Every morning, I dutifully check my Kindle Direct Publishing reports to see if there have been any new sales. Then, I head over to my Amazon Author hub to check my ranking (yeah, don't ask...) and see if there are any new reviews. At that moment, when I click on "Customer Reviews," I begin to question why I ever published this book in the first place.

Ahh yes, reviews, the bane of my literary existence. I need them to move forward in the ranks and to spread my story (the analogy sounding like a plague is not lost on me). And yet, there is nothing more anxiety-inducing for an author than reading new reviews. Do they like that story I spent hours and months creating, all but penning it in my own blood? Or do they hate it and think it was a waste of time and money? In those few moments while my browser loads the review page, my stomach turns inside out, I start to shake, and all I can think of is "What the Hell have I gotten myself into?"

Ok, maybe not really. After all, at this point in the morning, I've barely had a chance to brew my first cup of tea, so there are very few higher brain functions happening. But, it's still stressful.

So far, I've been lucky. Only four and five star reviews have met my eyes first thing in the morning. I've been told to expect the one stars and even to welcome them. Apparently, they validate your work as real. I'm still not looking forward to them. I know they'll make me sad or angry. I may even throw something or, better, go a few rounds with the heavy bag. (Note to self, have the husband hang it back up) They are, however, inevitable.

Not everyone likes me. That's just one of the facts of life. Not everyone will like you. Not everyone will like my book. They won't like the characters, or they will find the story convoluted, or they will think the ending sucks. Again, it's a fact of life for a writer or artist. It's easier to ignore the people that dislike me. I don't care. So, why does it bother me more when people dislike my writing? It goes deeper than the writing being a reflection of me. I wish that I could put it into words as to why it bothers me so much. It's a visceral reaction.

Ahh well. It's bound to happen. When it does, I'll have a small cry, a glass of wine, and some chocolate and keep writing. The stories won't allow me to do anything else. For now, I hope you like the book. I hope it a lot.