I just came away from the sort of trainwreck that I said once would make me point and snicker. I'm not doing either, I'm more sad than anything. This has to be the worst mess of this kind that I've seen. A reviewer gave what looked like an even handed review to a self-pubbed book, and the author disintegrated. The link is here, if you must, but you might want to skip it. Suffice to say that the author went outside without putting on her big girl pants.
And everyone knows about it now. I found out because a friend passed on a newsletter from a writing course that used it for a cautionary tale.
It's been said before that reviews are for readers. Writers get some benefit too, it's publicity if the review is good and hopefully a way to improve if it isn't so good. But the review isn't meant for ego stroking, it's a map to readers and sometimes it's marked 'here be dragons.'
I try not to forget that writers are people. Low-rated reviews are hard to write. In fact, if I don't review frequently some weeks, it's most likely because I'm struggling to review something that didn't work so well. There's no way to keep it from hurting sometimes without abandoning honesty. And I'm not going to do that. Not everything written is the most deathless prose since the Iliad.
I'm sure I've hurt some feelings already, or maybe no one ever read, but either way, no one has gone off on me, and for that, thank you authors. It could happen one day, and if it does, I just hope I can keep as calm as Big Al did.