Image: Michal Jarmoluk 

Book reviews hold a lot of power--and I'm not sure how many readers realize just how much. I mean the debate over whether reviews sell books rages on. Many people will say they do for certain, while others argue that most reviews can no longer be trusted as legit anymore, so what are they worth? 

Sales aside, reviews can play a huge role in an author's life. I am forever fascinated about how they play with my mood. I'm a logical enough person that I know one mediocre review amid a bunch of glowing ones is more a matter of a reader's taste rather than the caliber of my work. It still hurts, though, One minute I'm soaring, flying high over readers who clearly 'get' my characters. One three-star review later and I'm the latest victim on Duck Dynasty. I can only imagine the effect on a writer with far less self esteem. 

Sure, reviews can teach an author where they might be going wrong--and when a risky new idea was worth the risk. I write in different genres, so I've learned to expect the highs and lows, the five- and one-star reviews. Still, the lows bite--until I talk myself through my mantra of what the variety really means.

I tell myself the following:
Unless your work is riddled with typos and poor execution, reviews demonstrate the beautiful diversity of literature. Not only do authors create art that takes us down different paths, but readers show us where they are willing to go. It's why I love independent publishing. There is no gatekeeper telling authors what people want to read. No mild form of censorship that inadvertently tells readers what they may read. Yes, if you want to make money, you need to listen to the market. If you simply want to touch minds like your own, though, it's positively beautiful to find a handful of readers--no matter how small--who appreciate your work. 

Writing in what is a new genre for me--contemporary/erotic romance--has been a profound experience. Sort of feels like walking outside naked. So the reviews--good, bad, or meh--have all the more power. All I need is someone to shout, "you wrote smut scenes!" at me instead of the super feedback I've had so far, and I'm running for the nearest bush. It was bad enough that one reviewer didn't understand why the two main characters were together. Why? Other readers got it. Accepted it. Loved it! And once again, I remind myself that my readers are as different from each other as I set out to be as an author. Meh reviews are a chance authors take. They are also a reminder that if one gets nothing but five stars from every reader...well, then perhaps the author isn't saying or doing anything new ... isn't taking chances. And where is the fun in that?

So I'm welcoming reviews .... any and all! And I'm grateful for all of them, simply because someone took the chance on reading my work. For those considering a read, Jigsaw Hearts is still at .99 in ebook and will return to 2.99 after the first novella continuing Ren and Galen's story goes to press.

I used to pride myself on using people, places, and memories as fodder for my stories. Naturally, there's nothing wrong with that. I love looking at a character I created out of spare parts--say the quirky laughter of a friend, plus the body of a cousin, the tremendous empathy I have always loved in someone I no longer knew. It's beautiful to take the vistas, climate, and venues of different locales and create a new one. There's a certain satisfaction in pulling beloved bits and pieces together and making something special out of them.
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Still, I wondered how some authors wrote about characters they say simply came knocking. Nothing could have prepared me for the day two such characters arrived on the doorstep of my imagination. Whoa! They showed up pretty much complete in terms of pasts, traits, and emotional scarring. I had no real world experiences--and I mean none--involving the sorts of lives they had lived. Still, they were begging me to spin some sort of tale for them to star in. They wouldn't leave my head.

And I had the best time. They brought me out of my writing shell--surely, I could never write the private scenes they wanted me to write. No way would I know how to set the effects of their emotional scars on a page; I had been fairly lucky in my own life to avoid such tragedies.

Yet there they were ... Ren Hayden and Galen Zabriese, and a host of other characters who came along for the ride. But would my work pass the final test? Had I made them real to the reader? Had I placed them in a story worth reading? Had writing sex scenes for the first time been a mistake? 

With reviews finally coming in, I can say I think I nailed it. But then I have to wonder if I can take the credit. I mean, the weirdest part about having characters simply pop into your head is ... you never know who really created them!