Guide, Don’t Decide from James W. Ziskin

We all get notes from editors, beta readers, and agents. Sometimes we don't agree. When you get feedback to change something that you really want to keep, how do you let it go or justify keeping it?

All of my editors have sung the same song. “You are the author. The final decision is up to you.”

What I’ve always appreciated about my editors is that they never try to write the book for me. They never say, “I would have done it this way or that way.” Rather, they tell me what they don’t get. What’s confusing or underdeveloped. I find it reassuring to have a professional in my corner who guides instead of decides.

Beta readers may not be professional book jockeys, but they’re real readers. Eventually, your work is going out into the world and will be read by other real readers, so the feedback you get from betas is absolutely valid. Since they’re involved earlier in the manuscript’s life, they might be more likely to provide gut feelings, point out plot holes that will be mostly filled before the editor gets it, and be overall more critical (or supportive) of the story, depending on whether your beta readers include other writers, friends or…your mother. In the past, my beta readers have discovered major and minor errors in my work, and they’ve stayed my hand when I was laying it on a bit thick, not quite thick enough, or when I was simply wrong about something.

I’ve worked with three agents during my career. The first—about thirty-five years ago—gave no feedback and discouraged all contact. I felt like an unwelcome guest at her party. After two unsold books, we parted ways. I shrugged it off, sure I’d find another agent in no time at all.

Actually, it took me seventeen years to find another agent, but my experience with him was wonderful. He offered advice similar to what my editors did. He was kind, honest, and supportive. We parted ways on the best of terms after seven books sold. I’ll always be grateful to him for selling my Ellie Stone novels.

My current agent expresses her opinions honestly on my work. Some things she loves, some things she doesn’t. The feedback has never been on the micro level of my writing style, which seems to suit her fine. But she doesn’t always like the mood or characters in my books, and, while I’d love to hear effusive praise for my every word, I appreciate her honesty.

Once I’ve taken stock of all the feedback I’ve received, it’s my turn. I have to decide what to accept and what to reject. Why do I reject some suggestions? Usually it’s because I know what I’m trying to accomplish with my books, which ideas I developed to shape my story and characters. I’m confident I’ve done those things right. Or, at least, the way I wanted them to be. 

And when do I accept the feedback and make the changes? When I’m made to realize that I’ve failed to make those ideas clear to readers, starting with my beta readers, agent, and editor. I’m not so arrogant to think I’m always right, so, in some cases, I’ll take another stab at the project and incorporate the feedback they’ve offered.

The thing is, writers need editors and readers, beta and professional ones like agents, too. We don’t simply type out our books and stories and post them for the world to see. At least we shouldn’t do that. Multiple sets of eyes—eyes with experience and perspective—will always improve a book. And that’s why I recruit beta readers, have an agent, and work with editors.

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THE PRANK…enigmatic and unnerving. The pace never flags for a second. This is some masterly plotting. I loved it.”

—Liz Nugent, author of Strange Sally Diamond

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Gut Feeling

We all get notes from editors, beta readers, and agents. Sometimes we don't agree. When you get feedback to change something that you really want to keep, how do you let it go or justify keeping it?

By Dietrich

The email comes in. The track changes open. The editor’s note says, “So… about this one part…”

Right in the middle of the feedback is a suggestion aimed squarely at the thing you want to keep most—the line that makes you smile, the subplot that feels like the book’s secret engine, or the ending you bled over.

You don’t agree. Not a bit.

So, you trust your instincts—the ones that come from deep within every book you’ve ever loved and every scene that has ever worked.

When feedback smacks into something I really want to keep, my first move isn’t to dig in. It’s to get curious and ask a few questions: What problem is this note trying to fix? Is it about clarity, pacing, emotional logic, or reader investment—or is it just someone else’s taste? If I cut the scene or make a change, does the story lose something it genuinely needs, or does it just lose something I’m fond of?

If it’s something load-bearing, —holding up the theme, the character’s core wound, or the whole vibe of the book—then I need to keep it. Other times, I need to realize I’m attached to it simply because I like it, not because the story needs it. This means the story will be happier when I let it go.

Here’s a good general rule to follow: Work with the notes instead of against them. The goal isn’t to win the argument; it’s to make the book better. Right?

If time allows, I might try the change, make a temporary version, and live with it for a day or two. Then I read the surrounding pages and ask myself, “Does the story feel tighter and clearer? Or does it suddenly feel like something important just dropped off?” This second reaction is usually more honest than the defensive one I had in the first five minutes.

I also pay attention to patterns. One person hating a favorite scene is interesting. Three different readers all flagging the same thing is hard to ignore.

At the same time, I stick to the non-negotiables—the emotional truth that has to stay, the structural choice that makes the book feel right, and the voice that would die if I polished it too smooth.

