When it Stops Hurting, On Reviews

I’m stunned. I don’t think it necessarily that the meds are working overtime today, or that I like Fridays.

I was cruising around the Web and realized I hadn’t visited a certain publisher’s loop in a while. I saw a few reviews for my books. They were fine, but the number of stars/hearts/fleur-de-lis, whatever they were, were sort of average. That used to pain me to no end. I’d whine, “The Reviewer seemed to like it, what the hell kind of score is that?”

Today, I read the reviews, kinda shrugged, and thought, “those are good.” What’s happened? I think I’ve crossed into some new phase of writing. Where I actually “get” in a very real way that a review is one person’s opinion. These weren’t reviews for the Great American Novel, but for Wizard of Time, an erotic comedy fantasy novella. The reviewers said it was funny, and that they enjoyed it. It’s not that my standards have dropped, it’s that my lebensangst seems to have dropped. I’ve knocked myself around over a few things recently, and it taught me to keep my eye on the bigger picture. How about you? Anyone else feel their hackles unhackling recently?


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