Why I wrote a 2,5 star book

Nov 1

What happens when a story misfires — and why I’m grateful it did.

Now, darling, I’ve just put on the kettle, so it will be a minute or so before the tea is ready, but while we wait, I’ll let you in on an industry secret.

“Nobody sets out to write a bad book.”

It just… happens. And did it happen to me? I think the Goodreads rating of 2.56 stars can speak for itself.

Why don’t we sit down and I’ll tell you everything about Grimoire’s Bride, and what went wrong with it. Oh, look—the tea is ready. Just on time.

So, where do I start? At the beginning, I reckon. That would only be linearly appropriate (quite unlike what I did with Grimoire's Bride).

Exhibit-A. If you wish to write a story that doesn’t follow the formula commercial literature is built on—be ready for confused readers. Since very early on, we are taught to read in a certain way—to expect certain things from books, and one of those things is linearity. What do I mean by that? A story must follow(or is advised, rather) a structure of A>B>C. We meet our characters, we have our McGuffin, and off we venture into our unholy adventure. What I did with Grimoire’s Bride was more D>A>C>E. Notice how there is no “B”.

Exhibit-B. The missing “B”.

I thought myself so incredibly witty, so incredibly ingenious, that I completely forgot humans cannot read minds. That’s on me. Although… I’m looking at you, Creator, too. I’m going to make things crystal clear first and foremost—none of this was intentional. What I intended was to provide a reading experience where the reader is required to be a little more engaged, where skimming is not rewarded. And in that I succeeded. I punished my readers with confusion and in return myself with a misunderstood book.

And now I will tell you what I actually pictured Grimoire’s Bride to be.

I started writing Grimoire’s Bride out of love for the gritty and macabre. I wanted to give my readers something spooky, weird, but at the same time whimsical—something to celebrate Halloween with.

Growing up, my mother used to tell me stories of hags who ate unruly children, and ice queens that froze soldiers. She read me stories written by Andersen, Pushkin and Brothers Grimm—among many others. And, although, they had been adapted, stripped of the macabre and rewritten not to harm the fragile psyche of children—I still felt something... different in them. Some dark whimsy that I, too, tried to put in Grimoire's Bride. Succeeded I or not—that's not a question for me to answer.

I wanted Grimoire to be a story that you learn through illustrations as well as the manuscript itself. I wanted to sprinkle pages of a ruined field diary/bestiary in between chapters, to immerse you all in the story even more. But. The file was just too "heavy". Try as I might, I couldn't get it under 25 mb. So, the plan for every reader to get an illustrated version of the book went flying out the window. And I am deeply saddened by it. The illustrated version is available—but only through Amazon, and only as a physical book. The curse of on-demand-print.

But I’ve learned from my mistakes.

I’ve learned that I cannot be talking at the reader but rather I must be conversing with you. Some authors say—don’t read the reviews; reviews are for readers. But how else will I hold this conversation if I shut my ears? Especially when you all are screaming at me to stop drowning in my own hubris? I am thankful for every review I get—even the harsh ones. And if my writing has offended you to the point of white-hot rage? I apologize. Come sit down beside me, darling, let’s drink some tea. I promise I’ll keep you safe—even from the words I unleash.

And to authors who are in the trenches, heartbroken by low ratings? Keep writing.

Write the next book.

Kill your darlings, love.

I know I’ve killed mine.

Grimoire’s Bride will remain exactly as it is—flawed, strange, and honest—because sometimes the story’s real purpose is to teach the storyteller.

Forever yours,