Killing your darlings might be the right call. There’s a kind of growth in cutting something I love because the larger story is stronger without it. It shows me that it’s better to serve the book instead of my attachment to a single shiny moment.

And if I do cut it, I cut it clean. I don’t want to leave a ghost of the original hanging around as a half-measure. Either it earns its place or it doesn’t.

If I do keep it, I just need a clear reason. “I just like it” isn’t enough. A good editor or agent usually respects a clear, story-first defense more than they respect instant obedience. They’re not looking for writers who never push back. They’re looking for writers who can tell the difference between ego and craft.

The decision never becomes automatic. Every new set of notes reopens the same questions. The skill isn’t in always keeping or always cutting. The skill is in coming back, again and again, to the same simple test: what actually makes the story better?

Trust your instincts. Stay open to the input that shows you the blind spots you couldn’t see on your own. And remember that the story is what matters here.

When the notes land and something you love is on the chopping block, sit with both the attachment and the suggestion long enough to hear what the book itself wants. That’s usually where the right call lives.

You're Not Done Yet

 

Hi! Terry here with our question of the week: 

We all get notes from editors, beta readers and agents. Sometimes we don’t agree. When you get feedback to change something that you really want to keep, how do you let it go or justify keeping it? 

 I’ve been in writing critique groups ever since I first thought about writing a book. In the beginning I panicked over every note anyone gave me. Change the name of the protagonist because the woman critiquing knew someone with that name once and didn’t like them? Sure. But what about the other woman in the group who loved the name? One person thought the descriptions were beautiful. Another wanted half of them cut. Yet another wanted to add his own ideas. Needless to say, conflicting critiques put me in a tizzy. 

After a while, I learned a few valuable lessons: 

 1) Sit on the critiques for a day, a few days, a week. As long as it takes to look at them with a cold eye. 

 2) Consider the source. I don’t mean that the critique is only valid if it comes from someone whose work you admire. One of my best critique partners ever is a non-fiction writer who doesn’t even read mysteries. But he has an uncanny ability to get to the heart of what I’m trying to do and make suggestions that work. Also, a good reader doesn’t necessarily have to be a good writer. 

 3) Before changing anything because of a note, make sure the comment addresses what your intention is with your manuscript, not what their idea of what the piece should be. 

 4) Each member of a critique group has a “theme.” One may be more interested in overall plot, another in depth of character, another in grammar and style, yet another in descriptions. If you’re aware of that, you’ll be more comfortable with assessing how much a comment mean to you. For example, when I write a first draft, I often neglect description of surroundings. So if a critique partner is sensitive to description, they may zero in on that, and I tuck away the comments for when I actually am ready to write the descriptions. 

 If you are with a critique group or beta readers long enough, you’ll learn to trust both them and yourself. 

BIG NOTES. At some point, I began getting notes from agents and editors. Those are ones that I pay most attention to. 

 My first agent, as far as I can tell, never read my books. She never gave me any notes, so I was surprised when my second one said of course she would read a manuscript before she sent it off to my editor—and she would send me notes. I will never forget the first notes she sent me. She said: “This is good, but you aren’t done yet.” That turned out to be one of the most important notes anyone ever gave me. Every book I wrote, she would say the same thing: you aren’t done yet, you need more (fill in the blank—chapter, twist, wrap-up). Each time I said, “That’s not true. It’s done. I don’t need anything else.” And she would reply, “Fine, I can send it this way. It’s okay.” I would go off and pout…and then…and then. Oh, wait. 

Every single time, I would come up with a new twist, a new way of ending the book, new thinking about what happened. And the book was stronger. I learned to trust her. She’s no longer my agent, but that note lives on. 

Every time I finish a book, I think…I’m not really done. What does this need to make it complete? It happened in Deep Dive, my most recent Jessie Madison book. I was very satisfied with the way everything worked out. I knew who “dunnit,” knew how it ended. But that night when I was in the bathtub, a little voice said to me, “You couldn’t leave well enough alone.” I gasped (literally) because the voice was one of the characters in my book. And I knew in the moment that the book was not done. Not at all. There was another twist—a big one. And it made the book so much better! 

 Bottom line, if someone tells me words are extraneous or not working as they stand, I’ll take the comment seriously. But I’ll consider all of what I talked about above, and make my decision based on whether note is in line with my intention…and even if it doesn’t, I may circle back and take another look. Golden words aren’t indelible.

How to Relax on Release Day by Poppy Gee

With so much buildup to release day, if a book doesn’t take off right away it can feel like a failure. Do you see your releases as a marathon or a sprint for readership?

A marathon.

On my first release day, I put my baby in the pram and went for a long walk, I bought a chocolate bar and sat in the sunshine eating it. It was summertime, it felt surreal, I had no idea what to expect. I bought myself a small glass jar of shells which I have kept on a shelf and it reminds me of that magical day where you're floating on air, dreaming of all the wonderful things that might happen! 

