I have come to the most unsettling realization that I am apologetic about my work. I see a positive five star review and I'm thrilled, but deep down those never feel real. Then I read a one or two star and I nod along to the review. "Yes, it IS choppy." "Yes, I should have had Ari do X or Y or Z." "Yes, damn, I wish I could have fixed that." See, I hate one and two star reviews, but it's not because they make me mad. They make me sad for the reader. I hate that I didn't produce something that he or she enjoyed. I hate that they feel their time was wasted. But I can't control whether or not that person enjoys my books. See, I am not one of those writers that ever wants to lash out at a reviewer, good or bad, because I tend to think my books are still unfinished. And the truth is, they are. We are put on extreme deadlines in publishing. This means that I may have two weeks to edit something that should take two months. I may have hours to
believer in the make-believe (aka AUTHOR)