Kirkus Reviews says my book is “A winsome, charming memoir of personal discovery.” I think that’s worthy of being set in italics in the sidebar! My publisher sent me the review last week. Every time I say the phrase “my publisher” I get the same bizarre feeling I did when buying alcohol at 21. I have to keep reminding myself that yes, I really do have a publisher, just like I had to keep telling myself that yes, I could legally buy alcohol now.
I haven’t figured out what my relationship with reviews is going to be yet. I want to say I won’t start googling my name every day looking for reviews, but I also tell myself I’m not going to eat the entire bowl of pudding. I hope other people will enjoy my book and find truth in it, but right now it’s enough for me that I simply wrote a book. Seriously. None of that “I’m happy just to be nominated” bullshit. It’s the satisfaction that I found in completing the work that gives me a buzz. It’s a bonus that I’m happy with the way it turned out.
Anyone want to place money on how long it takes for a negative reviewer to call my book half-assed? Hopefully being a blogger has toughened me up for any less than positive comments.
