Critics

 

I have been writing novels for more than forty years. Up to sixty-some-odd titles, most of them mid-list science fiction or fantasy, many of them in shared universes, some of those bestsellers. Never had one top the New York Times List, but a couple in the top five, one that made it to #2.

Over the years, I have had reviews; some of them loved me, some hated me, and I learned a couple things early on: 1) You won’t please everybody, no matter what you do, so best please yourself. 2) Don’t ask people you know what they think of your book after it is published, when it is too late to be helpful. Because they might tell you, and you might not like what they say.

Of all the reviews, there is one that I loved more than any other, and it wasn’t in a magazine or newspaper.

My first novel came out when my son was fourteen. So I gave him a copy. After a while, I asked: So, what did you think?

He looked at me, held his hand out in front of himself, palm down, and waggled it, “Well,” he said, deadpan, “it ain’t no Dune.”