My attitude towards reviews has been that most of the good ratings are fake, and about half of bad ratings are written by idiots and/or assholes. You must admit that you often have to read between the lines when it comes to reviews, because when some frothing-at-the-mouth twilight vampire harry potter porn fan fiction troll screams that “Gravity’s Rainbow” was an indecipherable turd, well, you need to interpret that a little bit. Furthermore, I’ve taken a fair amount of comfort and derived a fair amount of success from the notion that, in general, the opinions of other people are worth slightly less than microwaved boogers. Life is difficult enough without worrying about what some faceless meat burrito thinks of my hopes and dreams. I’m on a mission to do what I do and you can help push the cart or you can get out of the way.
And then I got the first review ever for my novel. It was a good review, and I had to swallow back some quiet tears of vindication because like all writers, I slaved over that damned book, and some significant tracts of my heart are the soil from which it was birthed. And it made me consider my often Terminator robot level of consideration for other people’s opinions. Maybe I’m just so self-delusional that your opinion of me is pig-vomit unless you like me, in which case you are a scholar and a gentleman. I hope that isn’t true, because then I would be an ass hat.
Am I an ass hat? It’s possible [likely]. Maybe it just feels good to be told once and a while that all the crazy things you love and obsess over are actually cool.
So to the guy who left that review, thank you from the bottom of my heart. If you had told me it stunk like oven-baked cat urine, it would not have dissuaded me from my artistic endeavors, but your approval has added some heat to the indomitable fire of my internal rocket engine. I appreciate your appreciation, and I value what you think even though I don’t care what anyone thinks.