Please help me welcome my guest, Jo Kessel. Jo wrote an article for me about negative criticism, so Jo, take it away. I'm eager to hear what you have to say.
This is an interesting question and every
author (or indeed anyone putting their work in the public domain to be judged)
will deal with this in a different way. One very successful novelist friend of
mine says she doesn’t read her reviews, because she’d rather not know. I
personally couldn’t operate this way - I need to know how readers have reacted
to my work and what they enjoyed or didn’t enjoy. Inevitably you can’t always
please everyone and my husband is very philosophical on this point. “It’s a
wonderful thing,” he insists. “Everyone’s going to have a different opinion and
aren’t we lucky to live in such a meritocracy.” The few instances that
someone hasn’t enjoyed my books I try to remember all the positive feedback I’ve
had. There is nothing better than someone stopping you in the street (yes, that
has happened to me!) to tell me how much they enjoyed my book. Nothing beats
this feeling and so, for every negative review I remember the readers who have
been touched by my writing. When I set out to write I told myself that even if
ONE person read and enjoyed my work then it would have been worth it - to a
degree that is still true. Besides, negative criticism doesn’t have to be a bad
thing. Plenty of authors have had bad reviews but have nonetheless gone on to
become bestsellers. And if ever I’m feeling blue, I look at the reviews for 50
Shades. For every 5 stars review there’s a 2 star one to match it because
again, in my husband’s words, everyone has their own opinion. And look how well
E. L James has done! And lastly, but perhaps most importantly, one has to
remember that it’s so often the case that it’s the readers who don’t enjoy your book who tend to leave
a review, rather than the ones who have loved it.
WEAK
IN THE KNEES
By
Jo Kessel
BLURB:
“We got so busy
living life that we forgot to live our dreams.”
Danni Lewis has been playing it safe for twenty-six years,
but her sheltered existence is making her feel old ahead of time. When a sudden
death plunges her into a spiral of grief, she throws caution to the wind and
runs away to France in search of a new beginning.
The moment ski instructor Olivier du Pape enters her
shattered world she falls hard, in more ways than one.
Their mutual desire is as powerful and seductive as the
mountains around them. His dark gypsy looks and piercing blue eyes are
irresistible.
Only she must
resist, because he has a wife – and she’d made a pact to never get involved with a married man.
But how do you choose between keeping your word and being
true to your soul?
Weak at the Knees is Jo’s debut
novel in the new adult, contemporary romance genre – a story about love, loss
and relationships, set between London and the heart of the French Alps.
EXCERPT:
Olivier sits next
to me on the piano stool. We’re even closer than that day up the mountain and
it’s even more intoxicating. His body is so close to mine that the slightest
adjustment would have us touching. I can feel his heat, an electrical charge
which makes the side of my leg that’s almost brushing his tingle all the way
down. He pulls up his woolly, navy sleeves. “Shall we?” I note the gold wedding
band on his dark, manly hands as his fingers hover above the keyboard. I nod,
not trusting myself to speak, thinking the sooner he starts playing piano the
better, to distract me from this powerful attraction. He crashes both hands
down with flair and starts playing his version of the Boogie Woogie. It’s slightly jazzier and more sophisticated than
mine. I let him play by himself for a while, enjoying watching him, surprised
by how good he is.
The rhythm gets to
me, my upper torso unconsciously pulsing forward, toes tapping in my shoes. I
put my mug down on top of the piano and start trying to improvise a
Gerswhin-esque melody line, fluttering my right hand up and down the keyboard
in syncopation to Olivier’s beat. For about ten minutes we thump away, cheesy
grins on our faces, occasionally catching each others’ eye. We play whatever
comes into our heads, changing the mood and key from time to time. Sometimes it
works and sometimes it’s a discordant mess, but it doesn’t matter. By the time
Olivier eventually tires and crashes a final chord, our bodies are touching all
the way from our shoulders to our knees. I don’t want to move, which is exactly
why I do. I stand up, to recover my senses and my drink.
-----------------------
AUTHOR
INFORMATION:
When
Jo was ten years old she wrote a short story about losing a loved one. Her
mother and big sister were so moved by the tale that it made them cry. Having
reduced them to tears she vowed that the next time she wrote a story it would
make them smile instead. Happily she succeeded and with this success grew an
addiction for wanting to reach out and touch people with words. Jo lives in
London with her husband and three children where she works as a TV and print
journalist. She tells life stories and can often be found travelling the globe
researching the next big holiday hotspots for readers to enjoy. Since becoming
a mother anything even remotely sad makes her cry. She’s a sucker for a good
romance and tear-jerker movies are the worst. She’s that woman in the cinema,
struggling to muffle audible wails as everyone else turns round to stare.
P.S
Jo’s pretty certain one of her daughters has inherited this gene.
