Just seen and can't stop laughing

Although it's no laughing matter. The things people do... I'm gasping for air, shaking my head and...

Oh well, let's get to the read story. So there are a few readers who want to help Indies by reviewing their books. Which is absolutely lovely and much appreciated. On one of the threads on Amazon, where people are supposed to reply with their book links, pops up a a girl, complaining she received one negative review, by someone who claims she's spamming the fora with her book.

A quick click on her name shows the book of a guy, the only review that girl did. Now since she said it's her book, s/he has openly admitted to reviewing her own book under a different identity. Another quick research revealed that most of the reviews seem to have been made either by himself under different names or friends and family. All five stars, of course. There were some with four stars, I didn't check on them.

And one more research for the book title showed this author, again slightly obscured by just using his initials and surname has spammed the fora, as the reviewer said.

The one negative review, by the way, is a wonderfully balanced and fair-sounding assessment.

Now if that's not funny, I don't know what else is. I can only shake my head in wonder what length people will go to get their books sold and read, thinking readers are the most stupid people in the universe.

And all Indies suffer.

To review or not to review?

When I started out with self-publishing, I promised myself to review every book I buy and read, simply because I knew every authors yearns for reviews. Now, I came to the conclusion that it's better to not do it anymore. The point is, and I know I'll be making enemies by saying this, I've tried a few self-published books and soon switched on my editin- programme in my head, which is a bad sign, really. Of course, being an editor has somewhat destroyed the ability to just read and take in the story, I will admit that. A book must be really well-written, with well-developed characters, a complex story with no holes in them and logical.
If a book fails to fulfil that, I will stop reading and move on to the next. Others might not see those mistakes, but I do. Not saying I've written the perfect book, but moving away from me being an author, to me being a reader, I have high expectations and rightly so. I did have those beforehand and I have stopped reading traditionally published books in the past, but not that many.

My first impulse is to e-mail the author and tell him or her about my concerns, but then you have cases like the infamous author, who couldn't take criticism and hell broke loose. Further on, it's not my responsibility to give constructive criticism; I'm a reader, by buying the book and spending time with it, I've fulfilled what can be expected from me.

Back to me being an author again I feel a little bit in a pickle; if I give a negative review, I might be in danger of getting one in return, just for revenge, or when I give a positive review - despite my dislike of the book - I'd lie and I don't like lying.

In addition to that, pure readers check out the reviewers of a book and indie authors reviewing other indie authors is widely understood as cheating. People automatically assume it's a review exchange. I will also not tell an author anymore that I've bought his or her book, in case I don't like it, I can just walk away, silently, but if I really love a book, I'll be there to support it. And that's a promise.

Disclaimer: I'm an editor for plot and character development, also for dialogue attributes, not for grammar. Although I might correct the odd errors there, too. :-)

Make your book as good as possible

Writing is hard work. Did someone tell you it's easy? Well, that someone lied. Big time. The transformation from the very first draft to the actual book published is enormous, especially when you're just starting out with your first book. If you are lucky and happy to learn, it will get easier once you've been through the process of rewriting, editing, proofing, etc.

I've read a few self-published books that weren't ready by a long shot and I've stopped reading most of them. Not saying there aren't good self-published books out there, but it looks like I didn't find them yet. I'm self-published myself and I know how hard it is to go through the book over and over and over again until you're sick and tired of the book you once loved, but it's worth it. It's my reputation, my author's name out there and I want the book to be the best it can get. Though, I've learned that I've sold over 1000 copies of the short stories with words missing, stray words and typos I didn't see. I've sort of rushed to publish it, not doing another round of proofing. Luckily, a friend was kind enough to point them out and it's fixed now. He also found quite a few in my novel, even AFTER proofing twice. That said, I can live with typos and missing words, but I can't live with poor character development, continuously use wrong dialogue attributes, plot holes and illogical story lines. Those are things that drive me mad as a reader.

