Blogtalk Radio: The Women Show

I just finished listening to The Women Show with Bennett Pomerantz. His guests yesterday were Valerie Douglas and Mary Ann Peden-Coviello. A third author was supposed to be on, but canceled at the last minute because of a family emergency.

The topic was Amazon reviews and it is worth listening to even though the authors involved did not stay on topic the whole time, veering off into cover art (professional or amateur) and editing, choosing genres, etc. I had imagined that the co-hosts would get into the topic of Amazon's policy book reviews, algorithms, and why certain authors cannot review the books of authors they know, but that was not touched on at all. Maybe a topic for another time.

Since I was unable to post a comment on the show, I've decided to do so here regarding some of their discussions. As I said, the show is worth listening to. I applaud Bennett Pomerantz for being willing to disagree with his co-hosts. Bravo!

Now on to my comment:

As a reviewer, "honest reviews" are not always honest. One of the reasons I quit reviewing professionally is because I was told I had to make all my reviews positive. My reviews were always polite, but always honest. If I didn't like a book I said so, and vice versa. Polite is one thing, but telling me I had to leave a positive review wasn't honest and was not going to happen.

Having said the above, not all reviews are honest reviews. It's easy to tell. I have read reviews where it was obvious the reviewer had not read the book at all and the ignorance showed in what they wrote about the book. I have a few of those on some of my books. There is no guarantee the review will come down even though it is not honest or accurate and obvious the reviewer either had an axe to sharpen on the author and had not read the book. Like Joe Konrath said, ebooks are forever. So are reviews: good, bad, and indifferent.

I do not believe that asking family members or friends to read and review one's book is dishonest or a bad practice. One of my cousins, who up to this point is "...not a book reader," read one of my books and loved it. I urged her to write a review. I didn't specify what kind of review, just that she should write a review. The same goes for anyone, friend, family, or stranger, who reads one of my books. Write about what you read and how it affected you. One's first critics are often family and friends. It's not asking them for a review that is dishonest, but asking for a certain kind of review that's dishonest.

As writers, we must use our words carefully and, as Anne Rice demonstrated amply when she went off on an Amazon reviewer after a negative review a few years ago, responding to reviewers personally is always a mistake. So is not differentiating between the kinds of reviews a writer asks for.

Yes, it is wrong to stack the deck. No, it is not wrong to request that the people who have read a book review the book, whether they be family, friend, or stranger. I am all for readers taking the time to review a book they've read -- and review it honestly, but, as has been mentioned, they should READ the book first. The whole book and not just a blurb or regurgitating what someone else said about a book before reading it. And reviews are not the place to settle a personal score. If one cannot separate the person from the author/book, then one should not review the book. /end of comment

 

Many people read books, but few ever write reviews. The reviewers often are writers. I review books of people I know personally, and often people with whom I have had differences, but my personal feelings do not enter into the review process. If I find my anger or dislike of someone is too strong to remain neutral in a review, I don't post the review. I have had that happen with only one or two authors over the years. I recused myself on those occasions. Luckily, it does not and did not happen often. 

Amazon has become a bit draconian in their review process, especially with regard to authors not reviewing the books of authors they know personally. There is no accurate algorithm for sifting out the axe-grinders and the boot lickers and banning all authors reviewing personal friends who also happen to be authors is not necessarily the best policy. If Amazon cannot write an algorithm to get rid of negative reviews from people who have not taken the time to read what they're reviewing, they should step back and let nature -- and the Internet -- finds a level. 

Good and bad reviews come and go. Yes, they are forever on the Internet -- as long as there is technology available to access the reviews -- but ultimately reviewing a book is subjective, a personal like or dislike (not necessarily of the author) of the reviewer. There will be ugly reviews. Count on it. Get used to it, writer. Take it like a duck in the rain. Let it roll off your back and then go write another book or story -- or even review. Keep it clean. Keep it honest. Be real.

That is all. Disperse.

To Review or Not to Review

I'm reading a book that is really not all that great, at least not so far. The sentences have too many commas and are almost all the same length -- long. The actions of the characters are weirdly worded and repetitive without being at all interesting or anything but slam up against them and wonder what the author is trying to do. Many of the features of this particular world are thrown in there without any idea of what they are or how to pronounce them, where the break should be, and there is no indication of what they are or how they fit into the story. I guess I'm supposed to figure it out for myself.

What's worse is I know the author and I cannot in good conscience give the book a positive review because it reads like a first draft. I know the author has been working on this book for years and has announced it's publication a dozen times over the past 12 years. The thing is, this book is not ready for publication and needs good conceptual and copy editors to go through it again. Most of the problems could have been solved if that had been done before this -- long before this.

It is difficult to enjoy a story that is rife with flaws and faults and grammar errors without a clue as to what is really going on. I can appreciate starting in the middle of the story, but it helps to know through conversations or back story where it all fits together. So far, not happening.

I really hate that I can't be more positive, but there it is.

No, I won't be reviewing this one and I won't contact the author and say it is a good job. It's not. I am not going to lie and I won't fudge it either. I hate when this happens.

That is all. Disperse.

Fear of Writing

I am cautiously optimistic.

Sounds like the beginning of a politician's set speech, something that uses a lot of words but says nothing.

What I mean to say is that I don't want to queer my pitch and fall back down into the hole where I've been living for at least the past 2-3 years. That's how long I have not been actively writing. Not books. Not consistently. Not even in my paper journals, except when something won't be silenced and I need to get it out. Where I once went through a good sized journal every 2-3 months, it is taking me a year, possibly more because I'm afraid to look, getting halfway through the current journal. It's in my bedside table, so there's no excuse, but I fell out of the habit of writing every day and that would be writing.

Oh, I write book reviews on occasion. I have not stopped reading, voraciously. I just stopped writing. The ideas and characters and plot points were there clamoring to be heard and put on the page, but I refused to listen. It's a skill I learned as a teenager at home. I was a master at ignoring my mother speaking, cajoling, wrangling, arguing, and criticizing me. Now I can say I'm equally good at ignoring the urge, the desire, the need to write.

Or at least I was until a couple of days ago.

There is a book I wrote several years ago that I've been meaning to format for ebooks. I did some of it initially and then . . . stopped. Fiddling with it doesn't count since I seldom got more than a few pages done. Then something caught hold of me and I opened the file and began formatting. More than a few pages. Lots of pages.

And then it happened. I wrote. Tweaking a bit of dialogue. Writing a new sentence or two. Actually editing and -- dare I say it? -- writing. Shock took hold and I stopped. It wasn't safe to continue.

The next night, I opened the file, searched for the markers, and formatted some more.

And I wrote more.

Now you know why I began with "cautiously optimistic." I'm not sure how long this will last and I don't want to scare it away. Journaling more was the catalyst, that and being unable to ignore the voices clamoring for attention.

The thing is, even if you know there's a trap ahead, you could still fall into it. My trap was set around expectations. Unreal expectations. I got away from the reason I began writing as a child -- because I wanted to tell stories, to write them down, and keep them for myself. I got caught up in making money, enough money to quit the day job and write. That didn't happen, not with the first or the second or even the 15th book. I was still slogging along, banking small royalties, and still wage slaving away.

Then there were the awful reviews from people who obviously didn't read much or thought my books were romance. I don't write romance, although there is romance in some of my books. Not the same thing at all. They had unrealistic expectations of me, that I would fulfill their need, their desire for a new romance novelist.  My books are much more complex, and I hope richer than formula romance. Those reviewers obviously didn't read the book or just "couldn't get into it" as some wrote. I can't get into some books either, but I don't trash them or eviscerate the writer for not living up to my expectations. I say I couldn't get into the book and leave it at that. I could tell those reviewers likely didn't read past the first chapter or two and yet reviewed the book as if they had. I don't read past the second chapter, or even the third, and I write the author privately and say I won't review the book and explain why. There are readers who like those books, but one of them wasn't, or isn't, me.

