As I’m sure I’ve said before – authors, especially independent authors, like myself – are actively encouraged to read our reviews. Even if the idea of the author actually reading what you’ve written about what has been, in effect, their baby, sent out into the world, makes your stomach quake, it’s so important.

Now, you’re reading this, so chances are, whether we know each other in the real world or not, you know something about me. And you are one of a very select group. I congratulate and thank you. However, the rest of the world can’t begin to know who I am and perhaps they wouldn’t care. That’s what reviews are for. For the others. For those who will not know me until there’s a film deal and I get drunk and fall over at the premiere, and probably say a very naughty word in front of a dame of the theatre. For, indeed, that is the dream.

Now, one of my favourite reviews came from a buddy of mine. I didn’t know he wrote it, largely because he goes by a different name online. However, I saw him at New Year’s Eve at the Legion, some drink was consumed and he asked how I’d felt about the word ‘masterful’.


I was delighted. Of course, I was.

Who’s going to be upset by the word ‘masterful’?

Not this muppet.

And since I’ve committed myself to daily blogging and reading anything and everything I can, I’ve been writing book reviews myself. And here’s what’s going to change: I’m going to write more reviews of independent authors. Because I know it’s important and because there’s so little point in giving my opinion of famous authors. They’ll be fine with or without me. But us indies should stick together. Prepare yourself for some new names, my lovelies. We could be here on the ground floor of someone else’s career. I don’t know about you, but I’m looking forward to it.

Day #111, Reviews.