This month, while still enjoying the pre-edit period following the completion of Cabin 28, I’m going to tackle with as much grace and tact as I can muster the most uncomfortable topic authors grapple with: reviews. It’s a delicate matter. One that riddles most of us with angst. Much of it is out of our control. Sure, we deliver the product but that’s nowhere near the complete transaction.

All art is not created equal. This statement in its many implications is truer than anything I can say about being a writer.

Art manifests itself in many forms. It encompasses three basic classifications: performing arts (cinema, theater, music, dance, film); visual arts (sculpture, architecture, painting, photography); and literature. Each includes subcategories specific to classification. It is created by a vast collection of individuals with far more and fewer commonalities than folks would believe. Some seek to express themselves. Others create to purge deep-seated feelings. Some produce art in order to explore the meaning of existence, or to make peace with the world around them. To communicate.  Since I’m a writer and not a sculptor or dancer, this post will focus on the literary category. However, it applies more broadly to art (and artists) in all its expressions.

Just as no two people on the planet have the same fingerprints or DNA sequence, no two artists share the exact same mix of motivations, talent, dedication, experience, perspective or education in their chosen field(s). Also, some possess advantages that elude others. Specifically, in matters of success.

We’re loathe to discuss such things in polite conversation. To do so either reeks of privilege, or can give the impression we’re a Bitterman. The truth is, much of what an artist brings to any table is subject to factors unrelated to their creation.

There are thousands of talented, penniless nobodies on this planet.

Whether it’s producing stunning prose or portraits, or designing innovative buildings, or chiseling marble into polished perfection, more artists are overlooked than revered. Most never achieve success. A large majority publicly claim they do it for themselves, and don’t seek to make a living from their work. Don’t believe them. Any of them.

No one releases their work for purchase if they do it “for themselves.” They want something to come of it. Money. Accolades. Prestige. Whatever. Too much effort goes into taking art, in any form, to the public for there to be no reason for doing so. We can take photos, write books, paint, dance, etc., without having to display it for all the world to see. If we really do it “just for myself,” the world wouldn’t know about it in the first place.

It’s easier to adopt some aloof or tough exterior when it comes to our art than to admit that, inside, we’re all plagued with embarrassment, resentment and self-doubt. The fact that so few artists ever make a living from their work, or that many of our peers only achieve success because they have the ear (or eyes) of a benefactor or industry insider to champion their project, is no consolation. Especially if someone who finds success does so despite having little talent.

See? Bitterman. We’re a sensitive lot at best.

Aside from the would-be cronyism, there are those whose success happens to them, without the benefit of a group of people standing by to proffer opportunities others cannot access. Some people have an “it factor.” That intangible, difficult-to-pinpoint mix of charisma and magnetism that some people just…have. It doesn’t have to be about art. It can be anything. Some people simply attract. Money, love, opportunities, success, friendships, favor. These types, however rare, couldn’t fail if they wanted to.

David Foster Wallace is a good example of cronyism. Saying this is going to make me a very unpopular blogger. Even worse than a Bitterman. But hear me out. Wallace is a current obsession of mine. I think he was wicked talented―even if he was a writer who had an “in” with the publishing industry.

If you or I were to write Infinite Jest and present it to an agent or publisher, we’d be rejected. By everyone. The novel is 577,608 words, or 1,079 printed pages. It includes a couple hundred pages of endnotes/footnotes (non-optional to understanding – ha! – the story). Writers today are lectured that the average novel should be no more than around 100,00 words maximum. Writer’s Digest insists that between 80,000-100,000 is a safe target for the average novel. More and more, the focus isn’t on the work. It’s on production costs. And even traditionally published authors are on the hook for their own marketing. So the book has little to do with process. And by process, I mean money.

Infinite Jest would be too problematic and too expensive to produce…unless the author was known in certain circles. It wouldn’t be considered. Even novels as long as mine (average around 140,000 each) are considered too long by industry insiders. It doesn’t matter if it’s a good book, or if it’s an “epic” storyline, or if all the words are necessary, or if it’s been through multiple editors, readers, etc. Quality has little to do with it. This, in my opinion, is why publishing houses churn out conveyor belt fiction and are losing money. They take no chances and, like all good ol’ boys clubs, they admit few outsiders.

Actress Lana Turner is a good example of the “it factor.” She was famously discovered while sitting at a Sunset Boulevard soda shop, drinking a Coke, and went on to become a Hollywood legend. Fame came to her; she didn’t seek it. That’s not to say she didn’t participate or work hard to develop it. The point is, some people have a tendency to draw people to them for inexplicable reasons. Marilyn Monroe. Michael Jackson. They had it. And despite what the internet claims, I reject the premise that one can develop it. We either have it or we don’t. Otherwise, there’d be more success stories and fewer Bittermans.

