard so far up your ass…what?!
Josh Lyman: Well, technically, I outrank you…
CJ Cregg: So far up your ass!
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