It seemed pointless to keep writing for people who didn't want what I had to offer. Frankly, I was deep into the abyss of depression and didn't care about anything any more. Nothing that once gave me pleasure even touched the darkness I clothed myself in. I didn't care. All I could manage was doing the job I was paid to do and very little else. And I mean very little else.

That's how it was until recently when my world was shaken, stirred, and turned upside down. The bank foreclosed on all my landlord's properties, my house included. I didn't think much would change, since the bank said nothing would change. I sent my rent to a new address and person and everything slid back down into the abyss. Then someone put a realtor's sign in my yard and a letter informed me that I would have to open my door to let people tramp through the house, people who might want to buy the house -- and toss me into the street.

Okay, the street is a bit of an exaggeration, but not much.

I've always been at my best when my back is against the wall. A spark ignited and the furnace went into heating the arctic circle mode. I would fight back. I would offer to buy the house.

Every obstacle put up against me I hurdled. Every threat I faced. I was alive again. Too bad it came at such a cost. The house is still a mess because I haven't done anything for 2 or 3 years; that means cleaning house. I did just enough to get by with laundry, with dishes, with everything.

As my anger and determination fired up, so did something else inside me -- the desire to write. That is where I am now.

No doubt I will get more bad reviews from readers who couldn't get into my books or didn't bother to read anything and are determined to leave 1/5 stars. Let them. I can take it. I'll consider the source.

Slowly and surely, I will come back from this. Whether I live here or not, if the bank allows me to buy this house or not, I will keep going. I'm not sure I can stand another slide into the abyss, and I will write and clean and fight back with all that's in me.

One Person's Opinion

Good, bad, indifferent, and sometimes just plain nasty. Book reviews come in all flavors and how authors deal with them is important -- and sometimes crucial -- to how the author is viewed. I'd like to say there are rules, but there aren't. It would be nice if readers and authors could agree to disagree, but that isn't going to happen often enough to make a difference. It certainly isn't going to boost the author's reputation to engage in a battle of words publicly since that bit of histrionic theatricality will likely result in a few moments of rancor and name-calling between reader and writer and the writer will end up branded as a nut at best.

Who can forget Anne Rice's meltdown when she tried to defend her writing and her work on Amazon? I still have the original meltdown saved in case I ever forget how not to act.

And there was the author of an indie romance novel with a bad title who took on a whole group of writers defending her bad grammar and poor quality editing. That was a comment battle that went on for pages -- and a few days.

I know how it feels when a reader "just can't get into" my book or another reader who didn't read more than the first few pages and tossed the book aside (or deleted it from their eReader) and wrote a scathing review that seemed to have been about someone else's book. I have had my books rated with 1 star because of private and personal differences and because the reader just didn't get my book. Readers come in all shapes and sizes, and not all are polite or cannot keep their opinions to themselves. Unfortunately, the latter type of reader feels the need to spread their negativity and scorn all over the internet. I try to ignore them no matter how high my blood pressure rises or how much I'd like to sit down and quiz them on what they read to prove they hadn't read my book at all.

The fact is that there will be bad reviews no matter how much the critics or the public like your book. Get used to the idea because being a writer isn't for wimps. Writers with thin skin had better get thicker skin and writers with hair trigger tempers should avoid reading reviews at all.

Reviews are on my mind this morning because I decided to check whether or not anyone had recently reviewed my last novel, Among Women. I didn't expect any movement since I'm not writing about dragons or fairies or mortals in love with vampires and werewolves. I'm not a celebrated literary writer nor am I a celebrity a publisher hired to write a book about my expereinces on reality TV so I can pretend I'm a writer. I'm the kind of writer who slogs through a 5-foot stack of books to be reviewed and then has to write about the 10 things you should know about what to buy Mom on Mothers Day or what not to get Dad for Fathers Day.

This morning I got a nice surprise. Three reviews had been added since I last checked a couple of months ago and all three readers got what I was writing about. They really read my book and they understood what I was writing. They didn't think Pearl was boring or that she was a hero, just an individual caught in a criminal justice system where there is no justice at the mercy of her own prejudices and fears. They felt what Pearl went through and saw the world through Pearl's eyes. Those are the reviews I live for and the readers I want to reach. The rest are not important, and that is what I remind myself every time some reader looking for titillation and cheap thrills reads a few pages and writes a bad review with a plethora of spelling errors and a complete lack of knowledge of grammar and sentence structure while chiding me about mistakes in editing.

I could be obsessive and go through the book one more time to catch all those errors or I could just let the book stand and move on to the next book.

Unlike authors getting  $3000 a day sales and multi-million dollar multi-book contracts from a big name publisher, I'm a midlist writer (for now) putting one word after another on the page between working 2 full time jobs while I avoid checking sales and review statistics just one more time today.

I remind myself that one opinion will not make or break my book, not even the good ones, and that if I want to make a career out of writing, I must keep writing, must keep putting word after word on the page every day. It's an uphill battle, but the alternative is silence and I've never been good at that.

Roger Ebert said that a review is one person's opinion. I keep that in mind when I review books -- or read a review on one of my books. It's just one opinion.

Time and Perspective

There is something wonderful about finding a really good review of a book I've written and published, especially since it was my first self-published effort. I have had my share of awful reviews from people who "couldn't get into the book" and a few toilet reviews from people who didn't read the book at all, something that was obvious from what little they did write. After my shock and anger at the latter reviews and wanting to engage the reviewer in a discussion of what they hated so much about the book, I decided it was best not to publicize or even mention the awful reviews.

The urge to take on reviewers is strong. Writers want to prove that what they've written has value and the negative reviewer made a mistake. That kind of attitude serves no one, least of all the writer. All I need do is remember Anne Rice's meltdown when someone trashed one of her novels on Amazon, a review I saved and posted, to keep the dander down and the baser urges in check. Everyone is entitled to their opinions, even when the writer thinks the opinion is way off base and wrong.

Keep in mind that Dances with Wolves won several Oscars and I have never been able to get past the first 15-20 minutes of the movie without falling asleep. I like Kevin Costner (mostly) and I love movies about cowboys and indians, but didn't care for that particularly movie, though I rented it several times and slept through it every single time.

In a way, it's rather like wine. In my younger days, I preferred sweet white wines to deep, rich red wines. My tastes have changed and the reverse is now true. During those same younger days, I didn't like reading Robert A. Heinlein; I found him peurile and uninteresting. In my 30s, that changed to the opposite side of the spectrum. I love Heinlein's stories, especially Stranger in a Strange Land, and enjoy his writing, having devoured most of his books when I discovered how wonderful Heinlein was.

The same was true for Jane Austen. I couldn't get into her novels, mostly because of the language, which was rather like wading through hip deep sucking mud. Then I saw Pride and Prejudice with Colin Firth and Jennifer Ehle and decided to give the books another shot. I was transported and found myself quoting passages to friends and family. I reread Austen's novels every year or two, including the unfinished Lady Susan. Too bad Austen didn't finish the novel, or at least the end of the novel hasn't been found and published. It is a meaty piece of domestic drama of fraud.

I do live in the hope that the same writers that have put their thumbs down to my novels will give them another try and change their minds. The one thing I won't do is fret about it.

I will, however, bask in the glow of the good reviews, especially the one I read this morning. The reviewer got what I was doing with my novel, Among Women, and, while she didn't like one aspect of the book at first, she kept reading "just one more chapter" until she was completely immersed in the experience. The review was short and the result was a definite thumb up for me, but what really pleased me was that she understood the theme and meaning behind the story. I did what I set out to do, connected with at least one reader -- one person -- at a fundamental level. That makes all the negative reviews, and there really haven't been many, fade into the background.

