My first scathing review did not come from an editor, literary agent or publisher; it came from my sister. I had not completed my first manuscript yet, but I had covered most of the plot. I was eager for another pair of eyes to look at my work, but I was also apprehensive. There was a possibility that she wasn’t going to enjoy or appreciate my book.
Why my sister, you may ask; because she was the smartest person I knew. Whenever I converse with her, I can tell that she is thinking. She is not the kind to regurgitate gossip or wives’ tales as fact. I knew that she would be honest with me. Plus she reads the classics. I think at the time she was reading Anna Karenina.