It has been well said that an author who expects results from a first novel is in a position similar to that of a man who drops a rose petal down the Grand Canyon of Arizona and listens for the echo. – Cocktail Time by P.G. Wodehouse
Silence. It can be a wonderful thing. But sometimes, it’s the most terrible thing there is. Getting genuine, honest reviews of my writing has been (and continues to be) an uphill battle. I don’t believe in paying for them or faking them. I’ve refused to give in and do what other authors are doing to jump-start their sales: hiring people on Fiverr or creating dummy accounts to generate glowing 5-star reviews of their work. Why? Because if you had to cheat, you didn’t really win.
I’ve seen enough books with half a dozen or more reviews, most or all of them being perfect scores, to know that it doesn’t feel good to be one of the authors trying to make it on merit while people are bilking their way up the ladder.
I will not lie to you. I have been tempted.
I have also been reminded of the old mantra about sprints vs. marathons on numerous occasions. It isn’t my desire to come across as bitter or impatient – who wants to get cozy with those adjectives? – but I would almost rather have people tell me, “Hey, this is the worst. It’s just complete, absolute garbage,” than to have hundreds or thousands of people read my work and not care one way or the other. At least if I know I’m doing something terrible, I can work at it.
I’m beginning to see the fruits of my labor, but the going is tough. I’m writing every day and, as an update to my last post, outlining has definitely provided the momentum I needed to write faster. I’ve been writing Children of the Wastes twice as fast as I wrote The Infernal Lands. I’ve got stories to tell, dag-gummit, even if no one reads them (or likes them).
Agreed. Especially when all those 5 star reviews contain only a single line of text in broken English, such as, “This book good,” or, “Many reads. Much enjoy.” Not too hard to figure out…
For that reason, I invoke the words of the mighty Kansas who once said, “Carry on, my wayward son.”
Although you are neither wayword nor my son.
But you get the idea.