To borrow from Austen, there is a truth universally acknowledged that an author with a list of novels must be in want of readers and is the rightful prize of some reader or other. All I can suggest is to try again with a book you weren't able to get into 5 or 10 years ago. Time and experience may have seasoned you sufficiently to change your perspective and your views.

Taxes, Dues, and Money

Just finished filing my taxes for 2012. I use TurboTax, so it's fairly easy, except for putting in the information. I also discovered I reviewed fewer books last year than in previous years, but I pretty much knew that. So few that I don't even warrant a 1099 for last year. That is disheartening and a little bit nice. It's not that I like reviewing fewer books. I certainly miss the money; however, I do like having time to read books I want to read rather than have to read to review. After 10 years this August of reviewing for Authorlink, I am disappointed that I don't rate the kinds of books I request to read. The newer, lower paid, reviewers often get what I've chosen from the list, and I think I should have first choice since I am the senior reviewer. Guess not. Money rules even in reviewing.

Speaking of reviewing, I was asked by the owner and managing editor of The Celebrity Cafe if I would take on reviewing CDs and books for them. I seldom listen to music, although that is changing, and don't feel qualified to review new music. I did explain that I wouldn't mind helping out with book reviews if he'd like to send me the list for me to choose from, and then I quoted the price I get for reviewing books from Authorlink. I haven't heard another word since then.

It isn't that I don't appreciate the extra attention from writing for their site, but as a professional I do expect to be paid, especially when the online entertainment magazine is getting all kinds of advertising and the regular staff is paid, and when they even pay interns $500 a month. I should be paid. I'm not some teenager or twenty-something wannabe writer anxious to write for anyone for free just for the experience. I have tons of experience, but I still cannot support myself on writing alone. To borrow a quote, This writer cannot live on exposure and experience alone. My creditors expect real dollars for their goods and services and I'd be out from under this brand new roof it took me 4 years to get in a heartbeat if I paid the rent with anything less than legal tender. I mean, really.

Any going concern lauded for their look, style, and publication that gets paid by advertisers and pays their regular staff can certainly pay me for my contributions, especially when they beg and plead for me to write for them all the time. I have a full time job, a review gig, a writing business, and my own projects I like to get done from time to time, not to mention a house to maintain and a mail carrier to fight with. I don't have the time. It's not like I toss off an article in 15 minutes; I research, write, edit, and add all kinds of little doodads and videos and links, and that takes time.

For instance, I wrote a top ten list of what people were Googling most in 2012, complete with doodads, videos, research, and links. The whole article took about 4 hours of my precious time. I enjoyed doing it and it was in response to a request from one of the paid editors to help fill their pages after the first of the year. They didn't pay me and the article went live after some adjustments on their end (they didn't tell me all they wanted me to do with it) and they benefited from the article since it was the most read piece in the whole magazine during that week. They benefited with advertising dollars, but I didn't benefit from anything by the byline. No pay. No thank you. No nothing -- unless you count them coming back and asking for more. Considering what I put into that article, I don't think so, especially not with everything already on my plate.

Oh, well, c'est la vie -- or in actuality -- telle est la vie d'écriture (such is the life of a writer).

The thing about writing is that there are so many amateurs and wannabes and hacks out there begging to be read that editors and owners of magazines, newspapers, etc. who need content will take advantage of anyone -- often without their permission -- and never pay the writers. That's fine for a kid still being supported by their parents or wannabe and amateur writers willing to work for free to get the experience, but I'm no amateur, wannabe, or hack, and I'm certainly not that anxious for exposure without being paid. I expect to get paid. I've paid my dues, now pay me, especially when you benefit from my hard work and experience. Quid pro quo -- or in more common terms -- Where's my money? Even the garbage man gets paid.

It's one thing to be inched out by lower paid writers at a business that I have worked for since 2003 and another to be used and abused while making money from my toil. I have begun to believe the way Harlan Ellison believes. A writer should be paid. I am a professional writer and I'm tired of editors begging me to write for them for the experience and exposure. At 57 years of age, I have experience and I've been exposed sufficiently for a while.

Well, I didn't mean to turn this into a rant, but it has turned out that way. When writers work for free they undermine the bedrock upon which we all stand. Write for free for magazines that have advertisers and circulation and cost money to get and you undercut the professional writer who expects to be paid for their work. The editors will dress up your words and make them look professional, but you still won't get paid, and you less the chance of professional writers who would have been paid.

Writing for free is the equivalent of corporations and businesses outsourcing jobs, and writing is a job. People who were willing to work for free or break through picket lines are called scabs by unions, and I can't say they're wrong. I understand that people will do anything for virtually nothing if they're hungry and desperate enough, and they don't care about the people who should be paid for their work -- or at least were being paid until management decided to walk away from negotiation tables. Still, I'm not asking for time and a half, cheap health insurance, more vacation and holidays, or even a chicken in my new crockpot. I'm asking for what I deserve and have worked for most of my life -- to be paid for my work. Four hours in the life of a working writer with a full time job (actually 2 full time jobs when you count writing novels), is a lot of time and should be compensated. Honestly, I don't know how The Huffington Post gets away with getting professionals to write for free while Ariana Huffington rakes in the bucks. Something is definitely rotten in Denmark -- and here in America when working professionals cannot get paid.

Well, some working professionals do get paid. Prostitutes always get the money up front.

Review: The Map of the Sky by Felix J. Palma

Victorian horrors and thrills built on the bones of established fantasy.

Herbert George Wells intends to meet the American writer who wrote a sequel to War of the Worlds and Wells intends to give Serviss a large piece of his mind. Wells is livid at not only how it was done but also that Serviss turned his book into a showcase for American excess. When Wells and Serviss meets, the American excites Wells’ passions and his curiosity in a different way, a way that ends with an inebriated Wells being led to London’s Museum of Natural History to see a real Martian spacecraft and a dead Martian. An accident, a cut, and a drop of blood fuel a new trilogy of stories that begins in Antarctica and ends with a Martian invasion. As with The Map of Time when Felix J. Palma used H.G. Wells’ The Time Machine as the basis of his trilogy of tales, once again Palma goes to Wells to find inspiration for The Map of the Sky.

Not content with using Wells as his only inspiration, Palma adds Edgar Allan Poe, The Thing from Outer Space (also known as The Thing, a 1950s science fiction tale of horror), and a bit of Jules Verne to the mix. It seems there are no stories, writers, or movies that will not be used to fuel Palma’s trilogies, and yet The Map of the Sky is still fresh, if a bit over written in the Victorian style.

As soon as I realized the genesis of the first part of this trilogy came from the movie, The Thing, I expected a rehash of the movie. What I found was a fresh viewpoint and characters, although some retained the original names, although the story was set in Antarctica instead of the Arctic. Though there were no planes, flame throwers, or electricity, Palma managed to dispatch the alien with dynamite—and then stopped dead and rewrote the ending so that the Martian would end up in the London museum for Wells to awaken. Sheer guts and a bit of genius changed my mind, and I continued to read.  

The Map of the Sky is a heady stew of the familiar spiced with eccentricity and Victorian excess that is sure to thrill, chill, and enchant.

Review: Harry Lipkin, Private Eye by Barry Fantoni

To think that I could be taken in by an 87-year-old Jewish private investigator from page 1 is possible, but hasn't happened before. It might happen again if Barry Fantoni writes more of Harry Lipkin's adventures, and I sure hope he does.

Harry Lipkin, Private Eye is a gumshoe novel (and Harry wears real gumshoes; it's necessary. He doesn't want to break a hip) in a class by itself. Harry doesn't keep working, and not for $50 a day plus expenses in this economy, for the money and he doesn't work because he has to since he has no wife and no children. Harry keeps working because he can. He's an old fire horse still racing to the fire, although much slower these days, even though he was put out to pasture a long time ago.