On my second release day, I went for a long walk alone. It was winter, it was rainy and the river was full and the ducks were happy, and I felt excited. I got my nails painted. I did a newspaper and a radio interview, and then I had a glass of bubbles with my husband. Simple pleasures!

I used to worry about sales. I used to check the numbers. Not lately. You can't control sales. 

The only thing you can control is the reason you write. The one thing I did on both release days, which I recommend every writer do, is I sat at my desk and did a little bit of writing on my next project. If you're worried about the sales of your current book, the best way to promote it, is to get another book on the bookstore shelf. And that's the best thing for your writerly sanity too. 

The Proper Treatment of Book Sales, by Catriona

With so much buildup to release day, if a book doesn’t take off right away it can feel like a failure. Do you see your releases as a marathon or a sprint, for readership?

I'm writing this at the WWW - the Wednesday Writing Women, or are we the Women Who Write in this Winery? Not enough Ws - and present tonight are an always-indie writer of romance and mystery, an always-indie writer of educational non-fiction and picture books and a traditional and indie author of many mysteries, who's now a ghostwriter.

I'm taking soundings.

Tamsen Schulz has a street team and a PA. So I'm not sure her experience is going to map very squarely onto the average writer's life. But her books? Good for all! Tamsen and other indie authors can also run price promotions and bundling offers, to climb the online rankings. 

Lisa Nalbone's books for non-traditional learning environments have a ready-made audience in that world. The picture book, Harper the Love Puppy, is her first plunge into the crowded general-picture-book market. Personal appearances in local libraries and children's playgroups have been her focus. And not stressing about sales is her superpower. Bloody California hippies!

Eileen Rendahl actually answered the question! Marathon, she said, building from book to book. She wrote a newsletter and did a ton of social media posts starting weeks ahead of release for all her books. But she has shared the information that being a ghostwriter now means there is zero promotion on her docket and that's one of the great boons.

Spring Warren isn't here tonight, but I can share these questionably helpful tips: either win awards with your debut or write a grow-your-own bible while living in one of the most grow-your-own and if not go to the farmers' market and if not go to the food Co-op and if not then maybe Whole Foods kind of town you ever did see. See above: California hippies comma bloody.

And then there's me. And the reason I crowd-sourced an answer to this question is that thinking about approaches to growing a readership - aka book promotion - is not one of my strengths. I can admire the swagtastic brilliance of Ellen Byron, the tireless polishedness of Hank Phillippi Ryan and inventiveness with an ARC parcel of Jess Lourey but I could more easily explain the scoring system of a test cricket match to these three terrific women than I could be anything like them.

What I do do by way of promoting a book is say yes to everything that comes along. A library, writer's group, literacy society or social club is having a lunch? If I can get there, I'll be there, donating profits from book sales to their good cause and trying to make people laugh. And I'm no less likely to be doing than when the last release is months behind me and the next is months ahead. So I suppose I must think it's a marathon, at least. If not a Sisyphean curse.  

Gabriel was right to point out, earlier in the week, the part that luck plays. I had written four Dandy Gilver novels, with modest sales, when I happened to release one about Dandy going undercover as a lady's maid in a grand house exactly when the world was going Downton Abbey mad in 2011. All of a sudden it was starred reviews, top-ten picks and my first award. Pure luck.

The only other thing I think I've done right - and there's a lorry-load of luck involved here too - is keep writing. There are another eleven Dandy Gilver novels after The Proper Treatment of Bloodstains. Enough so that the publisher is just about to have some fun with rejacketing and packaging them. Watch this space. I'm looking forward to seeing what happens.

Cx

Run Writer Run

  

With so much buildup to release day, if a book doesn’t take off right away it can feel like a failure. Do you see your releases as a marathon or a sprint for readership?

 

You’ve heard the cliché about the best-laid plans.

 

It comes from a Robert Burns poem — “The best-laid plans of mice and men often go awry”— which later inspired Steinbeck’s Of Mice and Men. I mention this because I began with poetry, then moved to prose, and from literary fiction toward genre. None of it prepared me for the business of publishing.

 

Once upon a time, I thought securing a publisher and a contract meant I could write the book and let “them” do the rest.

 

Nope.

 

Unless, of course, if the publisher believed you had a sure-fire blockbuster on your hands, then you might get a PR budget, and a gaggle of marketing gurus and their acolytes. That model has largely gone the way of the dodo. Publishing has gone corporate, and it has spreadsheets. It’s all about ROI, baby: Return On Investment.

 

A writer without a Big Five titan behind them faces one set of problems. A writer with a Big Five publisher but without the publisher’s confidence faces another: no budget, no bright lights, but the same expectations.

 

Sell or be dropped.

 

Sara Paretsky wrote about this changing arithmetic in her essay “Truth, Lies, and Duct Tape,” in Writing in an Age of Silence. The sales numbers that once constituted a writer earning their keep are now dramatically higher than when she debuted. Libraries once provided some of the bread-and-butter support that helped sustain writers. The landscape has shifted considerably since the essay appeared in 2007.