So what hope do the rest of us creatives have? How on Earth can a writer succeed if they don’t have Wallace’s contacts or the Lana Turner “it factor?” If we have a good story, well-produced, good cover, nice blurb, impressive website―all the things that are in our power―what else do we need to succeed?

Exposure. And that comes with a cost. Specifically, a monetary cost. We can promote, release videos, run booths at book fairs, have an online presence, schlep our goods in the trunks of our cars, and always wear branded clothing when we go out. Those things cost money and time, and carry no guarantee that we’ll make a single sale. So we work harder. Produce more books. Spend more. Beg friends and family to talk us up. Do newsletters. Make monthly blogs.

Still, failure occurs more than success. And with the devil on the scene now (see AI), it’s getting harder to break through.

The one advantage we have that doesn’t cost a thing is a good review. Not just one or two, or fifty. But a lot of good reviews. This is akin to word-of-mouth advertising. A reader finds and reads your book, then tells others and/or leaves an online review.

We authors covet good reviews more than anything else. Hell, we’ll give you a copy of work gratis for the hope of your taking the time to review when you’re done. Unfortunately, many don’t follow through. And for that reason, many of us hesitate to give away our work anymore. It’s costly and carries no real benefit. Moreover, there’s an argument that books received as gifts won’t be read. If a reader wants to read a book, they’ll pay for it or seek it out from the library. They have to participate in procuring it or the value of having it reduces.

Reviews are difficult to come by in the best of circumstances. In fact, statistically, only 1-2% of readers review the books they read. So when you go to a popular author’s reviews and deflate at the sight of their thousands of reviews, keep in mind that even they, too, get far fewer reviews than they do sales.

Some people pay for reviews. A writer’s inbox swells with spam from Sanjay in Nairobi, who assures you he “loves your work” and offers to review “your book” (never a title, just “your book”) for a fee. Those with integrity eschew such deceptive tactics.

The only thing worse than a lack of reviews in the face of others who pay for them, or the Wallaces of the world who―however talented―had a considerably easier literary journey, is the popular practice these days of receiving “review bombs.”

Review bombs are reviews posted by people with an axe to grind. They don’t read your work. They don’t read much at all. But they do spend a lot of time on social media. And if you say something they don’t like, they look up your profile, see that you’re a creative, and then post a negative review intended to come across as authentic. Always vague. Always negative. Always lowering your rating average. Always hitting their intended targets.

In the case of Amazon, it’s worse. They randomly delete reviews they don’t believe are authentic. Of if they think the reviewer “knows” or is affiliated with the author. Happens all the time. But what’s worse is their weighting of reviews. They give more weight to a 1-star review posted three months ago than a 5-star rating posted two years ago. In my case, I’ve seen a LOT of good reviews disappear for reasons I’m unsure of. In the example of my first book, what’s left are four reviews: three 5-star reviews and one 1-star. According to Amazon, the three 5-star ratings account for “40%” of my dismal overall rating of 2.6 stars, while the sole 1-star rating accounts for “60%” of the overall rating. This particular 1-star rating came from a woman named Elena. She’s never reviewed another book. She’s never reviewed any other product. In fact, her Amazon profile says, “There is no content to display at this moment.” Yet Elena’s “this book sucked and I couldn’t finish it” weighs more than three reviews that contradict it.

Amazon not only prioritizes this review bomb, authored by someone who didn’t like what I posted on Twitter (X), it won’t remove the review as fraudulent. I’ve tried. Several times.

If you’re a reader, you have a lot of power over the authors you read. You impact their ability to thrive, to find success. You chart the course of their careers. And while you see stories these days about servers in restaurants getting indignant over dismal tips, or delivery drivers who throw food at the doors of customers who didn’t give good enough tips or leave anything less than 5-star reviews, imagine if those bad reviews came from people who never ordered food to begin with.

Normally, my monthly musings are shorter. Most have a natural end. This month is longer and less conclusive. Still, the topic is important. Even if it makes me sound like a Bitterman.

The most any author can do is produce a solid, entertaining work. We make you laugh, or cry. We help you escape for a while within the worlds we create. And when you neglect to give us a review, we don’t chase you out the door or scream at you. But we feel it. Deeply. At least those of us without the backing of the literati or an “it factor.”

Just something to consider.

TTFN