Harry takes the cases the police never see. People don't run to the police for piddling thefts or any of the piddling issues that plague every-day life. People turn to investigators like Harry, which is what Mrs. Norma Weinberger does when a few of her small private possessions come up missing. She employs five people: a chauffeur, maid, cook, butler, and gardener. One of those five must be the culprit and Harry is the man to find out which one did it. The decapitated thug on Harry's front lawn he will thrown in for free.

Barry Fantoni has created a likeable character in Harry Lipkin. Harry still drives his own car, even though it is 60 years old, and still gets around like he always did, albeit a bit slower. Harry has reflux, can't sleep most nights, and shuffles when he walks, but he gets the job done and provides a bit of history and a few memories to keep things interesting.

Harry is a mensch, the kind of friend you'd look forward to eating a little something with in a deli or sipping lemon tea with on a hot day. Harry isn't much on repairs since climbing up the Matterhorn of his roof to replace some heavy gray slate tiles on the highly peaked roof above his one story home is a bit beyond his capabilities these days, but he's nearing a century of life and experience, and something has to give.

Fantoni isn't a stylistic writer and he won't win any literary awards, but for sheer story telling power and creating memorable characters, Fantoni is the writer you want to spend an evening or a weekend getting to know. I hope Harry Lipkin, Private Eye is the beginning of a beautiful new friendship and that we will be seeing each other a lot more.

Heart-Shaped Fear

Though Heart-Shaped Box was published 3 years ago and I won a copy from some book giveaway website, I had not read the book. I sold my copy of the book to help pay for rent. I know. I'm bad.

I did finally buy a copy for my Kindle (I love my Kindle) and began reading the book -- and stopped. I couldn't go on. I got that feeling I used to get whenever the movie about Nostradamus came on cable and I, against my better judgment, decided to watch. It was that squirrely feeling deep inside that kept swirling and rising and expanding until I felt panicked and like zombies were breaking down the door and coming through the windows and I was trapped in the bathroom in the tub behind the shower curtain waiting for the end. I was terrified.

Nothing much had happened. A rock star bought a heart shaped box that arrived by courier and the story of the box had begun to unfold. There was nothing very scary about it, except I was afraid, and I love horror books. I've been a fan of the best and scariest writers of horrors for decades, and yet I could not go past the first few chapters of Heart-Shaped Box because I just knew in my cringing soul it was going to get worse.

It takes a subtle and talented writer to put me in that state and Joe Hill put me in that state almost from the first chapter. Once I get all the book reviews I have to finish done and catch up on the taxes for 2025, I will give it another try. I will get through it -- eventually -- but I want some assurances that I'll be able to read it in a crowded place with lots of light and people having fun.

An amusement park might be just the ticket. Or I could go to the Renaissance Faire just up the road a piece next June. I think a yard of ale (I hate ale almost as much as beer) would be helpful in numbing the rising fear. Anesthesia might also help. I could get someone to shoot me with that drug that still lets you feel but you don't care while I read. I want to get through it quickly, like diving into icy water on the first day of June, to get it over with as soon as possible. And it might not hurt to have someone hold my hand and be ready to whisper, "It's only a book. It's not real," over and over in my head while I read to keep me anchored in the here and now. Anything to help me get through the book.

From what I've read, Heart-Shaped Box is frighteningly good and I recommend it highly to non-fraidy cats.

Now, about those taxes for 2025.

Review: Going to the Bad by Nora McFarland

Going to the Bad by Nora McFarland is the third outing for KJAY news shooter, Lilly Hawkins, and I came to the party late. I did not, however, miss much, unless you include a smart mouthed, size 10 shoe wearing, salty shooter not afraid to get her hands wet -- or bloody -- when needed.

Lilly Hawkins isn't tall, beautiful, blonde, and perfect. She's far from perfect. She's a loose cannon with brains and guts that is the saltiest protagonist since V. I. Warshawski, without the expensive shoe addiction. Lilly is a take-no-prisoners kind of video journalist who is wary of the future, skittish about committing to her boyfriend and co-worker, Rod Strong, and dedicated to finding the truth in any story -- no matter where it leads.

In Going to the Bad Lilly is faced with her own past and the secrets that the people she loves are determined to keep from her. It all started with a shooting at her Oiltown home in Bakersfield, California on Christmas Eve and things kept getting more tangled and tougher to swallow as she faced the truth of her Uncle Bud's past that dropped the bottom out of her life. Lilly keeps going anyway.

What McFarland has done with Lilly is give us a dysfunctional female in a high pressure job she loves and a cast of screw-ups and average people caught in the chaos of life. Going to the Bad is dark and edgy with a ticking time bomb at its heart that never disappoints.

Feeling Sluttish

I'll bet you think I meant wanton, depraved, and sexually promiscuous. Not a jot of it.

Sluttish refers to be lazy and untidy.  Even Chaucer used the word in reference to a slovenly man.

What I mean is that I don't feel like cleaning up or even getting out of bed, except I have to clean up and get out of bed if I want a shower, and I do so want a shower right now. It's not that I'm dirty or unkempt (well, maybe a bit unkempt), but a shower would feel wonderful when I feel so blah.

I woke up before 6 a.m. this morning, got up to answer Nature's call, and promptly went back to bed without brushing my teeth. I did get a cup of yogurt with fruit (pomegranate and cherry) and had that while reading a few chapters of Pyramids, but then slipped idly back into the deep well of sleep and didn't get up again until after noon. In my defense, I was up until after 2 a.m. and just couldn't sleep, but I caught up and then some. I have so few days when I can actually sleep more than 4 of 5 hours at a time and I need more sleep. Catch me on a day when I've not had much sleep and you might come away like a male praying mantis that has been rutted. To death. Without a head. Except for the rutting part. I am definitely not feeling at all in the mood for sex or anything related to sex. I want sleep.

I also want someone else to do the cooking and cleaning and hauling away the trash so I don't have to do it, but I need the exercise and it's better than having to purchase a Stairmaster when I could just get up and move about doing all the things that need done.

That is the trick, though, doing the things that need done. In today's world the list grows greater every day. Having all these electronic conveniences has not lessened the list of chores, but it certainly has lessened the amount of available free time, and they suck up lots of money. Then again, I wonder what life would be like without all those conveniences, minding of course that I don't want to get rid of affordable and available water, sewers, or electricity, just get rid of the extraneous stuff like clothes dryers, computers, mixers (except for a brand new KitchenAid), waffle irons, electric grills, televisions, radios, etc. All the conveniences of life that make life so inconvenient.

So, electricity, safe water and sewage, a refrigerator, maybe a stereo or radio, a clothes washer, an electric typewriter (I don't think I have the time to mess with a manual typewriter), a car for going to town, and maybe a good chest freezer and a gas stove and furnace (that work). The bare necessities.

The result would be clothes hung up outside on lines or in the basement when it's too cold or wet to hang out the clothes. Food would be cooked manually. Think of the benefits to the triceps and biceps by whipping cream to a frenzy or mixing thick batters, and all that walking and standing and stretching hanging out the clothes and taking them down. An iron would be necessary to get out the wrinkles in dress clothing. No one needs ironed sheets or underthings. At least I don't.

A big fireplace would provide plenty of heat on cold days and sleeping in the living room in front of the fire on a comfy couch would not go amiss. The wood would need to be chopped and hauled and the ashes shoveled out and disposed of, but that would all go on the compost heap with the rest of the kitchen detritus rotting and providing work for bugs and enrichment for the soil come planting time because a kitchen garden is absolutely essential for fresh vegetables. I have wonderful memories of summers spent planting and harvesting vegetables to be frozen and canned for later use. Opening those cans was like a breath of summer air in the midst of winter and baking pies bubbling with summer berries and fruit brought back scorching days picking blackberries in the shade of trees and scrambling among the brambles. My skin itches just to think about it.

