Asking if your book is any good is the wrong question…

It’s one of the most common questions new writers ask, and also one of the hardest to answer.

‘Is my book any good?’ 

The truth is, that question doesn’t really lead anywhere useful. A better question might be ‘Good for whom?’ or ‘Good for what purpose?’

Writing a book is a personal thing, but publishing a book is not. Once you step beyond your manuscript and into the marketplace, you’re no longer dealing purely with art; you’re dealing with product, positioning, and perception. And that’s where many new authors falter. They approach their novel as a creative expression rather than a commercial proposition, forgetting that readers and publishers will engage with it through a completely different lens.

That doesn’t mean your story should lose its heart or become a formulaic attempt to please an algorithm. What it does mean is that if you want your book to reach readers, you need to think about it as they do. Instead of wondering if your manuscript is ‘good’, start asking the questions that matter, i.e. the ones that tell you whether it’s ready to meet the world.

Let’s take a book draft meant for the genre of science fiction as an example. Would a publisher of science fiction titles be interested? Publishers rarely make decisions based purely on the quality of writing. They’re driven by whether your book fits their list, fills a gap in their catalogue, or capitalises on a trend. You could have an exceptional manuscript, but if their focus is cosy speculative fiction and you’ve written a sprawling interplanetary epic, it simply won’t align. The only way to know is to research. Look at who publishes stories like yours, what their tone and themes tend to be, and how your book might complement what they already offer.

Then there’s the question of readers. Would a reader actually buy your book? It sounds obvious, yet it’s astonishing how many writers forget this part. As the creator, you know every nuance of your world — the systems of governance, the backstory of each planet, the emotional weight of your protagonist’s journey, for example — but a reader encountering it for the first time doesn’t. All they see initially is a title, a cover, and a short description. Those few elements have to do the heavy lifting. They need to spark curiosity and promise something the reader wants to feel or discover for them to even pick the book up or click on its thumbnail.

Think about what makes you click ‘buy’. Is it the premise of a book? The moral question at the heart of a story? The sheer scale of imagination? Readers of science fiction are loyal, but they’re also specific. A fan of The Martian isn’t necessarily looking for a Dune-style saga, and someone who loves near-future dystopias may not reach for sweeping space opera. Each corner of the genre has its own expectations around pacing, tone, and themes. Knowing which part of that landscape you inhabit will help you speak directly to the readers who will value your work most.

Visualise your book on a shelf, whether that’s a physical or virtual one. What would it sit alongside? This exercise is more revealing than it sounds. It forces you to identify your book’s sub-genre and tone. Is it a character-driven exploration of human emotion with a speculative twist, or a high-concept ‘what if?’ narrative that examines the boundaries of technology? If you’re unsure, look at comparable titles on Amazon or Goodreads. How are they categorised? What words appear in their blurbs? What kind of cover design or tagline do they use? These details shape readers’ expectations, and your book’s positioning should align with that whilst still offering something unique.

And that uniqueness is key. Every story needs a reason for being, a distinctive element that makes it stand out in an ocean of new releases. Maybe your protagonist defies every trope by developing empathy instead of hostility. Maybe your post-apocalyptic world focuses on renewal and hope rather than despair. Or maybe you’ve blended science fiction with another genre entirely, like mystery or mythology. Whatever your differentiator is, it becomes the cornerstone of how you pitch and market your book. Even if you’re seeking a traditional publishing deal, it helps to think like a marketer. Publishers and readers alike want to understand what sets your work apart.

This brings us back to the original question. When you ask whether your book is any good, what you’re really asking is for validation. Literature doesn’t work in this manner. The English language is subjective, and so is taste. One reader’s masterpiece is another’s abandoned paperback. Trends evolve, audiences shift, and what resonates today may be overlooked tomorrow. The more useful question is not ‘Is it good?’ but ‘Does it work?’ Does it work for the reader you’re targeting? Does it achieve what it sets out to do within its chosen genre? And, perhaps most importantly, does it work for you? Does it express the story you wanted to tell in the best way you can?

A writing coach or editor like myself can guide you through the process of improving your manuscript, identifying weaknesses, or sharpening your storytelling. But no one can decide for you whether your book should go out into the world. Coaching isn’t about providing answers; it’s about helping you ask the right questions, so you can make informed, confident decisions about your creative future.

So, if you’ve written a science-fiction manuscript and you’re wondering what to do next, shift your focus. Instead of obsessing over whether it’s ‘good enough’, start exploring who it’s for, where it belongs, how it stands out, and why it matters. The best writers don’t simply tell stories; they understand how those stories live beyond the page. They look at their work through the eyes of the people they hope will read it. And that perspective — that quiet, deliberate shift from creator to communicator — might be the most valuable skill you’ll ever learn as an author.