 

With social media, writers are expected to do something besides write: Perform.

 

Influencers have turned audiences into careers, sometimes fortunes, by cultivating a personality around humor, alleged expertise, lifestyle hacks, or whatever the algorithm happens to reward this week. Writers are expected to become personalities, too.

 

This isn’t entirely new. Tom Wolfe had his white suits and Homburg. Salvador Dalí had his mustache. Artists have always cultivated personas. What used to be called a signature is now called a brand.

 

The difference is that the brand is no longer ornamental. It is part of the job.

Publishers want momentum because momentum looks like sales. They want books that arrive with an audience attached. The release of a novel can therefore feel less like the beginning of a long career than a product launch with a very short fuse.

 

Which brings me back to the question: Is a book release a marathon or a sprint?

 

The answer, frustratingly, is both.

 

The industry treats Release Day like a sprint. Writers are told to generate preorders, reviews, interviews, posts, events, newsletter mentions, social-media buzz—anything that might convince the algorithms, booksellers, and readers that this is the book everyone is talking about.

 

But careers are marathons.

 

And the maddening thing about marathons is that you can train perfectly and still get rained on.

 

Publishing is full of variables a writer cannot control. Market conditions. Publicity budgets. Competing releases. Cultural attention. The whims of booksellers. An unexpected news event.

 

And then there is luck.

 

Writers don’t like to talk about luck because luck is an offensive business model. It suggests that talent and effort, while necessary, are not sufficient.

 

Walter Mosley is a useful example. He created Easy Rawlins, one of the great characters in crime fiction. But when he wanted to write science fiction or erotica or YA, publishers were less enthusiastic. They wanted another Easy.

 

Mosley has talked about the hustle required to get his ‘other work’ in front of publishers—pitching to one agent and then, sometimes literally, crossing the street to pitch to another. He has acknowledged how much he has owed to chance because a president was asked what he was reading on vacation and held up a copy of A Devil in a Blue Dress.

 

Luck is timing. It’s being in the right place when somebody happens to be looking for exactly what you have written. It’s a cultural moment, a famous reader, or a news event that makes your book baby suddenly relevant.

 

My own experience with EYES TO DECEIT brought that home.

 

The novel is my reconstruction of Operation Ajax, the joint CIA-MI6 operation that overthrew Iran’s democratically elected prime minister, Mohammad Mossadegh, in 1953 and helped restore the Shah.

 

When I wrote it, I hoped that readers who remembered the 1979 Iranian hostage crisis might see the connection: that crisis didn’t emerge from nowhere. History has a long fuse.

 

The CIA began declassifying material related to Operation Ajax in 2000 and completed the process in 2013. The history is no longer obscure. The connections between the 1953 coup, the Shah, the 1979 revolution and the hostage crisis are part of the historical record.

 

I had hoped that a small segment of my peers remembered their childhood, and even smaller cohort of history nerds knew the event and could find Iran on the map. It’s niche, but 1% of 1% is still a respectable number of readers.

 

Then the news cycle handed me a gift, or so I thought.

 

Trump invaded Iran and declared victory 40 times.

 

Nope. It didn’t move the needle.

 

Relevance is not the same thing as readership, and that’s the lesson I keep coming back to here because we like to imagine that good books find their readers because, eventually, the universe sorts these things out. It doesn’t. There is no cosmic sales department.

 

A book can be good and mistimed; it can be both timely and invisible.

 

That’s why I have trouble thinking of a release as a referendum on the book itself. Release Day is a moment. A career is a body of work.

 

So yes, writers have to sprint. We have to show up and promote the book, and sometimes perform the literary equivalent of tap-dancing while juggling flaming copies.

 

The book doesn’t know what day it is.

 

And neither does luck.

 

Look Ma, I Made It! Or Did I?

 With so much buildup to release day, if a book doesn’t take off right away it can feel like a failure. Do you see your releases as a marathon or a sprint for readership? 

Ah, release day. I remember it like it was yesterday, but it’s been two years. Two years! Where has the time gone? And yet, my debut novel is still chugging along doing its best to be great. Who would’ve thought? To be honest, I never really thought about longevity when I was dreaming this dream. In my fantasy my book would be published, then discovered by the masses immediately. Then, Hollywood would come calling. In that order. Spoiler alert, I was a little off in my thinking. Two years later, I’m still not sure if this book was a success or a snooze fest. 

As a fairly new author to the world of traditional publishing, I asked myself countless times, on my release day and many times since: What does the publishing world consider a success? 