All that physical work would have extra benefits, like keeping me healthy and much slimmer and I'd have a blush of tan where the wide straw hat didn't quite shade my exposed skin, but that's not too bad since vitamin D is the sunshine vitamin.

As lazy as I feel today, most of that sounds wonderful. Being pleasantly tired from a day of chores would help me sleep at night and the quiet, punctuated only by the sound of typewriter keys clacking away while I listen to Mozart or Mahler  would be heaven. I could think without the constant hum of electricity through dozens of gadgets I don't really need but thought I did when I bought them. The computer has become a source of entertainment and wasted hours as much as it has been a boon to writing and publishing my work. With the good inevitably comes the bad -- or at least the downside of the benefit package that is modern life.

And I'm back to feeling sluttish again. One day I might make a go of the simple life and get rid of most of my conveniences, but not today. Today, I have pages to write and books to read for review and the computer will make both easier since I have to get the reviews to my boss by Tuesday morning at 10 a.m.

It's not easy going back to the basics. I need more money and more time to get there.

In the meantime, I'm going to indulge those sluttish fantasies and go to bed with a book (good or bad remains to be read) and a box of Cheez-its. Or maybe another yogurt with pomegranate and cherry and a big jug of water. Nature's call is all that will get me out of my comfortable position -- at least for the next several hours.

Review: The Sense of an Ending by Julian Barnes

Tony Webster begins his tale at the age of 60, a time when he reflects on the past and his friends, trying to find memories and meaning in what happened to explain the bequest from an old girlfriend's mother, who was once kind to him while the rest of her family taunted him and made him feel awkward and out of his depth.

Forty years ago, his best friend, Adrian, committed suicide, leaving a note that was the essence of the young man giving up his life, in Roman style, and asking that the coroner publish his note. It wasn't a cry for help or a plea for forgiveness, but a rational and studied message that gave his life -- and his death meaning. Shocking as it was for his friends, and especially for Tony, it made sense -- Adrian's kind of sense. 

Now, Tony must revisit that past and those memories to see what was true and remains true, and what was illusion.

It is not too difficult to find books that will blend past remembrance with current struggles, but Julian Barnes does not give Tony Webster anything to struggle against at first glance. Tony doesn't need to bring things full circle, as Victoria suggests, nor does he become maudlin and regretful about his past or his life since Adrian's death. Tony takes life as it comes, so he says, until he needs to wear away at the stones that bar his path, like an insurance company and most especially Victoria, hitting each with letters and emails that slowly, carefully, and thoughtfully wear down their resistance and give Tony what he wants. He is the water that drip, drip, drips until a hole is achieved. That is the essence of The Sense of an Ending, and what makes it work.

The Sense of an Ending is barely a novella but is sufficiently long to tell the story and give up all the details without too much overbearing style or too many bloated words. It is simply a good story told with economy and a subtle richness that makes the story fly; I read it in a matter of hours.

There are echoes of what is coming by the suicide of a school fellow who finds out his girlfriend is pregnant and hangs himself, leaving a quite note: Sorry, Mum. Adrian's death is more thoughtful and yet no one finds out, not even the reader, why he decided to end his life. Was it in typical Adrian fashion because he was finished or because he felt that nothing more could be accomplished after a first at Cambridge and honors to fill his cabinet? The answer to that lies in the diary that Victoria refuses to hand over to Tony, the diary her mother left him in her will, along with a letter and $500.

Tony is as clueless as Victoria claims throughout their relationship and during their struggle over Adrian's diary and that is aptly shown at the ending of The Sense of an Ending, but, in Tony's defense, little was given him and he wasn't curious enough to look farther than what was right in front of him.

What is best about The Sense of an Ending is not just a story told well, but how memory deceives and changes over time and how it can become as clear as clean glass when one least expects it. Although Tony claims to be a peaceful guy who wants nothing more than peace in his life, he is shown as someone who lets life happen to him rather than making life happen. He accepts all without rancor or regret, except when he finds out that Victoria is now with Adrian, and he muddles through without too much effort or thought, even to remaining friends with his ex-wife, who left him for someone else and eventually divorced. When she wanted to get back together, Tony said no because he liked his simple life as it was -- simple and without clutter or responsibility. In a sense, Tony committed emotional suicide in his youth and ghosted through the rest of life.

The Sense of an Ending, no matter its length, is worthy of the Man Booker Prize it won this year and I highly recommend it.

Review: The Shattered Vine by Laura Anne Gilman

Jerzy, Mahault, Ao, and Käinam return to The Berengia in their ship after battling the Washers and Ximen. Ao needs more assistance than Jerzy can give on shipboard and Jerzy needs to return to the vineyard. There Jerzy is stronger and he will confront Ximen on his own turf.

The Washers and the Land-Lord Ranulf, all of whom want Jerzy to combine forces with them, note Jerzy and his friends returning. Jerzy may be Apostate, but he thinks he knows how to stop the darkness that reaches up from the Root to shadow all the land. On the Vineart’s soil is where the friends will make their last stand against all the forces against them.

Laura Anne Gilman ends the Vineart War trilogy with The Shattered Vine, bringing all the enemies and friends together for a last stand that ends as it began with Jerzy at the vanguard. The Shattered Vine takes off on a slow rising arc. It was a bit difficult to find my bearings in the beginning, a problem that could have been improved by rereading The Weight of Stone or even going back to the beginning and reading all three books together, from Flesh and Fire through to The Shattered Vine.

Once the tale began to move forward it moved quickly to the end of the tale, leaving enough room for more stories from other viewpoints. Gilman has ended the trilogy with a subtle power that leaves questions about the nature of religion and magic and the truth of Zatim Sin Washer and what really happened to create the Lands Vin and the legacy that comes full circle with Jerzy. Each of the friends—Mahault, Käinam, and Ao—as well as Lil and Detta and Washer Brion, become fuller and more complex as the final confrontation nears, giving depth and complexity to Gilman’s trilogy and showcasing her writing and world building skills. There is so much more that could be written about the Lands Vin and the Exiles and I hope Gilman will eventually take that task in hand.

The Shattered Vine is intelligent and complex and satisfying. I am glad I had the chance to follow Jerzy’s education and his journey and sad that the tale is ended. Aside from a few minor pacing issues, the Vineart War trilogy is a rewarding and rich experience of high fantasy. This book -- and indeed the trilogy -- is worth keeping.

Simon & Schuster did send me a copy of this book in order to read and review it. It goes well with the previous two books, which I also read and reviewed for Authorlink. The free copy in no way affected the outcome of my review, however, Laura Anne Gilman's writing did.

Review: Blind Fury by Lynda La Plante

Detective Inspector Anna Travis has a new case. A young woman was raped, strangled, murdered, and then thrown into a field a service station on the M1 outside London. Three more cold cases are linked to the murder, victims of a serial killer, but something is off. DI Travis can feel it and so can her boss Detective Chief Supervisor Langton, her ex-lover.

The man in their sights works for Swell Blinds. John Smiley is all that he seems and more. No one has a bad word to say about him and he is very cooperative in the investigation when brought in for questioning about his work van parked in the lot at the time of the murders and caught on CCTV.

Although, Smiley looks too good to be true, Langton has a feeling they have the right man. The problem is they have nothing to tie Smiley to the women except being in the wrong place at the wrong time. Feelings aren't enough to go on. That's why Langton was willing to send Anna to Barfield Prison to interview a serial killer she helped catch.

Cameron Welsh is obsessed with Anna and she doesn't believe Welsh has anything to add to their case. Anna follows orders and interviews Welsh several times. Beneath the arrogance, Welsh knows more than he says and he continues to dangle the bait to draw Anna closer, and she comes closer than she cares to come to trap Smiley.

