A few days ago, while looking up a book I was interested in reading on Amazon.com, I suffered a momentary setback and broke one of my own rules—a rule I keep in place out of self-preservation: I searched my own name and began to read about myself online. In this particular case, since I was on Amazon, this involved reading reviews of some of my books. Amazon has this helpful little sidebar (not) in which someone browsing can see an example of a five star review and an example of a one star review.
Which do you think I was interested in?
Right. I clicked on the one star review for Slow Motion, the memoir I first published in 1998. When a writer is in an evil, self-Googling mood, she is not on the hunt for glowing reviews, positive feedback, happy and generous people. No. A writer in the midst of self-Googling is stuck in the muck of her own mind. She is flailing, tumbling head over heels down a slope that can only end in pain and insult. Pretentious crybaby, one reader offered. She...
Read the whole entry »
No comments:
Post a Comment