Every time I see the cover of my book, I still remember every second of the day it was released into the world. My best friend and I went out to celebrate. We sat in a bar, just her and me, toasting over and over. There were hugs, and tears, and a lot of wine, as we watched it climb the charts until it earned that coveted orange banner. With every screen refresh the excitement grew as I realized people I didn’t know were buying and reading my book signifying, I was a number one best seller, at least for a few minutes. Yes, instant success.

But nothing breeds insecurity faster than putting something out into the world that you have poured your whole soul into for the judgement of the masses. It wasn’t long before the doubts started to set in. That first couple of months after my release, I asked a lot of my author friends with a lot more experience than me, how do you know if your book was a success or a dud, and learned there wasn’t a clearcut answer. I was looking for something like a concrete checklist I could follow. Was there a certain number of reviews, a dollar amount sold, or awards, that would equal undeniable success? 

Maybe you weren’t successful unless you got on the New Your Times Best Seller List, got called by Oprah, or sold your movie rights. I was looking for the magic formula needed for the publisher to say, good job, let’s do it again. Surprisingly, or maybe not, publishing can be a very weird and uncertain place, I’m learning; no one seemed to be able to give me a concrete answer. 

I had a healthy number of reviews, more than I ever dreamed of as an indie writer, mostly good. I earned out my advance within a few months of my release. My agent still answers my emails. And every month I still get a little spare change from the publisher. But I never received a nomination for any award. Oprah still hasn’t called me or added me to her best book list. And Hurt Mountain has still not been sold to Hollywood. Does that mean none of these things will ever happen? Who knows. 

What I do know is, yes, it’s been two years since my book had its moment in the sun. The last review I received was on August 06, 2026, a five-star from Pat D, verified purchase, thank you very much. Feels like a marathon to me. 

It doesn't have to be you | Bad reviews & one-star ratings by Faye Snowden

Question of the Week: 

Not every book can be a stone-cold classic. Do you seek out only the 5-star reads or is a book just as enjoyable if it is a 3-star read? Not an all-timer, but enjoyable, nonetheless. Where’s the line for recommending a book to someone else?

I had the best plan for this post! It was going to be beautiful, perfect, and most of all, useful. It was going to be, as I tell my grandkids when they are happily making art, glorious! 

I planned on saying that good books are like good poetry. They show us the ordinary world in ways we’ve never seen before with the help of a strong narrative and electric prose. These are the books that change lives. I even had examples! Read Caste by Isabel Wilkerson and you’ll never think about race the same way again. Check out Ann Petry’s novel The Street because you’ll finally see how not one place in America is safe from the tragic beauty inherent in the Gothic. That book explores this country’s dark side.

And then I read James Ziskin’s earlier post on this subject and threw the entire plan out the window. Defenestration, y’all. (I absolutely love that word, and yes, I’ll say it every chance I get.)

Jim's friend Tim-because-that’s-his-name’s response to eating a bad meal at a restaurant (Eh, I’ll eat again), reminded me of my own rule about giving bad reviews. I don’t believe in badmouthing books in public. I know, hot take, but hear me out. 

I’m not saying that I’ve never given a bad review in my entire life. Many years ago I excoriated an absolutely terrible audio version of a book of poetry that I loved. A short time later I lamented over a prize-winning book that I couldn’t believe ever made it to the winners’ podium. Believe me, I thought, not everyone deserves a trophy. I might have gone on blathering forever about my unasked-for-opinions to anyone mildly interested, but then, something stopped me. 

I wrote a book.

To say writing is hard is the understatement of the century. But to say that writing is as easy as opening a vein (Red Smith), the scariest just before you start (Stephen King), or that easy reading is damn hard writing (purportedly Nathaniel Hawthorne) barely touch the daring required to stare down that blank page. And for myself, I would say that I learned how to write a novel on my first, my fifth, and frankly my sixth novel. Every writing session felt like stepping into the arena with a pissed-off, derisive lion who plays with his food. I don’t want my one- or two-star review to stop an author who is trying to find their rhythm and style. I figure if they are truly studying the craft and learning as they go, they may eventually write something recommendation worthy. 

Someone said to me once, “How will they know that the book is bad if someone doesn’t tell them?” Fair enough, but Baby, does it have to be you? If you don’t say something, does that mean no one will? Not their agent or editor or their beta readers? Not their fanbase, or even themselves looking back on something they wrote ten years ago and realizing with their now hard-won craft experience, is rubbish? 

I’ll close by saying that I don’t judge other people for giving bad reviews, and I understand why readers need candid ones, but it’s just something I’ve chosen not to do, especially as a published author. I want writers to keep writing until they find their groove or decide that it’s not for them. Because as Octavia Butler said, “You don't start out writing good stuff. You start out writing crap... and then gradually you get better at it.”

And for the record, I would definitely recommend anything written by Octavia Butler regardless of how many stars it received.

 

I’ll Eat Again from James W. Ziskin

Not every book can be a stone cold classic. Do you seek out only the 5-star reads or is a book just as enjoyable if it is a 3-star read? Not an all-timer, but enjoyable nonetheless. Where’s the line for recommending a book to someone else?