Cameron Welsh tells Anna Travis that no matter how careful a murderer is, there's always a witness, which provides one of the main themes in Lynda La Plante's latest thriller, Blind Fury. Witnesses pop up all through the novel and La Plante uses them to good effect.

At first glance, it seems as though Welsh is Hannibal Lecter to Anna's Clarisse Starling, but the comparison doesn't hold. Welsh doesn't have Lecter's calm and pointed clarity nor is Anna the willing student anxious to climb the ladder of success. Anna also lacks Clarisse's intuitive read on Welsh's character. Where Lecter is insightful and shares information that helps move things along, Welsh is frustrated and frustrating, using the interviews as mental masturbation. Welsh does help, but such help as could have been laid out in the first interview.

La Plante lacks the polished characterization used to such telling effect by Thomas Harris in Silence of the Lambs and loses her grip, much as Welsh loses his calm, superior demeanor when he discovers Anna is interested in another man. Welsh witnesses Anna with one of his guards, Ken Hudson, a buff blond guard studying to be a child psychologist.

Where La Plante fails to hit the mark is in the sudden intense relationship between Anna and Ken, moving from tentative first date to sex to marriage in less than three dates. Anna, who has always been obsessed with her work and is an orphan, is too anxious to move forward after her failed relationship with Langton, and jumps into sex and marriage with determined effort. The minor hitches along the way where Anna suspects Ken might be involved in the murder fail to ring true and look like attempts to throw a few roadblocks that never actually work. They are as quickly disposed of as is Anna's single-minded career track, coming off as desperation rather than head over heels love at first glance. It simply does not work.

Where La Plante excels is in detailing the minutiae of a murder investigation, going over and over the same ground mining for bits of information. Blind Fury is a template for how murder investigation are run and the time consuming work done by the officers--and the reader at times. The attention to detail does pay off as Anna gets the killer and finds out how all the murders are committed since the murderer is only too happy to lay out the details.

Blind Fury is less a thriller and more a police procedural, with the emphasis on the procedure. The relationships between co-workers and the main characters is less detailed and there is no ticking clock, although budgetary cuts are mentioned a couple of times. La Plante knows the turf and describes it well, providing an excellent manual on how to proceed in a cold case investigation. The human element takes a back seat to solving the murder and there Blind Fury succeeds beyond all expectations.

Review: The Last Werewolf by Glen Duncan | JM Cornwell | Blog Post | Red Room

A stunning tale that turns the genre on its head despite literary contortions and acrobatics.

Jacob Marlowe has been a werewolf for one hundred sixty-seven years (a fact he keeps repeating throughout the book) and is about two hundred years old. He has made his mark, accumulated a vast fortune, and has no wish to continue the allotted four hundred years of a werewolf’s life. Marlowe knows the Hunt has killed the rest of his kind. He is the last and he is ready to return to the site of his creation and welcome the Hunters. His friend and familiar, Harley, wants Marlowe to go on living and Marlowe simply wants out. There is nothing left to live for and life feels pointless.

Grainer, the lead Hunter, plans to take Marlowe out personally. Marlowe killed Grainer’s father many years ago and both are ready for the showdown of their lives.

The vampires want Marlowe as well and it will be a race to the finish to see who wins the prize in the end. The difference between vampires and werewolves is all about language. Vampires speak and read and werewolves do neither, except for Jacob Marlowe.

As in The Last Werewolf, Marlowe and Glen Duncan share the same problem, too many words. Add several different writing techniques—lack of punctuation, run-on sentences, stream of consciousness, literary acrobatics—and the result is a mish-mash of styles in an episodic tale that takes a considerable amount of time getting to the point. Duncan’s writing is at times pompous and overwrought as he flexes his literary muscles, much like a bodybuilder posing in front of a mirror.

I considered tossing the book a few times, but Duncan surprised me by throwing a curve and I was off again chasing Marlowe and trying to figure out who was playing whom. As frustrating as the writing is at times, Duncan tells a compelling story and, when he sinks his teeth into it, does so with breathtaking speed.

The Last Werewolf takes the mythology of lycanthropy, throws in vampires, who loathe werewolves as much as werewolves loathe them, becoming physically sick in each other's presence, but need them to conquer their last frontier. The result is an exercise in planned obsolescence and science that fuels a race to the finish, leaving an ending that offers a satisfying sense of hope and promise. Duncan uses the werewolf mythology to good effect, penning a stand-out novel in an overflowing genre rife with copycats and the same-old, same-old.

Make Room and They Will Come

Sentences and dialogue swirled in my mind as I walked toward the front door and I refused to turn back and open the laptop or grab paper and pen. I knew what would happen the moment I sat down, the words would disappear and the dialogue turn trite as I struggled to remember the exact phrasing, the position of noun, verb, adjective, adverb, and connecting words. It happened the same way every time I sat on the porcelain throne or stood in the shower with my hands full of lather when I washed my hair. Everything came clear. The next scene, the next transition, the next everything, and all disappeared the moment I attempted to grab them from the ether and give them substance on screen or paper. It wasn't writer's block; there was no block, no impediment. It was as though it was leaking out and being funneled somewhere other than where I needed it to go.

That's the way it has been for the past few months and my latest book languishes for lack of words.

I finally managed to finish the last chapter I'd begun and I continue to soldier on, but it should not be this difficult. I should be able to sit down and put the words together as I'm doing now, and sometimes it is that way; most of the time the words elude me, playing hide and seek or catch as catch can when I need a rousing game of Rover, Rover, come on over, except with words.

If this is post publishing blues, it's the longest stretch I've endured to date. I began and finished the next book about a month after publication of my first solo novel. It took two years to edit and rewrite, but that's the way it is when anything is done by committee. I even took a few months off to let things rest and my temper to cool from all the helpful input I kept getting, none of which was helpful or input anything other than spleen and venom. How does one use too many verbs anyway?

As I tried to figure all this out the same way I've always done -- by writing things out in my paper journals (pen and paper have always been the best way for me to think) -- it all came clear, or at least as clear as anything does in my experience. I needed to stop worrying that what went onto the page had to be perfect the first time around. If I learned anything from my last novel, it is that sometimes it takes time to make a book, even one that is self-published. I'd have to struggle through the trite dialogue and lackluster descriptions and uninspired plotting and just get on with it. The book would be finished and the real work (editing, rewriting) could begin, but not until I actually finished the book. I'm still adding bits and bobs to the last novel, which is a lot easier since I can upload the latest version without going through a lot of red tape and hem-hawing about. I can't move on to the next book until this one is finished.

It's hard sometimes because I have so many responsibilities and so much to do, to carve out a few hours, or even one hour, of writing time, as evidenced by the lack of daily posts here and on other blogs. Everything seems to pile up until I am at the bottom of a tottering heap about to be crushed by the sheer weight of it all. Like housework and the laundry, I have to stop trying to do it all at once and be content to do what I can when I can. Work, unfortunately, is non-negotiable. I have no choice in when I have to do that, but there is a little latitude with my other responsibilities, like reviewing books. I need a break and so I shall take one after I finish the latest box of goodies to be read and reviewed. I'll take a month or two off and focus on finishing the current book and beginning the next one. Yeah, that'll work.

In the end, it is all about focus, concentrating fully on one task at a time, instead of trying to work it all in and giving short shrift to the task at hand, and I've been wasting so much time in being indecisive and avoidance. Time to reassess. That's what I'm doing now: reassessing.

I used to have time for writing, but I carried a much smaller load in those days, and picked up a lot of rejections. I don't need to worry about rejection as long as I'm self-publishing, but I do need to concentrate on quality and getting things done. Time to do another mental spring cleaning and get rid of all the time wasters and detours.

That's what I will be doing. Cross your fingers that I don't decide that posting isn't one of the things to go.

