Tuesday, December 31, 2013

Happy New Years - may all your dreams come true in 2014!!



I’ve just had the most wonderful week and I wanted to share it with you all. My son came and spent 7 days with my husband and myself. Also, my niece arrived with her family of five. Now this niece is as close to us as if she were our daughter and therefore she is loved and accepted in our family as our little girl - who just happens to be middle-aged. Her teenagers, who are like our grandkids, make our world so much richer especially during this time of the year.

We had the yearly exhilarating, hysterically funny “Minute-to-win-it” spree where the kids have to perform certain feats in order to win a few extra bucks for Christmas. Then we had a mall crawl where they could spend said monies. Went to the movies and had to leave because none of us checked to see that it was X-rated. Spent some of the time walking the beaches nearby since the ocean is always a huge draw.
 
Through these days, we ate too much rich, decadent, delicious, prepared-every-year food like shortbread, butter tarts, perogies, etc, etc, that tomorrow will go into the freezer to be hidden because, as usual, the diet for the new year starts then….gulp!  

Last night, we had the annual Barbour's "Cook-off". Everyone had to put in $5 and then team up to prepare a dish we’d never made before and present it to the “JUDGE” (hubby is, and always has been, the family cook and it’s our way to give him a break from the kitchen once a year). **The smoke-flavored bacon wrapped scallops won and made two young guys strut for the rest of the evening.

Today, everyone scattered in different directions leaving the house empty and very quiet. Just us two retirees discussing  how wonderful the week had tuned out and how fortunate we are to have this wonderful family.

It was the perfect way to end the old year and begin the new. I look forward to what the next twelve months will bring. I mean that sincerely.

So, I’d like to take this time to thank everyone for the wonderful support you’ve shown me during this past year. It’s been a time of learning, moving forward and discovery that makes me really happy to get out of bed every morning. Meeting up with such caring friends like you during many of my days has me thanking God for you who are my blessings.

May you all dream big and have those dreams come true!! Happy New Year!!

Love Mimi

Sunday, December 22, 2013

Special Moments!!




**I've sent this Christmas blog out for the last few years and wanted to do the same again this year since the message will never get old.**



This is the time of the year when we all become so busy that we sometimes forget what this season is about. Recently, I received an e-mail that clutched at me, and made me take notice. It was about a violinist playing his instrument in the Washington, DC Metro Station. During the time he played, approximately 2,000 people went through the area, most of them on their way to work. One or two stopped to listen for a short while, an older man the longest. A few people threw money, but the ones who acknowledged him the most were the little ones with busy parents who forced them along so they couldn’t stay and listen.
 

After 1 hour he finished playing and silence took over, no applause, no recognition and a very few dollars for his trouble. No one knew that this man called Joshua Bell was one of the greatest violinists in the world, who played some of the most intricate pieces ever written for a violin, and this day he played on an instrument worth $3.5 million dollars. 
 

The Washington Post had organized this experiment to answer this question. In a commonplace environment, at an inappropriate hour, do we perceive beauty and stop to appreciate it? It raised the uncertainty - if we do not have a moment to stop and listen to one of the world’s best musicians, playing some of the finest music ever written, on one of the most beautiful instruments ever made - how many other things are we missing?

 
The thought scares me a little. I get so caught up in my writing, editing, promoting, and blogging - in fact - all the many time consuming tasks most authors have, that I must admit, it’s easy to let the world float on by.

 
But should we? And at this time of the year especially? So my request to all you wonderful people is to stop for a while, enjoy the special moments the season of Yuletide brings us and spoil yourself with pleasures and joy…. ..and lots of chocolate!
 

Merry Christmas! Have a wonderful season full of friends, warmth and affection!

Hugs & Love   Mimi

 

 

Friday, December 20, 2013

Is YOUR work perfect? Well is it?? #amwriting #indie



 

I just have to write this blog today. I want to warn those of you who think your work is spotless, no errors, no spelling mistakes, perfection - that you could be fooling yourself. Take me for instance - I was positive that the books I’ve released were in the best shape I could get them.

