I pride myself for being a tough book reviewer. I have probably ruined some of your days because no one wants to hear that the thing they worked extraordinarily hard on is fluffy, a mess, awful, boring, poorly written, etc. I would like to explain.
Firstly, I worship you like gods and goddesses. I worship and deeply respect you for doing what you do. What I want most in the world is to be able to join your ranks (Side note: If any of you gods feel like visiting the London, Ontario, Canada area it would be appreciated (Toronto, Ontario is equally acceptable, but it’s over 2 hours from my house. California is just too far)). Books saved my life when I was depressed at age 12 and I understand that writing a book takes a lot of work and I appreciate, as a reader, all of the work you put in.
Secondly, because of the lifesaving miracle your blood, sweat, and tears performed, I just want the books of the world (especially books of the under-appreciated, criticized YA variety (my English teacher even criticized YA in my report card this year)) to be good. A lot of my 3 star reviews are only 3 stars because I can see that the author could write much better books than they are currently writing. A lot of my 4 star reviews are only 4 stars because I wasn’t able to really get into the book because life happened. Two of my DNFs are DNFs because my weird germophobic brain freaked out because the books were from the library (and the beginnings were slow and I wasn’t in the mood to read them, but that’s beside the point). Those things don’t happen all of the time, but they do happen. Don’t take my criticisms to harshly. Instead use them to improve your next book, because even if I don’t read your next book, someone with similar opinions to mine might, and they will thank you for writing a better book.
In short, books are half of who I am. They were my friends when I didn’t have any, they give me hope and strength, and their authors are gods that ought to be worship more often. I thank you authors for all that you do.