No, it will probably end up being useless things like men and dating and cooking. It's amazing what a variety of frozen and precooked meals are available these days. And there are always sandwiches.

The words will come if I give them space and concentrate. That is all that is necessary -- that the words come. Build it -- or in this case spread out and make room -- and they will come.

Book Review Dos and Don'ts

There is something disheartening about reviews. Either a whole bunch of negative people review a book, most of whom have no sense of spelling, grammar, or punctuation, let alone story, plot, characterization, or few people write a review. They might email and tell the author the enjoyed the book and try to engage the author in a long, drawn out email conversation, which isn't productive and often means time lost writing, or they come up to an author at a con or book signing and gush about a book, never having taken the time to go online and review the book.

In this cyber age, it is important to put the remarks in writing -- and not just the negative remarks since that seems to be most of the kinds of reviews made. So many people with so many grudges. You can tell the author how much you liked a book, or books, but put it in writing. Amazon has the most visible and oft used review system of all the bookstores, but take the time to cut and paste your comments into B&N, Goodreads, or your favorite indie bookstore, like Powell's, all of which have good review forums.

One thing the online review process has created is a forum for the discontented and disgruntled to write their opinions and be heard. It's best if authors don't check the websites very often. It can be deflating, disheartening, and downright down casting if you've a thin skin or are new to the game. It seems people like to trash an author's work, but there are plenty of reviewers (and I use the term loosely) who have not a clue how to write or score a review, so I'll offer a couple of points.

First, if you liked the book but it had a few errors in formatting (check for an updated copy if it's a free review copy) and the story didn't turn out the way you wanted it to, and was well written, the least score should be 3 stars. Giving a writing 2 stars and saying how much you enjoyed the book is like sending mixed signals on a first date. Good thing the author can't drop a roofie in your drink and have their wicked way with you.

Secondly, if you loved the book and there were no errors or formatting problems, and the story was well written overall, give it 5 stars. The more errors or the more problems you had with the story, down grade by 1-star increments.

Two-star reviews are for those books that had merit but were not particularly well written, had too many formatting or spelling/grammar/punctuation errors and didn't come up to the mark.

One-star reviews are reserved for utter crap, including that the author couldn't write his or her way out of a paperback with a hole it and a sharp knife to hand.

Above all, be fair. Be honest. And don't take out your bad day on the author. It's not their fault.

If the book didn't end the way you wanted it to, don't take that out on the author either. It is the author's view and not yours. If you want a different ending, write one, but don't penalize the author by exercising your fits of pique with a low review when otherwise the book was good, or even excellent.

Reviewing is an art form that professionals learn how to do through years of experience and background in writing critiques. Reviewing in the cyberworld is somewhat different and mostly akin to a group of people talking about a book in a book club or among a group of friends. Keep that in mind. Very few reviewers are professionals on Amazon, but a few pros do slip through from time to time. Learn to write a substantive critique and keep it clean.

It's a tough world out there and Amazon reviews are the currency favored by the market right now. If you need help writing a review, ask someone with some experience, or write it the way you would tell it to a friend. Use a voice recorder if it helps.

Review books, preferably on days you're not having a major case of PMS, haven't fought with your boyfriend/girlfriend/boss/mother/father/siblings, got up on the right side of the bed, and didn't have car trouble or a bad hair day. Reviews are about the book, not your personal perils and petulance.

You can say whatever you like but do it with some class. It makes a difference.

Waiting for The Word

It's always a surprise to get up in the morning and see a big change in the sales reports. After putting Among Women on sale this week, I expected a little bump in sales, but a big bump was just a dream. Good thing I like to dream -- a lot -- although it would be better if I had read Joe Konrath's blog before I put the book on sale because I could have included a short synopsis and a bibliography as part of the author bio in the ebook version. I have rectified that oversight and the new version should be up and running today or tomorrow, depending on how quickly Amazon does their part. I heard it helps with sales.

The hardest part of writing isn't the writing, yet that is sometimes difficult because I procrastinate at times, it's waiting. Waiting for people I know who've mentioned they bought the book. I'd have been better off not knowing they had it and were planning to read it, or were actually reading it, because then I wouldn't wonder how long it takes to read a 250-page book and when I can expect to hear (or read) their review. It's better knowing that hundreds of people are buying the book and just aren't reviewing them. I don't have their phone numbers and don't know how to get to their houses so I can pin them down and ask what they thought. Better to live in ignorance and hope they're not like me and seldom write Amazon, B&N, or whatever bookstore they frequent reviews.

I did get a big surprise a few weeks ago with a totally unsolicited review from someone I've never met who read Among Women and really loved it. They said so. In print. Well, virtual print. Online. At Amazon. And gave it five stars. It was like a late birthday present or early Christmas gift. I enjoyed reading such good things and blushed a little at the kudos. I blush easily when someone compliments me, even if it's a compliment on my book.

But then there are friends and relatives who tell me they're reading my book and haven't said anything good, bad or indifferent about what they thought. I vacillate between wanting to ask and demanding to know what they thought. I'd send Guido and Vito out to have a conversation with them, but want to have someone who will send me a birthday card and remember me at holidays, so I don't. Instead, I suffer in silence -- well, silence in the sense that they don't know I'm fussing about it here in the silence of my room. If they don't know I'm fussing, am I fussing? Okay, so it's not as good as, if a tree falls in the forest and there's no one there to hear about it, does it make a sound? Or what is the sound of one hand clapping? Depends what the one hand is clapping against. A meaty thigh works really well and so does a hard surface like a desk or someone's attitude.

I'm not a patient person when it comes to wanting answers. I am patient otherwise since I haven't cornered anyone and demanded answers. I would love to ask, but don't want to damage the person or scare them into not buying my next book, the one I'm currently finishing up as soon as I finish this post.

Life would be so much easier if I could find a way to get people to add clickable links to the opinion center of their brain, preferably when they have gotten up on the right side of the bed and aren't having a rousing fight with their spouse, lover, mother, father, children, boss, or whoever is on their hit list this week. But then we'd be in a world where people were more like machines and less like softly fleshed readers who might be cajoled or interested in putting an author out of their misery with enough time and attention, before going off to read the next book, to type a hasty "good job" in response.

Well, as long as the readers keep buying and reading, it will have to be enough.

That is all. Disperse.

The Entitlement Perspective

Lately, I've been reading, and commenting, on posts about paid reviews. This seems to be a sore spot with most amateur writers, and maybe even some professional writers. Writers will gratefully and happily, albeit with a wince, depending on their financial situation, pay for editing, critiquing, publishing, book tour travel accommodations and charges, meals with their agent and even publishing, but they don't want to pay for reviews, believing it somehow makes the review suspect. The idea being that, if a review is paid for, it must be a ringer and the reviewer is paid to lie -- or at least fudge the review -- making the book sound better than it is. Not so.

I've been a professional (read: paid) reviewer for nearly eight years, not that I can make my rent payments on what I earn, but it comes close some months when I churn out a dozen reviews. I do not know the arrangement Authorlink has with authors requesting reviews, but I do get paid, and I get more than twice what I made starting out eight years ago. Do I give the authors unqualified rave reviews? Not on your tin type. I write balanced and honest reviews -- from my perspective -- and I don't play nice. I play fair and I'm civil, although with a rare snark with major typos and grammatical errors in a traditionally published book that do tend to rub me the wrong way. I mention them in one sentence without enumerating all the wrongs they have done to the printed word, but I'll write about my favorites (the worst examples) in another post. This post is about payment for services rendered, to whit: one book review.