Know what? It isn’t so. I decided to reread one of my series and you’ll never guess what I found?

You got it!

Crazy mistakes that are so easy to bypass that quite a few of us actually did. Name changes so slight – maybe one letter – easy to miss but unacceptable.  Missing words that most eyes would pass over. But not everyone’s.  Spelling mistakes that might be the difference between US grammar to Canadian but should at least be uniform. I thought I knew most of them – seems I don’t. And other grammar don’ts that I did!!
If you're like me and rely on your editors, that might not be such a good idea. After all, they can be having a bad day or maybe when you make the changes they suggest, another blunder comes up and no-one notices. To top it off, I have a fantastic proof-reader and she sent me corrections. Yeah - but they got to me during a particularly busy time and I thought - can't be that bad. Then I let the chance go by and never got back into making her suggested changes. How dumb is that??

I understand that these problems don’t make the story any less interesting or exciting but they do annoy, and can be the difference between getting a 3 star review versus a 5 star one.
I mean, I know myself when I’m deep into the plot and totally enjoying the rhythm and a blaring spelling error trips me up. It kinda slows my pace, stops me for a few seconds while I register it. I guess if it happens to me, it will to others.

I know many folks don’t really care, some don’t even notice and others just shrug and keep reading. But there are those who, like me, are authors – or teachers – or laymen editors and they deserve the best book that it’s possible for us to publish.

I will do my best to make certain all my work is clean from now on and will also go back and double-check some of the older work just to be sure. Starting with the Vegas books!! The reviewers tried to warn me – I thought, mistakenly, I had it covered. Something niggled at me, the last review I saw got to me and I began reading them again last night.  OMG!!

So… we can’t be too careful. After all, these are our babies we’re dressing up and releasing to the world. They deserve the best chance we can give them in order to succeed.

Rite??
 
Do any of you sometimes wonder - what the hell have I gotten myself into, thinking I'm a real author???
 ******
 
 

 
 

 

 

Wednesday, December 18, 2013

Secrets from Caleb Pirtle III – a superb author of Fictionalized History!


***It’s an honor to introduce you to an author who has left me amazed and humbled. His book, Secrets of the Dead, is a masterpiece of Fictionalized History which lifted me from my easy, comfortable, modern life and plunged me into the terror-filled hearts and souls of the people in his story. It was gruesome and horrific because the events described were an abomination of human tragedy. If you’re a lover of history, this book is perfect for you. The characters will haunt you… Maybe that’s as it should be.

 

 

I don’t live in the past. But my mind wanders there quite often, and my imagination hardly ever wants to leave.

Why? I asked myself.

Maybe, it’s because I’m bored with the present, I told myself.

Life has its hardships still. Life has its conflicts still.

But life is too easy for fiction.

 

Need to go cross-country? Grab a plane.

Car broke down in the middle of the desert? Call AAA roadside assistance.

Scared on a lonely street in the middle of the night? Fish out a cell phone.

Someone following you? Call 9-1-1.

Where is the fear?

Where is the panic?

Where is the threat?’

Where is the suspense?

For me, it’s all buried somewhere in the dark and murky shadows of the past, which is why my last two published novels have been set during the early days of World War II, when villains wore the faces of evil, and we never forgot the way they looked or the travesties they committed, and we knew who our enemies were.

 

As I wrote in Secrets of the Dead:

          The German’s eyes were bright and beginning to dilate. A sudden rush of unbridled adrenaline had shot through his veins. His hands were trembling. He had killed from afar. He had hidden in trenches and behind hedgerows and shot down soldiers who had no names and no faces, only forms marching across an empty field.

          Now he must kill face to face.

          Now he must kill close enough to smell the garlic on the dying man’s breath.

          Now he must kill close enough to watch life depart from a man’s eyes.

          He hesitated.

          A man who hesitates always dies long before his appointed time.

 

It was a thriller that could not have been set during any other period of history.

For those under forty, it might well be regarded as historical fiction.

But for those of us who remember World War II, even as young children, the events, the memories, the fears are still as vivid as if they had happened yesterday. For us, it’s not history at all. It is a black and white snapshot of our lives, taken when the world was black and white with no gray lines to smear the two.

