The Power of Readers' Words

They say you should write only for yourself. That you shouldn’t worry about others’ opinions and instead just write what’s inside you.

And they’re right … if you’re writing a diary.

If, however, you’re writing a novel, which can take a couple years and pints of blood to complete and publish, there’s a good chance you’re hoping folks will read it. And there’s an even better chance you’re hoping folks will like it.

The bad news is, most folks won’t read it. The worse news is, some of the folks who will read it won’t like it.

Fortunately, I’ve learned a great way to cope with the crushing defeat and the feelings of utter insignificance most authors commonly experience. My secret? I pretend everyone who ignores or dislikes my books is dead or insane. This enables me to remain deluded and to revel in the handful of readers who dig my books—the people who remind me why I keep at this crazy writing game.

Don’t get me wrong, I don’t write merely for external validation. I write because I love the pure act of writing and creating, the euphoria I get from completing what I think is a solid chapter or page or paragraph. Still, few things feel as good as when—after you bust your hump to bring a 75,000-word story into the world—someone other than yourself or your own mother says the story captivated them. Brought them joy. Made them laugh. Helped them through a difficult time. Maybe even transformed them to some extent.      

As much as I love writing novels, there are times when I think about quitting. Like when I’m struggling with a manuscript I’m working on. Or when I realize even my absolute best effort stands little chance of bringing me financial gain. Or when it hits me that every hour or day I spend with the imaginary people in my books is time spent away from actual people in my life. Or because I’m aware of all the big and real problems in the world, and know that me sitting alone in a room creating fiction isn’t doing much to fix things.

But it seems every time I’m about to throw in the towel and move on to do something I feel would be more productive and rewarding and selfless, some reader comes along and ruins everything with a positive and heartfelt review of one of my books. Something terribly enabling like:

“I finished In Wolves' Clothing a little over 24 hours ago and am still struggling to find the words to describe it, and to get it out of my mind. This is one of the best books I have ever read. I know that's lofty praise, but Greg Levin's ability to tell such a painful, horrible story and make it funny and inspirational deserve it.”

Or:

“As a cancer patient, I speak from a different perspective than most who will read this book. The humor and storyline are exquisitely delightful. Laugh-out-loud funny. I will read this again when I need a humor boost.”

Or an email saying:

“I lost my mother a little over a month ago. A few of my friends thought I should wait to read your book—given the subject matter. I wanted you to know that it was precisely the right book at the right time. A brilliant work of fiction that collided with an important time in my life. I loved your book, and my mother would have too.”

How in the hell am I ever supposed to leave writing behind and actually make something of myself if, on occasion—albeit rare–I receive such praise and encouragement?

Perhaps I need to start focusing on the haters and trolls a little more. You know, the folks who take time out of their busy schedule to send me email messages like:

“You are crap. Your books are crap. I hope you get a flesh-eating bacterial disease and die.”

Or who leave a one-star review like:

“Worst book I've ever read. Awful. If I could give no stars I would do that but I did not have that option.”

It could be the latter folks actually have my best interests in mind. (Well, okay, probably not the flesh-eating disease guy.) Could be they’re just trying to steer me in a direction that will be more beneficial to me and my family. Could be they’re actually members of my family.    

But I know me, and I’m sure I’ll just continue pretending such haters are zombies and/or psychopaths, and that I’ll continue putting way more stock into what my three or four super-fans have to say. And that’s okay. Because honestly, whatever keeps a writer writing (or a singer singing or a painter painting or a dancer dancing) is okay. 

I, myself, am a super-fan of several authors, and I’ve witnessed—and been surprised by—the effect that simple, honest praise can have on even famous writers … writers I’d assumed had become numb to all the compliments and accolades they’ve received from fans over the years. I recently reached out to a renowned author of dark yet powerfully poignant novels to let him know I’d just finished one of his books and that I regretted not having read it sooner. His reply:

“I've been pretty dejected about the industry for a while now, but meeting likeminded authors like yourself has invigorated my passion and determination to stick at what I believe in.”

Another author I greatly admire recently gave me the honor of reading the unfinished manuscript of his long-awaited next novel. Midway through the manuscript, I couldn’t resist emailing him to say it was shaping up to be the best book I’ve read in years. (And I wasn’t lying.) His reply:

“Much appreciated. I've been trying to psych myself up all day to make another run at the current chapter-in-progress, so your praise was well-timed.”  

Point is, writers are so damn needy. (I don’t do emojis, but feel free to insert a winky-face one here. Moving on …)

I didn’t write this blog post to pander to readers or to fish for compliments on my writing. (I already have every positive review and message I’ve ever received printed out and taped to a cocktail glass, so don’t worry about me—I see praise every day.) Rather, I wrote this post to remind readers of the power they possess simply by being a reader. Yeah, that does sound like pandering, but bear with me.

As a reader, you have every author in the world at your mercy. And you don’t owe them anything. You don’t have to read their books. You don’t have to like their books. However, if you do read one and you like it and feel compelled to let them know but figure they’re too busy or important to care, believe me, they’re not.

Their words may have left you breathless, mesmerized, overjoyed. Their words may even have restored your faith in literature and humanity. But I’m telling you, your words are even more powerful. A couple sentences of yours can touch a writer far more deeply than a thousand sentences of theirs touched you. Because what you have to say might just be exactly what the author needs to hear to continue writing. To continue fighting. To continue leaving not only you but countless others breathless, mesmerized, overjoyed. Transformed.

And, in the event you do reach out to an author to share how much their book meant to you and they don’t respond, well, don’t sweat it. Just pretend they’re dead or insane. Chances are, you’ll be right.

A huge THANK YOU to all the readers who’ve ever given my words the time of day—and who’ve graced me and kept me going with theirs.