When People Think Your Baby is Ugly

I’m not talking about your human baby. That would be mean. All babies are cute.

Isn’t he ADORABLE? And so well behaved!

I’m talking about your book baby. Okay, so this post is geared towards the writers out there. I am in the 2020 Debuts group on Facebook and one thing I’ve heard several times over the year is…”Whatever you do, don’t go in the basement.” Scratch that. It was, “Whatever you do, don’t read your Goodreads reviews.”

I am sorry, but I didn’t get into writing for the money. I write because I like to tell stories and I love making a connection with a reader. If a book never gets read by someone, what’s the point? And I don’t know about you, but I am more curious than a five year old kid on Christmas Eve. I want to know what people think, even if it’s not exactly complimentary. So, yeah. I read reviews. Some are wonderful and my fragile little writer ego is boosted for about an hour.

But then… then I’ll come across the inevitable 1 Star rating with no explanation. Purely hypothetical, but sometimes you get one from the founder of a book club and well, it’s very awkward when you show up to discuss your staggering work of mediocre oatmeal mush with the group.

And then sometimes, you get a 1 Star review that is so thorough, so brilliant in its style and execution that there is nothing left to do but share it with the world (or the 12 readers of this blog). Inspired by celebrities reading mean tweets, I decided that it’s about time that I got to share in the fun!

Other writers, I hope you will join me in this celebration that simply illustrates the subjective nature of our art form.

So, without further ado, I give you my one star review. (I’m sure there will be more, but for now, this will have to suffice.)

See? I didn’t burst into flames or anything. It’s just one person’s opinion and honestly, it is just as relevant as every other review. Plus, it contributes to the algorithms of discoverability, so it’s all good.

Here’s my call to action, folks. If you’ve read Forever 51 or Death Becomes Us, please write a review. It can be short, sweet, not so sweet or whatever. I APPRECIATE it all.

Not Just One, but TWO Events Happening this week!

I will keep this short and sweet since we all seem to have the attention span of teething toddlers. I have two Facebook events coming up this week. On Thursday, I will be talking with C. Michael Morrison about vampires, menopause and debuting during a pandemic. To lure you to this event, I will be giving away some vampire swag and a signed copy of Forever 51 to those that comment or ask questions. Tell your vampire loving friends!

On Saturday, I am going back to my little hosting gig for the Five Minute Reads. It’s like speed dating with debut authors. It’s fast, it’s fun and best of all, it’s free! Please join us!

Good Grief?

In 2008, I went to Goucher College to give myself permission to write. Because I’m a people pleaser, who ironically tries to avoid most people, I wrote my thesis based on an accidental call to a funeral home to please my mentor. (Hi Diana!) At 40, I didn’t have a lot of experience with death, but after exploring death professions for two years, I realized that it wasn’t death so much that I feared, it was grief. Stuffing unpleasant/uncomfortable feelings was my go-to coping mechanism, but I knew instinctively that the mighty giant of grief awaited around the corner and there was no way I would be able to stuff that shit. (Sorry, Diana, but sometimes “shit” is the best word.)

“If you’ve loved a lot, you’re going to grieve a lot.” Kati Bachman

It wasn’t just my own grief that I feared, it was also your grief. As I mentioned above, I avoid people. I’m an introvert (INFP if you’re into Myers Briggs) with social anxiety. You are more likely to find me at your (pre-Covid) soiree hiding in a corner playing with your dog than standing at the punchbowl making small talk with a bunch of strangers. (And that’s if I actually attend your party.) So, prior to writing about death, if we were coworkers and I found out that your mom died, I would avoid you.

One, because I didn’t know what to say to you to fix your grief. I have since discovered that there are no words to “fix” someone’s grief but avoiding people who are grieving has the unfortunate side effect of making that person feel like they are contagious or that what they are going through is wrong. Grief is not wrong. It’s natural. And I don’t know if you know this or not, but SPOILER ALERT: we are all going to die. People we love will die. Even people we don’t like will die. And right now, a lot of people are dying.

Two, because I didn’t want to make you feel worse by bringing up the death of the person that you loved. Which is ridiculous the more I think about it. You/I already feel bad. If I avoid talking about the pink elephant that I know is there, and you know is there, I imply that you need to get over this thing by yourself. And quickly. Like before next week so we can all get back to talking about Baby Yoda, the true meaning of covfefe (I think it’s Covid fatigue. Webster’s, call me!) or this ridiculously awful year.

My debut novel, Forever 51, came out this week and I have experienced everything from elation to existential dread. Wonderful things have been happening with the book, but I am also sad and weepy and it sucks. (Diana, I did refrain from using another expletive in that sentence.) I want to call my mom, but since that isn’t possible, talking/writing about my grief will have to do.

For now.