 

I can still remember our family gathered around the radio at night, listening to Edward R. Murrow reporting from the bombed out streets of London. Walter Winchell’s coming on each evening saying, Good Evening Mr. and Mrs. America and all ships at sea, and Gabriel Heatter signing on with, There’s good news tonight, no matter how bad the news might be.

 

I was asked a month or so ago whether or not I wrote historical fiction. I had never thought about it, but I don’t think I do. It is fiction about the past. The events are real, the places are real, the basic conflicts are real, and some of the major players are real.

But the story is a lie. The story is fiction.

It didn’t happen.

It could have.

But it didn’t.

“No,” I said, “I don’t write historical fiction. I write fictionalized history.”

“What’s the difference?” I was asked.

“Historical fiction is written to satisfy professors and historians,” I said. “I simply write novels about times, places, and characters that I would like to read.”

“But they’re in the past,” he said.

I smiled.

“They weren’t when I lived them,” I said.

 

 

 

***Read my 5-star review for Secrets of the dead here.


Caleb’s third novel of this series "An Ambrose Lincoln Novel" is called Night Side of Dark and he’s working on it now - to be released soon.
 
 
Visit his website: Venture Galleries
 
Follow him on Twitter @ventgalleries
 
Follow him on Facebook

 

 

Sunday, December 15, 2013

'TWINTER' - V. Knox's paranormal, pre-teen mystery to lure your kids into reading!! #amazon


~~~~~

***Today, I want to introduce a very talented lady, Veronica Knox. She's started a new series for the pre-teens and from what I've seen here, it'll be magical!! After I finished reading the blurb, a notion popped into my head. At this age, I thought Nancy Drew was adventure!!!




Part one of a time-slip fantasy series by V Knox
 
 
 




‘TWINTER – the first portal’

~ V Knox
 

 Ghosts, Time-travel, a Dozen Terrible Secrets,

and a Curse of Snow

Twelve-year-old twins, Kit (a keen scientist) and Bash (a girl with a miraculous ‘green thumb’ and a flair for elaborate words) are excited to be moving from a noisy city to Bede Hall, their eccentric grandmother’s crumbling stately home, set in the sleepy English countryside.

With all that’s gone horribly wrong for a year, it’s about time life got back on a positive track. Moving to a grand old mansion seems the answer that promises an adventure of endless exploration and freedom. Bash can create the garden of her dreams and Kit has an abandoned space to set up his own laboratory.

Instead, they begin to uncover the supernatural secrets of a mysterious village, meet the ghost of Bede Hall and some unexpected life-forms, some of whom, are just as haunted as the presence of the hapless young girl trapped in the attic.

It’s all ‘about time’ when the twins discover a portal to the future. Can they also travel to the past and unravel the truths of natural history in order to save the planet from a natural disaster? The answers lie in Ancient Egypt, but only time will surrender its hidden knowledge.

The responsibility of holding the future of the world in the twin’s hands is as bizarre as their grandmother’s magic snow globe. 

 

An excerpt:

Chapter one

 

 

THE MUMMY’S CURSE

 

It was the first day of August, but a thin slick of ice defied the blistering heat of summer and

crept over the sundial’s weathered face. The rest of the garden grew perfectly wild the way

an abandoned landscape should.

   The over-excited little ghost was undaunted as she rubbed a small hole in the window frost

and peered down. She saw the same things she always did: a marble sundial leaning slightly towards the stables, a maze that looked like a giant green puzzle, and a bright carpet of flowers that shimmered like jewels. Beyond them, a topiary sphinx basked under a blazing sun.

   For a moment, the ghost-child sensed the delightful fragrance of carnations that wafted up to the attic from below, and she allowed herself to feel the thrill of anticipation at the thought of meeting her friends again, but the garden was deserted. Her eyes searched in vain for a familiar figure until snowflakes obscured her view.

   For the second year in a row no-one had come. Sadly, she melted back into her wintry room. Haunting, as she knew only too well, was mostly a tedious business.

 

Other than a spectacular address and two last names, which made them sound rather glamorous, nothing about the twins, Kit and Bash Stratford-Smyth (that rhymes with myth) was extraordinary. Except, that is, for their ability to know what each other was thinking... and the ghost of a little girl in their grandmother’s deserted stately home.