Because there are so many free sites on the Internet, and because many writers starting out, and quite a few who are wealthy best sellers, are basically frugal (I did not say 'cheap'), they see reviews as a sideline that has nothing to do with the dollars and cents (and sense) necessary to get a professional writing career off the ground and keep it flying high. Reviews are important, but who buys a book based on reviews when there are so many other criteria for choosing (writer is a jerk, great advertising campaign, personal friend, relative, employee of writer, and, sometimes, if the author writes the kind of books you enjoy). There are always the bad boys and girls of publishing whose books sell because of the vicarious thrill of buying a bad boy or girl's books, and the burning curiosity to find out if they wrote about their misadventures and nefarious exploits.

Not true.

Okay, some of that is true, mostly about writers being cheap and thinking reviews are not nearly as important as a good editor or professional critique. And there is the rub, the one word that sets a reviewer apart from a reader, the word "professional." And that, my constant reader, is why reviewers shoud be paid. They have mouths to feed and bills to pay and they like to go out to dinner, the theater, or on the occasional vacation once a year.

Book reviewing is a business and businesses run on income, that income, in the reviewer's case, derived from the business of reading and reviewing books. It is an exchange of services. The author writes a book and contracts a professional reviewer to read and write their opinion on said book. This is called a contract and, like most contracts, is sealed with a handshake (often virtual) and an agreement for payment. You wouldn't buy a house and expect the banker to give you the house on your handshake, free and clear, without expecting some money in return. Neither should a reviewer.

"But," say authors, "the reviewer gets a free book worth money. Isn't that payment enough?"

If you've had to unload as many books as I have, you wouldn't see that as payment. I give them away and often donate them to libraries and Goodwill or the Volunteers of America. As far as I am concerned, most of the books I read and review are all right in the main, but not the kind of books I usually keep in my library. I reserve that limited shelf space for authors I follow and collect, although admittedly some authors I've found by having to review their work. That does not mean I don't expect my boss to forget to pay me. I expect payment as part of my contract with Authorlink as an employee.

Does that mean I give everyone a rave review? Not at all. In fact, I lost a friend over one of my reviews when I pointed out some of the problems, repetitions and mistakes in her book. I wasn't being vindictive, just writing what I thought of a book that was all right, but could have been much better. It's how I work.

Take a look at some of my reviews on The Celebrity Cafe or on Authorlink and you will see what I mean. I don't do nice. I don't do dressed up reviews. I don't smile when I have had to read utter crap and I do not ever sandbag my reviews. What I write is what I think and how I feel about the book. The author doesn't come into it at all, unless the book is one of a series I have followed and reviewed in the past, in which case I compare the character and writing to previous books. I am not above telling a writer, who may also be a good friend, that their book needs work and then go on to list the reasons why. Does that make my reviews suspect?

How about the reviews of Michiko Kakutani of the New York TImes or any of the professional reviewers in The New York Review of Books or Kirkus Reviews? Are their reviews suddenly suspect because you now know they are paid? What did you think they did up in their ivory towers, knit? The New York Times, NYRB, and Kirkus pay their employees to write reviews. That is their job. Like editors, book doctors, agents, publishers, and everyone else in the publishing business, or self-publishing business, book reviewers are professionals and should be paid for their services. They may do a book review as a favor for a friend, but you are taking up their time and expecting to make use of their expertise, so it is just business to pay them. Just because a reviewer doesn't work for a newspaper or a recognized review source doesn't mean they don't deserve your respect -- and your money. People work and people get paid. That is just business.

Good reviewers, like any good professional, are worth their weight in gold -- even when they say your book needs work or doesn't quite hit the mark. Not everyone will like every book you write, or even every book they read, but that is to be expected. Paying for a review is like paying someone to critique your work and put it in shape for publication. You may get a kudos and a pat on the back or you may get slammed. You pays for yo' ticket and you takes yo' chances. Nothing in life is guaranteed, as any published author will tell you. Don't ignore the contribution a professional makes to your success -- and that goes for reviewers, too.

You can get free reviews from several web sites, Goodreads, and Amazon, or from any reader at a hundred different book stores, but a professional review is far above what you get with the average reader. It is worth more in terms of proof that you did a good job and in terms of cost. If you want the best, you will have to pay the best. It's that simple.

While the readers count -- and they count a lot towards popularity of an author's work -- it is the professional review that lets you know you have arrived and all your hard work has paid off. A professional reviewer will also tell you where you went wrong and what could have been done better. So will some educated and opinionated readers. A professional review is in essence a mini-critique of your work. Don't get on the bad side of karma. If you want professional, pay for professional. If you want just anyone's opinion of your book, save your money and hope you can entice, cajole and motivate the average reader to write a review of your work that makes sense and highlights your book's good points.

You're entitled to the best; pay for it. Everything else is a crap shoot.

No, Not That!

There are times when an author's life is not interesting, usually when editing and rewriting endlessly to make a book just right. I think of Goldilocks and what having everything just right did for her and I cringe. It's hard for a perfectionist to get past the need to keep tweaking a book. An error might have gotten through numerous edits, even from someone else's eyes, and when they pop up later, usually after the book has gone to print, the groan and gnashing of teeth can be heard at least half a continent away, if not all the way to the next continent and beyond. At least with ebooks it's easier to change things and upload the new version, and somewhat easier with print versions as long as you self-published and have already gotten through the first print run, which usually isn't all that big a deal. There is, of course, the issue of cost because printers tend to charge you when you make too many changes and approve the proof. Into every life and all that.

I suppose the worst thing to deal with is bad reviews. I expect them. One reviewer actually emailed me to tell me she couldn't get into the book and therefore would not publish a review. I heaved a hearty sigh of relief since any review she would have written would have been horrible. I can handle bad reviews if someone actually bought the book, but I am ready to ignore pointedly any bad reviews from people who got a book for free. After all, I review books and there are times when I have to write bad reviews, always doing my best to point out something positive, even if it's a nice font. It's something nice, so give me a break. I don't do cleaned up reviews. You pays yo' money and takes yo' chances. I expect to get what I give so frequently.

However, when a bad review seems to have been written about your book that in no way resembles your book, it's hard to forgive and forget. Mostly, it's hard to forget. It haunts you in the night and creeps up on you unawares at the worst possible moments, like in bed with your husband/boyfriend/lover/whatever. You sit up and scream (mostly just scream), "What book did s/he read?" It takes all of one's might and discipline not to hunt the person down and demand an explanation and a diagram with colored markers and bullet points.

Too many authors have gone head-to-head with reviewers in wanting to know why and where and how dare they. It's a bad idea that ends in tears and public ridicule the likes of which one can only imagine given the Internet and the speed at which ugly gossip flies. It's best to take a no comment stance as though walking up the stairs to jail or to the courthouse where you're being arraigned for heinous acts against humanity -- and wearing fur. This is a wired world where everything is connected. Even if you make a snide comment in Outer Mongolia below your breath, someone will hear you, snap a picture on their phone and record the video to show on You Tube where someone will mention it to someone else and in a matter of nanoseconds you have gone viral with a big red sign painted on your forehead that reads "IDIOT." There is such a thing as bad press when there are too many cameras, phones, video recorders, and other devices to foil any attempts at denial, and the nonchalant (not that it's too late) shrug of the shoulders or a saucy wink will not make the situation better.

You have become a joke. An obsessive author with delusions of adequacy. And your books will be avoided -- by most people who don't want to be associated with someone who can't keep their professional cool. Not a good idea at all. Avoid at all costs.

I look at reviews, all reviews, and smile when they're good, frown a little (makes wrinkles) when they are marginal, and hide all sharp objects and projectile firing instruments just in case the reviewer crosses my path at a convention or at the grocery store where I've tracked him (or her) to have a quiet word.

When it happens to you -- and it will happen eventually -- smile and find something else to do, like write another book and give more people more chances to sling mud and fire pot shots at your children books. Keeping busy is a good thing. I think that's where the old adage, Idle hands are the devil's workshop, came from. It must have been an author out to scalp, torture and dismember someone who gave a bad review.