Now, how to avoid things like that, you wonder.

Well, first off, learn the craft. Talent is one thing, but you need the skills to actually enhance your talent. That's what beautiful writing is. See it as a paining with a perfect frame, it will accentuate the painting, if you have a shabby frame it will look odd, drawing your eyes to the ugly frame rather than the painting itself. It's the same with writing, a great story can be disturbed by bad use of grammar or dialogue attributes or plot holes.

I'll take the painting again: imagine you have a person in it and he has an arm where the ear should be, now wouldn't that irritate you? Same goes with writing, when you have plot holes, it disturbs the flow, lets you pause and drags you out of the story, you stop to think where that character came from, where it went and what purpose it might have when it doesn't add to the plot.

Learn as much about writing as you can, try to secure yourself some beta readers, those who are confident in giving feedback. Try not to ask family and friends, unless they know a thing or two about writing and are honest with you. Compare your dialogue with traditionally published books and correct yours. Google is your best friend when it comes to read about 'rules'. Depending on how self-critical you are, you might need three rounds or more of editing and beta-reading. (I went 16 times through my first novel.) Don't ask the ones you've had before, they're now biased. Fresh eyes is what you need.

Be patient, don't rush into it. When you put a book out which isn't ready, you're likely to lose potential readers for your second or third book.

Make your book as perfect as you can. The end customers, your readers, will thank you by not only recommending a book they enjoyed, but also with loyalty.

If you'd like to know more about the journey of my novel No Wings Attached, please read an interview with me here:

Teaser of the second book of Stella's rants

I've been asked if there's a second book following the success of Excuse me, where is the exit?. The answer is yes, I've not run out of rants. Yet. I've collected about 17 ideas and will see how they transfer into a story. This is the first draft of the first story which will be corrected before publishing. Connected to my recent accident, here's what I've observed, of course, with the usual exaggeration.

Enjoy :-)

A&E

Where zombies go at daytime

You are hungry, so you go into the kitchen, sharpen your knife and get to work on the peppers – and, very unfortunate, your fingertips. “Ouch!” you mutter annoyed and run your bleeding finger under cold water. Not that it makes any difference, but it can't do any harm, can it? You switch from the coloured water to the half-prepared dinner and curse another time, then wonder how to tackle the way from the kitchen into your bathroom without unnecessarily decorating the floor.

A few quick steps, hand under the injured finger, and you reach the bathroom with your massive stock of plasters, creams and bandages, antiseptic lotions, sprays and anything else you need to do a surgery at an open heart. If only it would help stop the bleeding. After what felt like sixty minutes of holding your arm over your head, a tissue firmly pressed to the wound, you resign to the fact that you need to see A&E. Splendid, you think. Nothing better than spending a few amusing hours in a hospital's waiting area.

The cut wrapped up with a makeshift bandage and off you go. A short bus ride later, you arrive at your destiny. The rather unpleasant member of staff behind the desk isn't impressed you dare to interrupt her typing a text message into her mobile phone and barks her questionnaire at you.

“Name?” You give her what she asks for.

“Date of birth?” Can I lie? You shift uncomfortably from one foot to another. And eventually whisper your answer. She repeats it loud and in a firm manner. Thanks for that!

One look at the heaps – supposed to be people – reveals, you are the main attraction and since they are so bored with waiting, even information about your bowel movements will entertain them. When she's finished interviewing you, she says what you hoped not to hear, “It's quite busy, take a seat, someone will call you.”

With a deep sigh you nod, then walk over to sit amongst the half-dead and moaning living. The only available seat is next to a guy who has his arm tugged to his chest, looking as he needs a cuddle and a lollipop. Behind you sits what seems to be an entire Indian family, five generations, taking up seven seats talking loudly and laughing. When you throw a quick look over your shoulder you wonder who of them is in need of treatment, they look all more than chirpy to you, and another assessment reveals, they have all their limps. You shrug and turn your attention to your iPod; at least you can drown the busy chitter chatter. But a minute later, paramedics wheel in an elderly man, who looks more on the brink of death than anything else, and park him right next to you. Guess the doctor orders only half a loaf from now on. With distaste of this half-zombie you lean to the side, when you're smacked over the head.