   But the ghost belonged to Bede Hall and the month of August, and for the moment, Bede Hall belonged to no-one.

   The three-hundred-acre estate of Bede Hall had been on the market for two years with only one interested party, but last month the deal had unexpectedly fallen through for unknown reasons, and with the market for large stately homes slow at the best of times, it looked as though it wasn’t going to sell anytime soon.

   The old lady and the great estate languished restlessly in empty parallel states of unrest while its ghost pined, expecting another lonely summer.  It was only June.

_

Kit stood in the center of an Egyptian tomb and directed his sister’s attention away from the sad sight of three skeletons jumbled together in a discarded heap of bones.

   “It’s all right; they’re safe now,” he comforted, but his voice couldn’t reach her.

   Bash should have known something terrible was about to happen because she’d woken from a disturbing dream with skeletons chasing her. She’d arisen with a wobbly feeling in her legs as if she was a skeleton herself. Her brother Kit felt uneasy too, but then, sharing feelings was fairly normal for twins.

   “It was awful,” she told Kit, “I was trapped in a dark room. The air was all musty and I think there were bats because I could hear them squealing, and something was crawling in my hair. It felt like the fingers of the skeletons. I couldn’t breathe.”

   “It’s only nerves,” Kit reassured her, “you’re just worried about the science exam,” but he felt anxious too. He hadn’t wanted to alarm his sister, but he’d had the exact same dream.

 

The eleven-year-old twins were so un-extraordinary it was rather tricky for new acquaintances to describe them. They were of average height, neither fat nor thin, and had brown hair and brown eyes. They were never ‘alike as two peas in a pod,’ but they did share the same cheery enthusiasm and infectious good nature.

   Kit, short for Christopher, was exceptionally curious about everything, and his sister Bash, short for Bathsheba, was single-mindedly devoted to interesting words and anything

to do with gardens. The best thing one could say about them was that they were the sort of people you’d want for a friend, however; other than tongue-in-cheek, this could not be said about

their older brother, Rupert.

 

The twins dressed for school, and each had a soft-boiled egg for breakfast with bread and butter cut into ‘soldiers.’ Bash ate hers with her science textbook open, her eyes desperately scanning the pages, and barely tasted her food. Kit was looking forward to acing another test on his

favorite subject, and savoured the salty taste of the bread strips dipped into the runny yolk. He even polished off two slices of toast spread with marmalade, and, as always, he cut his toast into several isosceles triangles, leaving one of them plain for their lanky deerhound, Jack.

   The open window brought the sounds of early morning traffic drifting into the cosy kitchen the same way it always did. It was unusually bleak for the last day of June, with the sort of grey sky that promised drizzly rain all day. Already the first drops were spattering the pavement below.

   Pigeon, their father’s ancient parrot, resumed sharpening his yellow beak on a new cuttlebone after loudly reproaching the family’s ginger cat, Feathers, for nibbling a plant.

   It was always unnerving when Pigeon mimicked someone’s voice, but with the nightmare fading, nothing unusual warned the twins that a message would bring their safe world tumbling

down like a pyramid made of sand.

   Feathers continued to paw the pot of mint growing on the windowsill hoping it would turn into its catnip cousin, while Jack kept his unblinking eye on Kit’s toast with the anticipation only a dog can know of a treat from a human’s plate.

   Mrs. S sipped her tea, and smiled happily as she opened the letter with the foreign-looking stamp which arrived in the morning post.

   “It looks like your father will be home soon,” she said, reading. “His dig is over for the summer. He writes that the June heat is quite unbearable, so the authorities are shutting

things down early this year. He sends his love and some pictures of the pyramids.”

   “At least someone is having sunny weather,” Kit said.

   “Rain is good for the gardens,” Bash added, tilting her head to search for a word that momentarily escaped her. “I find it... invigorating.”

