I give it 5 stars!

I give it 5 stars!!

Isn’t that what we all want to say?
Your book was a masterfully crafted piece of supreme literature that should be revered globally!
Originality, deliverance, execution…
PERFECTION!!

*sigh*
Here lies my woe.
Ok, by no means am I anybody who’s anybody when it comes to the literary universe.
I’m an uneducated, embarrassingly under read, unpublished, word player…
I have no accredited authority to judge, nor a vast knowledge when it comes to the importance of a book review.

This here post, may very well offend, even sever ties. That’s assuming it’s even read.

Here goes nothing.

My kindle, not to mention bookshelves is abound with collections of works, ranging from unpublished newbies, through to novels by Hemingway and the poetic tongue of Lady Nin…
That, gives me nothing.
Not when it all comes down to giving a book review.
Now, on a literary front, I ache to offer some guidance in timing, placement, cadence if you will.
I won’t.
If you didn’t love your piece, and the way it read, you wouldn’t have sent it out as ready to review. Would you?
Again, who am I to correct…?
Then comes the moralistic front, I fucking adore you, the person you, the prospective author you, the battler, the inspirer, the get up each day slave away despite realities pull, remaining fixed on your insatiable intention to live inside your made up world write! write! write! you, the you that is doing it, the you that knows there is a story to tell, the you that breathes through each tear of wordless despair, the you that has pages stuck together by the rings of yesterday’s ten cups of insanely strong coffee you…
How have YOU not already earned my 5 star rating?
I’m in fucking awe! Complete awe!

But what if the story is underwritten?
The plot in need of a little thickening?
The structure is sound but it grows a little wonky with each page turned?
What if the book is not my cup o tea?
Just not for me?
What then?
Do I give it a 5 star review on the basis that I’d still buy it, place it forever in my kindle library, purely to assist your journey, in this ever populating realm of ‘everybody longs to be published’?
Do I mask my true opinion
with raving squeals of support?
Because honestly
I want nothing more
than to see you succeed.

So I ask myself this, upon the time, that is slowly approaching, what would I want from those I offer my prose, to read, to digest, to review?

Honestly? Honesty.

Damn, if my book is not worthy of you turning the pages till there are none.
If my storyline lacks lustre and could offer more
If my characters are boring, my visuals cloudy, my writing deplorable, I’d want to know.
I’m learning.
In saying this, I know we each have different tastes, alternate ways to string these bemusing things into syllables of linguistic verse.
I curse words I’ve written long ago, for being malnourished, undercooked, incomprehensible at times. Until I smile, at the knowledge of my youth, finally meeting her match, in a womans growth.

I won’t lie, I’d lie…
I’d push your words with all that I have.
I’d wish you the world on a silver platter.
I’d promote it, implore more to read it.
Help you, to sell you, assist you in your growing dream.
I want you, to be a household name.
I want you to be truly acclaimed.

I feel ashamed.
Sink back into my own dark place, berating myself for the fact that I’ve known of better books, yet pushed yours as the best.
Surely, there’s a known alibi among literary friends, that gives you a little bending room to totally blow a waft of supportive smoke, stroke a needing ego?
Before the reviews of strangers come through in waves of truth.
Perhaps, it’ll be a hit, and my review will be perfectly reflected.

So…. With all that said and done, where do I go from here?

Back into the shadows, with my over active, under tamed, insane mind.
Unscrambling these highly coveted letters.
Hoping one day, you’ll give me your true review.

Even if all the stars
belong to other hearts
Even if the truth
will undeniably bruise
Even if you wished
it was different to this
I’d want it still
Help me earn my quill

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