Monday, September 07, 2015

Book Reviews, Oh, How I Loathe Thee!

I hate reading book reviews. My book reviews, other writers' book reviews, just book reviews in general. They really aren't helpful to me anymore because I have something of an insider's viewpoint. I know that most self-published books are favorably reviewed by the author's friends and family, which isn't an accurate way to audit a book for content, as nice as all those lovely filled in stars can be. Also, people who personally dislike an author will write horrid reviews based on their hatred, and not on the book or the writing or content, or basically anything that effing matters to people who have zero affiliation and want to see a fair review to determine whether or not they want to spend time and money on a book! Phew. And then there are the trolls -- I've been one and I've been served by many. I no longer 'troll' because I have a conscience. I feel bad when I say something mean or snarky meant to put someone in their place; and I feel worse when I get trolled for trolling! So I don't. Troll, that is. Is 'troll' a verb or a noun?

Anyway, trolls. Mean people. Cruel people. People who can never be pleased no matter what a person does. The ones who poop on your parade, pee in your sweet tea, shame you for having a voice, call you out for some indiscretion, imaged or real. And the worst are the trolls who troll trolls (and this post may be doing just that). I've read book reviews wherein all-out troll wars were started, dragging the author in, then pulling her out to bicker among themselves, then back in, and out again, basically beating the crap out of her until moving on to the next victim. And you don't need me to tell you that this phenomenon is pervasive online. I'm no intellectual, and I have serious issues with attention deficit and processing information and overwhelming empathy that sometimes I just don't 'get it', whatever 'it' is, until hours or days or weeks later, making me a perfect target for these people. I sometimes have brief moments of genius, as elusive as the Victorian ankle, and then I become giddy with awe of myself in those moments, that I ultimately goof myself out of it. Back to hum drum dumb. I guess what I'm trying to say is that I just can't handle those assholes ~ ha!

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