   The twins were looking forward to their summer holiday, but sadly they were no longer spending their school breaks at Bede Hall. For two years their grandmother, Lady Nan, had been

half-asleep, fading away in ‘The Beehive Nursing Home,’ no longer in residence at her grand manor which was for sale.

   Lady Nan’s dreams were deeper than the usual twilight wanderings of her elderly companions. Most of them slept adrift in a pleasant happy-go-lucky sea randomly replaying their good old days, but Lady Nan had always been different. Sometimes being of sound mind was too cruel to bear.

Lady Nan made every effort to control her dreams by concentrating on one of her favorite daydreams: she conjured up amazing images of the golden sands of Egypt and the glory days of its ancient past. She dreamed creatively in order to live there and leave England behind.

   Lady Nan begged her dreams to crowd out her mistakes, shout down her enemies, and erase her sad memories. She dreamed purposely to forget; she dreamed selectively to remember something wonderful. Her dreamtime was a place to escape a series of tragic events because it was easier to slip away than face the terrible truths which plagued her, but as hard as she tried, old-family loyalty was in her blood, and messages of responsibility crept in to disturb her blissful reveries.

   Her beloved old manor house was evermore insistent she return home. It began to send her pleasant invitations and then ever more urgent messages and stronger pleas, until, at last, it had no choice but to order her return.

   But it was the fretful voice of a lonely little girl she once knew, calling out for help, who disturbed Lady Nan’s sanctuary the most.

_

The ice on the sundial had sealed time in a narrow wedge of mauve shadow.

   It had been a scorching August day, over seventy years ago, in the afternoon to be exact, when Bede Hall first heard two little girls crying. One was distraught with an alarming headache; the other from the worst sort of fear – that of being lost and alone.

   The ‘little girl lost’ had looked down on the maze from her window, and beckoned the other with a frantic wave but had hidden when the door opened, only venturing a timid look at the unwell girl when she was sleeping.

   For a while they remained alone yet together, dreaming now-and-again in the same wintry room, both in search of comfort.

   One girl sought refuge to avoid her father; the second searched in vain, hoping to find her father. They were connected by a secret neither of them knew and a window of friendship they pledged would survive forever even though they were separated by a hundred boring tomorrows that reached into an uncertain future.

   In spirit years, yesterday often seemed like a lost trail of pale dreams and the present was most often a confusion of restless memories, but this time the house had promised to intervene.

   The old sundial continued to wait patiently in a sea of emerald grass like a lonely gravestone, sundrenched and frozen, and for many years time jumped ahead in erratic leaps like a frightened rabbit. And then the unthinkable happened – a third girl lost her father.

_

No-one was prepared for the bomb of devastating news that dropped into the unsuspecting kitchen when the telephone jangled.

   Mrs. S’s cup of tea crashed to the floor in mid-conversation, startling poor Feathers into the next room in a blur of orange fur and sent Jack slinking under the table. Pigeon squawked a louder version of “stop eating that plant, you!” and flapped his bright, red and green wings.

 

   “Mum what is it?” Bash said, “you’ve gone white as a ghost.”

   Kit, who had been about to give Jack his treat, nearly knocked over his chair getting up too fast. “What’s happened?” he cried.

   Mrs. S slumped back into her chair. “Your father... is... missing,” she said in a barely audible whisper quite drained of emotion. “He never showed up in Cairo,” she continued

weakly, “the museum thinks he may have been... kidnapped.”

   The twins stared at each other in disbelief.

   “I have to call Rupert,” Mrs. S said, getting up suddenly. “He will have to come home. Oh dear, I’ve broken one of my best cups. Be careful. Mind your feet, and watch out for Jack.”

   “Don’t worry,” Kit said, “I’m sure they’ll find Dad. He’ll be all right. Egypt’s a funny old place. There’s been a mistake.”

   Bash’s knees were more wobbly than ever as she settled her mother in a chair and poured her a fresh cup of tea. But Mrs. S abandoned her tea, jumped up again, and busied

herself, cleaning up the broken china, all in a rush as if someone’s life depended on it.