I have a great friend. Let’s call him Tim (since that’s his name). Whenever a restaurant meal disappoints him, he shrugs and offers, “Eh, I’ll eat again.” I think that’s a healthy attitude. Rather than taking to Yelp to bash the establishment and the wait staff, he moves on, unbothered, presumably taking away whatever good he was able to derive from the experience, albeit probably not in a doggy bag. 

I have the same attitude vis-à-vis my reading. It’s a lead-pipe cinch that some books will not be to my liking. If I come across one of those books, I don’t get angry. I don’t write cruel reviews. I pick up another book to read.

While I certainly have criteria that affect my choices, five-star ratings are not one of them. There’s entirely too much subjectivity in quality ratings on Goodreads or Amazon. I may not read a certain book because the subject doesn’t appeal to me. That doesn’t mean the book is lacking in quality. It only shows that I’m a fusty old curmudgeon who’s set in his ways. So, no, I do not seek out books with five-star ratings. I might end up with a book about serial killers, which—alas—I do not enjoy. No judgment implied here. Just not my cup of tea, which I don’t enjoy either. And yet, you can always find something worthwhile in a novel, even one that’s not your cup of tea, taste-wise. No book is perfect, and few “honestly written” books are trash, deserving of vitriol and one-star ratings.

As for recommending books to others, I try to stick to their interests, not mine, as a guide. 

I’m fond of saying “That’s what makes a horse race.” My dad used to say “De gustibus non disputandum est.” The French say “À chacun son goût.” We say “To each his own.” And if you truly dislike a book, that’s okay. Just remember two things: 1. Not everyone wants to hear about what you hate, and 2. You’ll eat again.

And now, here’s an amuse-gueule. Feel free to give it a rating.

Zero

Kjghkhg 

The Recommendation Line

Not every book can be a stone cold classic. Do you seek out only the 5-star reads or is a book just as enjoyable if it is a 3-star read? Not an all-timer, but enjoyable nonetheless. Where's the line for recommending a book to someone else?

By Dietrich

In the previous piece I talked about why chasing only five-star books can turn reading into a status project, and why a solid three-star read can still be perfectly enjoyable. That leaves the practical question most of us face once we’ve finished a book: do I pass this one on?

The line, for me, sits somewhere past “I liked it” and short of “this will change how you see the world.” I recommend freely when a book did something specific and well: when it made me feel a particular emotion, when the prose had a texture I kept noticing, when the premise was handled with more intelligence or heart than I expected. I hold back when the pleasure was mostly tied to my mood, my history, or a very particular taste. And I almost never recommend something solely because it was “important” or “should be read.” Obligation is a poor gift.

There’s a practical test that helps. Would I hand this book to a friend without a long list of caveats? If the answer is yes, and if I’m not secretly hoping they’ll validate my taste by loving it, then it’s fair game. If I’m mostly trying to prove something—about the book, about myself, about literature—then I should probably keep it to myself.

A recommendation carries a quiet claim: I think your time with this will be well spent. When that claim is true, sharing a book is one of the better things we can do for each other. When it’s forced, it just adds noise.

A perfect recent example of this for me is Colson Whitehead's new book, Cool Machine, a conclusion to his Harlem trilogy, set against a 1980s New York backdrop. It’s a sharp, atmospheric novel that does exactly what a great recommendation should: it delivers its premise with immense heart and an unforgettable, rhythmic prose that stays with you long after the final page. It’s another example of a book I can hand to a friend, confident that their time will be well spent inside its pages — a book well worth sharing.

Okay, or The Best?

 

Terry here with our question of the week:

Not every book can be a stone cold classic. Do you seek out only the 5-star reads or is a book just as enjoyable if it is a 3-star read? Not an all-timer, but enjoyable nonetheless. Where’s the line for recommending a book to someone else? 

 There are authors whose books I always buy. Mick Herron. Rhys Bowen. Eric Beetner. Anne Moose. Lou Berney. Thomas Perry. Tracy Clark. Among others. For me, they usually provide what I think of as a top-notch read. Occasionally there will be one that I think, “meh.” But with most of my favorite writers, “meh” is still better than the usual. 

 Seeking out a book to read mostly depends on my mood. I have a huge to-be-read pile, and it displays a wide range of reading, from cozies a la Ellen Byron to the police procedurals of Tracy Clark, to the dark vision of Jo Nesbo. You’ll find both known writers and unknowns. Some of them I’ve bought when I attended a book event and thought the book sounded like a good read. Some of them I have gotten in book bags at conferences. Usually I’ll read a few pages of those before deciding whether I want to lug them home. 

