I wrote a book. Edit upon edit went into it. I hired a professional editor, a great editor, to refine it. (That’s you, Jacqueline Snider.) When it was complete, I was excited, proud, nervous and anxious to release it. Would anyone like it? Was I really an author? I felt exposed for the first time in my life.
Within a few weeks, I had my first review, a five-star well-written review. Then another four-star, followed by another five-star. Still, I remained apprehensive, expecting the other shoe to drop. Months went by with no other review posted.
Last week, an anonymous user gave me a one-star. Nothing was written about the book to let me know why they did not like it, just that one-star rating. My stomach dropped. Would more follow. I stressed over it. It invaded my mind at the most inopportune moments. I told no one. Every day, I checked my sites dreading finding another negative review.
Then, something happened. The second book in the series started selling. Not massive sales, but it was selling. Whoever this person was, who gave me a one-star, may not have liked what they read, but others did. Why else would they be buying book two?
I have stopped looking for reviews on my book. At least for now. Realizing that not everyone will like what I wrote, that even some well-established authors have had negative reviews, has calmed my anxiety. I’ll just keep writing. It is after all what I love to do.