It makes sense. If you're seeking publication, especially in fiction, you should read a lot and review a lot. In fact, it would be great if you get a reviewing gig at a local newspaper, or a web site, or somewhere else; you'll get double duty by forcing yourself to analyze what works (and doesn't work) in the books you read, and you'll get some credits to put in your query letter by having your reviews published. Plus, you might make some contacts that benefit you.

I'll agree with everything above. Except for the review part. Make that: except for the published review part. At the very least, I want you to carefully consider the potential risks with the rewards.

Risks? What's risky about reviewing books?

Here's the thing. If you review, you're naturally going to review the genre you're interested in writing. As long as you read books you love, everything will be fine. But inevitably, you'll run across a book you hate. No problem, you might think; you're a critic, after all, so why not be critical in your reviews?

Because the world of publishing is small when you think about it. And your genre--mystery/thriller, romance, spec fiction, religious fiction, whatever--is even smaller. More so in our socially networked society.

Maybe you see the problem developing. If you publish a critical review, honest as it may be from your point of view, it's going to be seen. First, it's going to be seen by the author, because most authors actively search out reviews for their books. (I always have, but I'm largely getting cured of the disease. That's probably a topic for another post.)

As an author, reviews that praise your work are wonderful things. But the negative reviews are the ones that really stick with you. When you read a negative review, the name of the reviewer is instantly burned into your consciousness, and filed away inside your mind. It's just human nature. Now, that author may take the review in the spirit it's intended, but she may not. She may belong to a few author groups, and she may pass along portions of the review to the whole group, seeking solace from friends. She may complain to her publisher, and ask they never send another book for your review again.

And have I mentioned: your name is now burned into her consciousness?

Someday--maybe six months from now, maybe a year from now, maybe longer--you might have an opportunity to be published. You might need an endorsement, and you might find yourself approaching the author whose work you savaged. Perhaps you've forgotten about it, but I guarantee she hasn't. She'll remember your name. Even if you're sure you'll never need something from that particular author, remember: the Interwebs are vast and far-reaching. You might ask another author for an endorsement, and she'll casually mention it on a writing list...and the author whose work you savaged will share her thoughts.

That's if you get the contract. Don't forget editors have a soft spot for books they've acquired. If they're interested in your submission, you can be sure they'll do a google search on you. Lo and behold, they'll find the many reviews you've published online. When said editor stumbles across a review for a book she acquired, and notices how you ripped it apart...well. Maybe you haven't sunk your ship, but you've piloted right toward a large iceberg.

My point is, scathing reviews last forever. And they may haunt you. So if you truly want to review books, I advise you to only post reviews of books you really love (which may not be possible if you're "assigned" reviews at a publication). The old adage holds true: if you can't say anything nice, don't say anything at all.

It may not do much for your critic cred. But then, you're not interested in being a critic; you're interested in being an author.

I'm finishing edits on my fourth book, Faces in the Fire, right now, and one thing that's really started to stand out for me is...well, is how my writing mind seems preoccupied by a few basic themes. The search for identity, for instance. The search for meaning and significance. (Or, as Publishers Weekly said in a review of my last book: "The human desire for authenticity." I like that.) The amazing ability of great goodness to be born in the midst of great evil.

Take those things away, it seems, and I really don't have much to write about, fiction-wise.

Stephen King, in his excellent book On Writing, said:

I don’t believe any novelist, even one who’s written forty-plus books, has too many thematic concerns; I have many interests but only a few that are deep enough to power novels. These deep interests include how difficult it is--perhaps impossible!--to close Pandora's technobox once it's open. Why, if there is a God, such terrible things happen. The thin line between reality and fantasy, and most of all, the terrible attraction violence sometimes has for fundamentally good people."

So I'm in good company; King is now up to more 50 novels, and he counts four main themes in his own work.

Still, it's a bit uncomfortable to discover some of the things that keep popping up in your work again and again. Most of my main characters are everyday, blue collar folks who are tortured by their own histories. They have a tendency to hide their own identities (consciously or not). They are abused, estranged or cut off from their parents. They struggle with paranoia, schizophrenia, compulsions and other mental disorders.

Um...so what does that say about me?

I probably don't want to know the answer to that.