“Oi!” You turn around to stare at one of the children behind you, smugly grinning and waving with its plastic animal. They really need a sign outside: “Dogs and children have to wait here”!

Just when your anger about the rude behaviour peaks, they all get up to swarm around another family member who's just appeared, wearing a cast. Ah, you think, here's the missing link. In this moment a woman, guided by her boyfriend or maybe husband takes the family's place behind you, he's clutching a cardboard bowl, she's clutching her tummy. Oh please don't vomit into my back! You never know if it's food poisoning and you're not keen on combing scampi out of your hair.

Doctors and nurses head from one end to the other and you and the people in the waiting area move their heads as if they're watching a tennis match. Your name's called and with your hopes up, you pipe a “here”. It's one of the nurses who came to assess if you're an urgent case or not. When she reached out to remove your bandage, you hiss at her which makes it apparent you're not in danger to lose consciousness any time soon. With no chance of getting out here in the next fifteen minutes, you rummage in your bag and dig out a cereal bar. When you are about to rip it open, the half-zombie next to you gurgles and splutters, making you cringe. Probably best to just call the undertakers.

You put the bar back into the bag and get to witness the conversation between the nurse and a Polish woman in front of you.

“Iwona?”

The woman nods.

“Can you tell me what happened?”

“No, no, I don't know, hurting, it hurting.” Iwona weeps and points to her foot.

“How did you do it?” the nurse tries again.

More pointing and then, “I'm scary!”

You have severe problems to stifle a laughter, for Iwona doesn't give the impression to make good money as a bogy. To not hear any more, you put the head set back into your ears and are able to relax, still internally shaking your head about this madhouse. Thankfully, the half-zombie is wheeled away and you can sit straight in your seat.

“Help! Help!” A cry, louder than your music rips you out of your trance and you look up. A young guy, followed by three others, shuffles towards the desk, his hand pressed to a blood-soaked shirt.

“He's been stabbed, he's been stabbed. Man, this guy just came and stabbed him,” one of the followers rushes out an explanation. Everyone's eyes are on the scene which reminds of a crime flick. Immediately, he's guided through the right hallway, where the heavier injured people are treated. A middle-aged man appears to mop the floor, everything's back to 'normal'. Another person lowers himself next to you, pale, moaning and rocking back and forth. You don't even want to know what his problem might be.

Eventually, your name is called and you walk into the room with many chairs and a few curtains closed. A friendly, but clearly overworked doctor comes to see you. Removing the bandage, which, by now, sticks to the wound hurts and you don't care if the whole hospital can hear you and let out a loud whimper. The doctor tries with humour, but it fails, you're in pain. He takes a thorough look at your finger, then orders the nurse to do the dressing. You're lucky, everything will heal fine. When the nurse comes in, she proves that a smile can hide an evil personality. Not taking prisoners, she grabs your finger and presses as if she wants to take out all her anger at it. You feel as if your eyes pop out and shriek,“Ouch!”

“Well, I have to do that in order to stop the bleeding.” And I just want to kick you!

You breathe heavily, breaking into cold sweat. Oh no, please, I don't want to pass out.

She takes a quick look again, then it's back to torture. “You all right?”

What do you think? “Yes,” you say, suppressing a curse.

“How did you do it?”

As if small talk helps, you think but answer her question.

She peeks at the wound another time, it's still bleeding, but she decides to dress it. Another harsh moment of pain and you're willing to murder her. Two minutes later, you're ready to leave this horrific place. Outside, the sun is going down. When you arrive at home, you throw the vegetables, together with your finger cuts into the bin and dial the number of your favourite take away.