 Sometimes I hear about a book that everyone reads and I’m compelled to read it. That’s how I knew about William Kent Krueger’s Ordinary Grace, probably one of the best books of the last twenty years. It won every award that year. Every year I try to read every Edgar nomination in the Best Novel, Best First, and Best Paperback categories. One year every single one of the Best Novels was astonishing. Any one of them could have won in another year. But sometimes I wonder what the award panels were thinking. 

 There are those rare times when a zillion selling “must read,” falls flat for me. I can think of more than one that I said, “What? Why would anyone rave about this?” I belong to a book club that reads mostly non-mysteries. And it’s amazing the number of times all of us have wondered why a book we read got mega hype. 

Occasionally when I want something to read, I play a game. I’ll pluck ten books from my TBR pile without regard to subject, genre or author, and read the first ten pages of each. Then, I’ll chose to read the one that draws me in.  I often don't get to all ten because I start reading  and am immediately caught up by one. That's how I sometimes read what others may think of as less than stellar, and yet still enjoy them.

I have read many books that in my notes about it I said some variation of, “Writing okay, plot pretty good, liked the characters and the voice. An enjoyable read.” So, it doesn’t have to be the best of the best for me to enjoy it. 

 Notice in all this I didn’t use the term 5-star. That’s because I don’t pay attention to the ratings. If it sounds like an interesting subject, I’ll read a few pages to see if the writing suits me. By that I don’t mean that I want to know if it’s the best writing I’ve ever read. I just want to know if the characters seem interesting, and if the writing is competent. I also notice something else, more indefinable---does the writer write in a rhythm that works for me. There are some books that seem tedious to me to read because the writer’s style doesn’t resonate. For some reason, the great Stephen King is not an author I enjoy reading. Believe me, I understand why people love his plots, but his books don’t resonate with me. It’s sort of like when I was a kid and we played jump rope. I was perfectly competent at the “forward” part. But I could never happily jump in if the rope was being swung backwards. Different rhythm.

 I love to recommend books. I like to do author signings at book festivals because people stop by to say hello and I enjoy talking to them about the books they love. I read widely, so even if they don’t like what I write, I have fun finding out what they do read, and why they like those books. If they ask for recommendations, I’m ready. Sometimes, it even works in my favor. I once had a long conversation with a man who reads only sci-fi. We kicked around a lot of books we had read in common, and I recommended some I thought he might enjoy. He was about to walk away and suddenly he turned back and said, “You know, my mom reads mysteries. I’ll buy one of yours. I’ll bet she’ll like it.” 

 Before I recommend a book, I usually want to know what a person likes to read. I  won’t tell a cozy reader to read Hugh Howey’s Wool. Nor would I tell an avid sci-fan to dip into Anne Moose's novels. If someone tells me they like short books, I probably won’t recommend Mick Herron. In recommending books, I’ll always be honest, though. I recently starting reading a book by an author whose books I’ve always loved. The latest fell flat, even though everyone I know who has read it raved about it. So maybe it was me. But I’m not going to recommend it. On the other hand, I sometimes read an unknown author whose books I find really enjoyable. So I’ll recommend those. It’s always nice to give other authors a boost.

 I have a few recommendations for your reading enjoyment:

James Ziskin just came out with a zinger of a book, The Prank. It's a great read.

Eric Beetner just wound up his Carter McCoy trilogy with A Wound That Will Not Heal. I love this series.

If you are a sci-fan who enjoys apocalytic novels, I highly recommend 51%, Matt Witten's latest novel.

And last, I just finished reading Rhys Bowen's latest standalone, The Castle in the Glen. As always, an engrossing read by one of our finest storytellers.

Not-Guilty-at-All Pleasures - by Matthew Greene

Not every book can be a stone cold classic. Do you seek out only the 5-star reads or is a book just as enjoyable if it is a 3-star read? Not an all-timer, but enjoyable nonetheless. Where’s the line for recommending a book to someone else?

I hesitate to call anything a "guilty pleasure." The term is a sly bit of linguistic trickery, a sneaky way of connecting with others over a shared interest (which is lovely) while communicating just how refined my real tastes are (which is, in my opinion, dickish). I'd employ this shady classification in circles where I wanted to appear intellectually superior to my own preferences, where I wanted people to be impressed with my typical taste and my bravery in admitting I'd been "slumming it" with some reality TV or bubble gum pop or (gasp!) genre fiction.

Perhaps my newfound hatred for the "guilty pleasure" moniker comes from the fact that many might classify my debut novel as such. It was, after all, a cozy mystery, a genre that has to fight to be taken seriously. (Funny how we do that with media that appeals to women...but that's a soap box for another day.) I don't mind the book being described as "fun" or "breezy" or even "an easy read." But I hope no one feels guilty for reading it or ashamed to recommend it.

I often think about books like food, and I think it's important to strive for a well-balanced diet. And, much like food, shame and self-consciousness just get in the way of enjoying some delicious things. Sure, you should make sure you get some meatier, more robust stuff in your reading diet, but there's nothing wrong with a snack, an indulgence, or even a dessert. 