   “Leave that Mum,” Kit said. “Sit down and drink your tea. I’ll call Rupert.”

   Mrs. S obeyed and stared dry-eyed at her letter, still in shock.

   Kit looked over at Bash and their eyes met, widened with fear. Neither of them had any idea that their lives were about to become more extraordinary than they could ever have

imagined.
 
 

AUTHOR’S BIO 
Veronica has a Fine Arts Degree from the University of Alberta, writes and paints on Vancouver Island, and is a freelance editor for her company, Silent K Productions. She has written several novels of women’s fiction, all of which, have paranormal elements:
 
The ‘Second Lisa’ trilogy is an historical fantasy about missing paintings, lost identities, the ‘Mona Lisa,’ and the life of Lisabetta Buti, one of Leonardo da Vinci’s forgotten sisters. http://www.secondlisa.org
 
‘Woo Woo – the Posthumous Love Story of Miss Emily Carr’ is a romantic ghost story about the Canadian icon, artist, Emily Carr. http://www.woowoothenovel.com
 
‘The Day I Met Botticelli,’ Knox's sixth novel, is currently being edited – another ethereal romance set in the fifteenth century of the Italian renaissance. Due for release in February 2014.
 
TWINTER – the first portal’ is her first foray into writing for preteens (age ten to twelve) – a series that will project into the young adult genre. All Knox’s books are available on Amazon in e-book and print-on-demand formats. Currently, ‘Twinter’ is a kindle select feature.
Knox’s paintings and her editing services may be viewed on her websites: http://veronicaknox.com  and http://editorvknox.wordpress.com
She may be contacted through her email:  veronica@veronicaknox.com
 
 
***

Wednesday, December 11, 2013

Naughty and Nice Blog Hop - #FREE Kindle Fire - lots of Great books! Fun! Fun! Fun!



All the rules and how the hop will work is listed on the
Safari Heat site.
 
Follow the link below.
 
 
 
 

***The Grand Prize Is A Kindle Fire HDX 7”
a daily prize giveaway as well as prizes at each stop!


***Winners for this blog hop must be residents of either Canada or the United States.
 

*******
****
**

 



 
 
***This book was on a promotion called Book Bub on Dec 10th and it went wild. Sold thousands of copies and hit #1 on the Amazon Free ranking and then the next day was at #36 on Amazon paid. It took me to the Best-seller's list and  - let me tell you - it has brought huge smiles to the faces of my family for this season. My cheeks hurt because of this lovable angel story. The 145 reviews have been phenomenal and have put me at a rating of 4.5 / 5 stars.

So... if you want a heart-warming Christmas story for either yourself or as a gift for the romance lover on your list, this is the book for you!!


 
Back Page Blurb:

Christmas in Hawaii! How lucky can a girl get? Except Leilani is bringing her mother’s ashes home to Waikiki and has an urgent plea of help from an aunt she’s never even met. After winning two free nights in prestigious Hotel Jordan, things take a turn she never expected. First she gets stuck in an elevator with the prickly, but luscious Mr. Jordan. Secondly, her aunt is a sick woman who's only held on for one reason. She wants to pass on her most precious possession – her five-year-old grandchild. The same little fellow that takes one look at Leilani, slaps his fist on his hips and yells, “Go away!”

Kale is the owner of the Jordan Hotel Chain and he can’t believe his rotten luck. He broke up with a spoilt brat of a girlfriend and now he’s stuck in an elevator with a big-eyed, effusive tourist. How in the world can a guy who’s so worldly get hooked on a lively beauty with more dilemmas than anyone he’s ever met? 
 
(Excerpt - can be found on my website under this cover. See top panel on right.)


 
***
 
Before you leave my site, I wanted to share with you the prizes I've chosen to give away to the lucky winner who writes a comment below and of course, leaves their e-mail address.
 
 
**1st Prize - $25 Amazon Gift Certificate - winners will be chosen from those commenters who have also signed on to my newsletter (addresses kept secure to me only - scouts honor!!:-)
1 free copy of - "The Vegas Series Collection"
1 free copy of - "Together for Christmas"
1 free copy of - "She's Not You"
1 free copy of - "Loveable Christmas Angel"
1 free copy of - "Tis the Season"
 
 
 
***Winners for my personal contest can be from anywhere that I can e-mail their gifts to them :-)
 
 
You absolutely must leave a comment to be able to win one of my prizes and it must have your e-mail address so I can contact you if you win!

