Make an Author Happy! Write a Review!

What do authors want? Reviews, reviews and more reviews.  So, a note like this? Much appreciated and a great confidence builder but please, consider posting those kind words.

Readers have no idea how much posting a review online matters. We authors are a mere molecule in a bucket of a million. There are lots of readers out there but many won’t consider reading a book until fifty reviews pop up under the title. Worse, Amazon, Goodreads, and the like won’t give your book a second look.

So, have a favorite author? Write a review for him or her on Amazon, Goodreads, BookBub or other popular review sites and help them connect with other readers. If that doesn’t encourage you to post a review, here’s another reason: Authors appreciate every word, and most take your views into consideration as they write more stories.

Oh, and another thing,  I’m an author and NONE of us expect all five-star reviews.stars (Well, there may be a narcissist or two out there but most of us realize we aren’t the next Stephen King.) I’m almost afraid to say this, but truth be told, I’ve learned as much about my writing from three-star reviews as five-stars. Authors are thick skinned. Tell us the truth. Couple a compliment with your critique, and we will love your review.

Compliments are important because a novel is a big part of an author’s life (months, years sometimes). Characters are their children. Authors like to hear what you enjoyed about their lives and kids.

Equally, we want to know what you didn’t like. I learned so much from my first readers. Bill Callahan, a friend of mine, suggested in both my novels, The Suicide Gene and Dream Wide Awake, that I create character/family charts. So, I did, for both. Because I like to challenge my readers to think, my novels can be confusing in the early pages. Readers are loving the character keys. Thanks, Bill!

So, please, if you find an author you particularly like, write a review and make them happy. I promise we will read every review, multiple times. We listen. We appreciate. We learn.

How to review on Major Sites

Amazon: if you have purchased the book make sure you post a VERIFIED review. This is important because Amazon sometimes removes reviews but almost never removes reviews posted by verified users.

  • go to your Amazon account
  • select “orders” in the black ribbon toward the top (next to account), if you purchased through Amazon, otherwise enter the book title in the search box,
  • scroll down to the book and on the right side click the “write a product review” box,
  • click a star (1-5 stars)
  • add a headline (page-turner, couldn’t put down, must read, etc.)
  • write a review!

(Give a description. See suggestions below. Amazon is less likely to remove more detailed reviews. If you received the novel free for a review, write: Thank you to the author/publisher for providing a free copy for an honest review. This review is posted voluntarily.)

Goodreads:  create an account and review as follows:

  • Enter book title in search box (or web address, mine is http://bit.ly/CZDWAg)
  • Click dropdown box (arrow) under cover picture on left side
  • Select read
  • Click number of stars for My Rating:
  • Copy and paste your Amazon review into the ‘What did you think?” box or write a review from scratch.

(If you do not see a review box, hover over “read” and “write a review” will appear.)

BookBub: is the simplest. Create an account, then:

  • Enter book title in search box,
  • Click on book when it appears below box
  • Click review
  • Select stars
  • Check I recommend if you’d like to recommend this book to others
  • Write a review
  • Click share

(For Barnes & Noble, Rifflebooks, or Kobo see my book club article here.)

Samples of What to Write in Your Review

What was the story about? Ex.: Dream Wide Awake is a thriller based in Erie PA….This thriller, based in a small city,…the storyline is about seers…Mikala Daly was born into a family of seers…Detective Jack Daly attempts to keep his daughter’s dreams secret in this psychic thriller.

Who was your favorite/least favorite character and why?: I liked Mikala Daly…I wasn ‘t fond of Billy’s sarcasm…minor character Andy Mesmer was one of my favorites…I hope to learn more about the chief in a sequel…I wasn’t fond of Lenny…

Did you like/dislike the plot? I enjoy a book with a lot of twists and turns…the plot kept me thinking…I hope a sequel resolves a question I had…

You get the idea, here are some other questions:

  • Were characters credible?
  • Could you relate to a character?
  • Was the story believable? Possible?
  • Have you experienced anything similar?
  • Did you like the book?
  • What was your favorite and/or least favorite part?
  • If you could change something, what would it be?
  • Would you recommend this book?
  • What type of person would like this book?
  • Would you like to read a prequel, sequel, or other books by this author?