So, in that spirit, I thought I'd recommend three titles I've recently enjoyed that some might classify as "guilty pleasures." But I'd describe them differently...

With a Vengeance by Riley Sager - This book felt like a mashup Murder on the Orient Express and the TV show Revenge from a decade or so ago, and I couldn't put it down. I know Riley Sager has his detractors, but I'm consistently entertained by his books and would recommend them to anyone looking for a page-turning escape. To continue the food comparisons, this book feels like a juicy bacon cheeseburger and fries.

The Woman in the Library by Sulari Gentill - It's interesting reading the criticisms of this book, because the issues identified by some readers were exactly what made it the right read for me at the time I picked it up. I tore through this book in a hospital waiting room, happy to give myself to its relaxed pace and character-focused narrative. On a day when I needed comfort, it was like a warm cinnamon roll and a tall glass of milk.

He's To Die For by Erin Dunn - This one is currently on my nightstand, so the recommendation may be premature. It's a gay rom-com mystery mashup that is completely delightful so far. I don't read a lot of romance (I find myself longing for something to happen) but there's just enough murder in this one to keep me wondering will-they-or-won't-they. This one hits like a frozen margarita and a basket of chips on a sunny afternoon.

Does every book have to be gourmet, nutrient-dense, or especially good for you? Absolutely not. If my reading life were nothing but chicken breast and kale, I'd be hard-pressed to want to spend much time with a book in my hands. So, here's to the not-so-guilty pleasures! 

When Writing Trauma Causes More Trauma by Poppy Gee

Childhood trauma seems to inform a lot of literary novels. Do you pull from any fears, anxiety or trauma from your early life into your work? Seems like mining our own uncomfortable pasts is perfect for crime fiction.

Childhood trauma seems to inform a lot of novels... yes, it does. And it's one of the biggest ethical dilemmas every writer must reckon with. 

It's understandable that a writer might process their own childhood trauma through their writing. The desire to make sense of the world is the reason most of us first put pen to paper. For me it was a daily diary I began when I was eight years old. It began with a list of the birthday presents I received -  a red scooter, clothing, a beach towel, a diary. Weeks later my entries consistently chronicled my frustration with my sisters over trivial matters, and my unfounded allegation that mum favoured them over me. According to my diary, everyone was mean to me. I was the Cinderella of the family - overlooked, overworked, downtrodden. My family would have a different perspective, of course. My diary only offered one perspective - mine. 

These childhood diaries were never intended for publication, and never will be. But what if writers who do intend publication weave the tales of their childhood trauma into their novels, without giving the other actors a right of reply? 

Now that I'm a published author, and I have in depth conversations with other published authors, I know that it happens more often than is publicly acknowledged. Fathers, mothers, sisters, brothers, friends, ex-wives and ex-husbands provide marvellous fodder for novelists. But sometimes, to a published author's discomfort and regret, friends and family don't like seeing their thinly disguised stories appearing in a novel. A sibling might have an entirely different point of view of family events, but because they're not a writer, they never get to present their case. Children might find distressing the portrayal of a character who bears an unflattering likeness to their own parent. This situation can be very hurtful and has the power to ruin relationships.  

I have used elements of childhood trauma as scaffold for an early draft. Later, I've erased or replaced all references to it. The emotion remains, but no identifying details. I feel that if you can't do that, if family members recognise situations, or feel identified in your novel, you shouldn't call it a novel. It would be more honest to call it a memoir, or autofiction. 

One author who was sued for repurposing other people's stories is Kathryn Stockett. She was sued by her family's maid Ablene Cooper who claimed the character Abileen was based on herself in The Help. (The lawsuit was unsuccessful due to the stature of limitations.) Authors from Hemingway to Capote reportedly lost friends after writing about them explicitly. Sylvia Plath's mother famously opposed the book The Bell Jar, describing it as a betrayal of the family. 

Other times, a successful book sits in the grim shadow of a questionable past. In Where The Crawdads Sing by Delia Falconer, the protagonist is accused of a horrific murder. The author herself is one of several people who remain wanted for questioning regarding a murder that occured in Zambia in the 1990s when the author worked there as a conservationist with her husband. 

Norwegian writer Karl Ove Knausgaard exposed everything about his life in his work My Struggle. The series was an enormous success, published in 22 languages, and yet he says, 'it fills me with sadness everytime I talk about it.' He used real names, real situations, and people he cared about felt violated.

When I publish a book, I want my friends and family feeling genuinely happy for me. That's important to me. But maybe some people in our lives are awful, immoral, cruel or violent, and maybe they deserve to be unveiled. A writer might decide that they are prepared for the ramifications. 

But if you're not, my suggestion is, take the golden seed of the idea, write it as honestly as you can, then change every last detail over as many drafts as it takes.