Example of what you'll need to add in the comment!!

Name: example - Jane Doe
Email: example - janedoe@gmail.com
Comment: Did you like the post??? Yes? / No? / It stunk? LOL
Twitter: Did you follow Mimi - yes/no
FaceBook:  Did you follow Mimi - yes/no
Blog: Did you follow Mimi - yes/no
**Newsletter: Did you sign on - yes/no
 
 
 
 
 


 

***To keep hopping follow the link below...

 
  
 
Message from Blog Hop Co-ordinator, Carey Abbott:



If you care to enter.....there are four ways the readers can get extra entries into the grand prize giveaway. They get an entry for completing each of these things. (1) Leaving a comment, (2) following this blog, (3) following Mimi's FB, or (4) Following Mimi's Twitter. **Remember - you are not required to do anything you don't wish to.**
 
 
 
All the prizes on the hop page, except the books for the winner’s Kindle, I will give away daily. We will be giving away six to seven prizes a day and randomly popping into blogs to pick winners. This is going to make the hop a little different than most because the readers won’t know who’s blog I will pick .




 

Sunday, December 8, 2013

Should an author review other's work? #amazon


 
 
Recently, on a chapter loop that I belong to, our members have carried on a discussion about writing reviews. One of the ladies mentioned that she wrote a poor review on a well-known author. That kicked up opinions from some of the others.

 
It shocked me to hear that a few of the authors refused to write reviews at all. Not wanting to be in the position of having to be honest on a poorly written book, they’ve opted out of being put in that tenuous position. Of course that’s everyone’s prerogative and I respect their choices.

 
Comments from some of our colleagues:




I have found this a very interesting topic. I'm surprised to hear people say they won't review another author's work. It seems to me that it is somewhat short-sighted, in that if a published author reviews your work with good results, it is a really good marketing tool. I can understand not publishing negative reviews, the ramifications are obvious I guess. But refusing to do a positive review seems odd. I'd like to give an author a good review if it is genuine, and why not? If I enjoyed the work, and I'm published myself (which I'm not, so IMHO) it is a good way to boost the whole publishing community and thank the author for the enjoyment I received from their work. ~ Sylvia Blenkin


I'm in agreement with you. I think it's beneficial to both the author and the reader to hear an honest review. That being said, I don't agree with people who are rude or condescending in their remarks. It takes a lot for an author to put their 'baby' out there for others to see, treat that with the respect it deserves. ~Jacquie Biggar

 

Myself, I agree with Sylvia and Jacquie. I've always been happy to review other authors work. If they're a debut author and I've found any enjoyment in their work, I try and give them a 5-star always mentioning the fact that it's their first release so others reading the review will be a little less judgmental. If I can't give a book more than three, I refuse to write the review. Mostly the four stars will be because I don't believe the author put out their best effort as far as the formatting, editing and grammar. And if I know or care about that writer, I usually send them a personal note of encouragement to revise their work.

 
I never write a review based on whether the story was a masterpiece of literature....but only on whether they were able to entertain me with something I found interesting. Again, if it was really great, my review will be that much more glowing. But, if it's a nice story, with interesting characters, and lots of conflict that kept me involved, you bet it'll get a 5-star.

 
Between you and me - I think some people have such high expectations of what a book should be that they think everyone feels the same. (Next blog on expectations!)Certainly publishers and editors do, that's true. But the average reader just wants to be entertained with decent content fairly well written. Most of them don't know if the re-action is following the action properly or if the author is head-hopping unless it's annoyingly obvious. If the story brings out honest emotions like tears or laughter and it keeps them captivated so they can't put it down, then they'll love it, hopefully review it and most likely buy something else the author has written.

 
So… We’ve given our opinion. What’s yours???

 

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