How to Review CJ Zahner’s Novels

If you’ve read mine, I’d love to see your review on any of the following sites. Click on the name of the site under the book you’ve read and you’l be redirected to my page on that site!

Dream Wide Awakewrite a review
Amazon
Goodreads
BookBub
Barnes and Noble
Rifflebooks
KOBO

The Suicide Gene
Amazon
Goodreads
BookBub
The Wild Rose Press
Barnes and Noble
KOBO
Riffle

Read and review on!

_________________________________________                 Cyndie Zahner is the author of The Suicide Gene and Dream Wide Awake., Listen to her BookCircle Online interview how her 9/11 premonition influenced her writing here, follow her on Instagram, Twitter, Facebook, Goodreads, BookBub, LinkedIn, purchase her books on Amazon, or sign up for here semi-annual newsletter here.

Dash Queen Fetish

I have a dash fetish. I am the dashes-create-tell-all-adjectives queen.

My addiction began while writing reality recaps for my daughter’s website, athletchic.com. Jessie, my daughter, asked me to admit I was addicted to The Bachelor and begin blogging recaps about the show. Athletchic.com readers were asking for them, and Jessie dedicated her Monday evenings to blogging about the Kardashians. So could I write it?

Admitting I watched The Bachelor was no easy feat. I was working in the business world and hoping my co-workers didn’t get wind of it. My dash-queen qualities began surfacing slowly. First I mentioned Shower-shy Brit—a bachelorette noted for not taking showers. Then came What’s-her-name Megan whose name the Bachelor could never remember. It advanced to Love-my-widow-story Kelsey about a girl who (it almost appeared) relished recanting her widow story. Then it peaked. I reached the dash-queen apex when my fingers typed Pick-me-pick-me-I’m-a-virgin Ashley for a girl who constantly flaunted her virginity hoping to persuade the Bachelor to pick her. It was there in print before I knew it. I had sunk to a new low. Six dashes. Is there a linguistic chastisement for using that many dashes?

Now my real-world diction mingles with my blog-world diction. It is a thoughtless diction that was accidentally catapulted by addiction. Yet, in the blogging world, readers loved it. Compliments flowed and followers multiplied. They couldn’t get enough of the dash-queen’s adjectives.

So now I read and reread, watch and re-watch Write 101x’s adjective lectures to right my wrong. Bad habits are hard to break. But I must change my ways and refocus as I enter back into the literary atmosphere.

Let my love-my-dashes-more-than-conventional-adjectives ways cease to exist. Well, at least Tuesday through Sunday.

 

Saturday Morning Runs

Saturday Morning Flights

From the sky it looks like a puzzle piece, Presque Isle. The sort of piece that finds your hand first because it’s the most colorful, most distinguishable. It’s the one you want to begin with, fit the other pieces around. From high above, its jagged edges disappear into the blue water, and its magnificent green hues mix with soil brown and take your breath away.

There is so much to love about Presque Isle.

A bald eagle took my breath away there once as he soared along the shores of the bay. Three of us were lucky enough to witness his wide wings slowly and gracefully, rising and falling in flight. He was there and gone in an instant—a small, blessed piece added to each of our puzzles on a near-perfect morning.

I’ve logged over thirty years of Saturday mornings in the same manner. Running. Mostly on that little strip of land jutting into Lake Erie called Presque Isle State Park. And usually with my best running buddy, Robin. Runners have come and gone over the years, but Robin and I remain—a little slower, a little wiser, and, more profoundly, a little closer to gathering up all of our journey’s puzzle pieces and heading home.

Ernest Hemingway once said, “It is good to have an end to journey toward; but it is the journey that matters, in the end.” At a stone’s throw from sixty, I know the importance of the journey.

