Tomorrow is Friday, and I was planning to write my Favorites on Friday post as I fly over the southeastern United States about how much I love my winter sojourn to the warm, to my old stomping grounds in the Caribbean where my sister and friends and sunshine and glorious ocean wait for me. I was going to talk about how my kids have been debating for the past week what they will do very first: Run to the Climbing Tree--a wild and gnarled sea grape up the beach, or catch lizards or hermit crabs, or maybe mole crabs, or maybe just run into the ocean? They consider the merits of going right to Aunt Linden's house to feed the iguanas in her yard, or knocking on doors to see if any of their Christmastime friends are home, if anyone wants to do any of the above with them.
And I realized I don't want to be fussing with internet connection when I get there, don't want to worry about getting my Favorites on Friday post up. It's bad enough to actually have to unzip our suitcases to get out the bathing suits. So I thought I would get a jump on my Friday post a day early, and talk about one of my least favorite things: waking up to a crap review from a blogger.
Prior to my book going out, I didn't know how this worked, but here's what I understand: these bloggers get your books for free from the publisher, in hopes that they will spread the word, taking a risk that instead they might be spewing a little venom. And a couple of mornings a week, I get a Google alert, open the link and hope for the best. More often than not, it's a lovely way to start the day. And then there was today. I get that not every book is for everyone, and that it is all part of the game--this new world of amateur internet reviewers. But it still feels lousy to hear that my book had the 'worst ending of any book they read all year'.