Every time I read a bad review of one of my books, I die inside a little.
It feels like, I dunno, doing something embarrassing in 7th grade, like your note getting intercepted and read out loud, something like that.
You can get 99 things out of a hundred right, but they'll still point out the 100th thing.
Bastards.
They're gonna pic Blooms apart, Set help us.
Last week A March through Hell got a five star review that happened to mention my 'habitual' mistakes.
I just wanted to crawl inside a box.
Mind you, it was a five star review.
I expressed these sentiments to an author friend of mine who chastened me, 'Why do you read your reviews?'
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