And that thirteen-mile stretch of road on Presque Isle State Park has been a big part of mine. Its contour is flat and lazy. Yet, there are times, bone-chilling mornings, when its frost and ice-bending trees hide the beauty within its edges, when woods and wildlife cower, but somehow I appreciate even its worst days with Robin and Heather and Carol and Laura and Jan at my side. Good friends and encouraging words firm up the slickest footing and most treacherous terrain. As we talk on those days when our breath fades into the air like puffs of icy powder floating away, we slip in and out of each other’s lives and forget the biting cold. Even in life’s most wickedly cold hours, the pieces snap warmly into place.

I buried a child on a cold February day. An infant. A little girl with a full head of hair that would be flowing over her shoulders by now if she had lived. For a long time afterwards it was hard to run at that park, nearly impossible to see its beauty. Yet every Saturday, my friends showed up and ran beside me, their shoulders so close to mine I could feel their warmth, their strength. They would not let me fall.

Life is precious. It’s sad to think of death on land so alive, and yet death, too, is a part of the journey.

So, occasionally when I run at Presque Isle, I reflect on my little angel or on other loved ones who have journeyed home, and my thoughts sometimes settle on a June Saturday in 2015. I began that morning as usual, congregating with other runners, leaning against my car, texting late friends, “Are you coming?” The mood was light. The conversation, jocular. I didn’t know my path was about to cross Death’s path once again. That Death would swoop down in front of me and claim another mother’s child.

He was seventeen years old, and seventeen is so much a child to someone finishing her sixth decade. My running buddies and I first saw him at the mouth of the Peninsula. A car sped by. He was a passenger inside. I don’t recall the exact time or the temperature or his face, but I remember the air was thick that morning. One runner mentioned the car’s erratic ride, but we began our run with hardly a thought of it. We were a mile or two down the road when we heard the crash, a half mile from the accident when the metallic smoke singed our nostrils.

A few minutes later, the scene was horrifically upon us. There was a cyclist standing near the car and two hunters came toward us, herding us away, saying we didn’t want to see inside. I remember the quiet anguish of the air. The stillness that fell on life. I will never forget that scene—that moment in time when the boy’s journey ended, when his path crossed other paths for the last time. A senseless car accident, metal against tree, and he was gone—a mere memory, one small but much-loved piece forever clicked into eternity’s puzzle.

I think of him whenever I pass his resting place. Pray for his family. Pray for my own children and my friends’ children, because on that little patch of road, I watched every mother’s fear come to life. I was ashamed that I knew her grief before she did. Hated that, really. His last piece falling to complete strangers.

Yet, one never knows how many lives they have touched until that final piece finds its place. I still take in the beauty of Presque Isle State Park, but I treasure the people who run beside me a little more now because of that child. He taught me that life is fleeting and that every encounter I have, no matter how brief, fits finely together with the others and shapes me.

Next Saturday, Robin and I will probably meet at Presque Isle. On that path of profound beauty, we’ll run alongside each other, placing one foot in front of the other until we finish our journey. We will talk about our families and the places we have been or the people we have met and the pieces we’ve gathered, because, like Hemingway, we know the journey is more important than the end.

And if our run becomes taxing and our legs heavy, we can remember that day we saw the eagle. Watched as his massive wings floated up and down in splendor. Took in his beauty as he sailed along the parkway. We can recall his flight toward the sky as he glided upward, soared, ascended like an angel flying home, and then gazed down at us as we journeyed up and down and over and around on winding path.

Yes, from above, the path looks unfettered and the journey amazingly clear, and Presque Isle, like a beautiful puzzle piece embedded in stark, jagged blue—and in me.

Cyndie Zahner is a freelance writer at www.athletchic.com and www.cyndiezahner.com. Follow her on Instagram at athletchicz or on Twitter @Tweetyz.

Saturday Morning Flights was originally written in 2013 and then updated on April 20, 2017.