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The Guardian
09-05-2025
- Entertainment
- The Guardian
Authors speak out against failed US book festival: ‘shattered badges and silence'
In the days leading up to the A Million Lives book festival, things already seemed amiss. Grace Marsceau, the event organizer, messaged an attending author that the DJ was in the hospital and the company had no replacement. She owed the hotel 'six figures' because the room block hadn't sold out, according to messages. 'Oh my gosh that's awful!' author Sarah Zane responded. The excuses seemed unusual, but as a veteran of book events, Zane expected to deal with some mismanagement. 'I started to get worried,' Zane said in an interview with the Guardian, 'But I did not expect things to be so visibly wrong.' On a Discord channel for the event, Marsceau repeatedly assured everyone about the event. In January, she said ticket sales were already 'in the high four hundreds and I am aiming to sell out'. By the end of April, she messaged that ticket sales were in the 'high 500s low 600s'. Attendance estimates help authors decide how many copies of their books to bring to an event. The two-day festival at the Baltimore convention center cost writers $50-$150 for the table, which is in addition to the cost of gas, flights, hotel rooms and books. Many spent more than $1,000 to attend, they said, an investment these independent authors believed worth it to sell their books. 'I make my whole living on events, this is my life blood,' said Kalista Neith, a popular dark romance author. Neith had agreed to attend as a featured author – meaning her hotel was covered and she'd receive a $1,000 payment. Her attendance also gave other authors confidence in the event. In total, about 100 authors signed up. 'The second I saw that Kalista Neith and Perci Jay had signed on to this I was like, 'OK, this is gonna be a good event,'' said Zane. But last week, Marsceau told Neith that the Hilton was not returning her calls so she was going to move her to a Days Inn. Neith didn't mind. After check-in, the front desk informed her that Marsceau's credit card to cover the room had been declined. When Neith called Marsceau, she said her identity had been stolen. By then, Neith had her doubts, but she'd already told her followers about the festival and left the hotel to get her table set up. As she and other authors arrived at the convention center, there was no signage to direct them to the event. Marsceau wasn't there, and there weren't any event staff or volunteers. The original map of booths was not up to fire code, a security guard informed them, so everything had to be rearranged that morning. There were no coverings for the booths or badges that are typical of any conference. When Marsceau finally arrived, Zane asked her why they didn't have badges or wristbands. The badges had arrived 'shattered', Marsceau informed Zane. Later, she told attendees that she had memorized everyone's faces and knew who was supposed to be there, according to interviews. When the festival finally got started on Friday, no one walked through the door. One talk had more authors on the panel (nine) than people in attendance (eight). A tattoo artist wasn't provided with an electrical outlet and had to borrow a battery pack in order to work. And an advertised 'content room' was just a bare room with a gray carpet. Some attenders, like Susan Alexander, a first-time author and mom of two who drove from Indiana said she was hesitant to be critical. When Marsceau asked her for feedback that day about the event, Alexander demurred. 'It can be really scary as a first-time author to voice your concerns. You don't want to be blackballed from other events,' she said. Other authors said in interviews they tried to convince themselves that Friday was just slow and things would improve. Instead, things only devolved further. On Saturday, the content room was shut down for 'mechanical failure', Marsceau told attendees. At a panel on LGBTQ+ diversity, the moderator left to take a phone call in the middle and then never returned. Attenders later recognized the moderator as Marsceau's husband from a photo of the couple in a news story. It is unclear if Marsceau formally created a business entity for her company Archer Fantasy events or Archer management – the names her accounts use. The Guardian found no secretary of state filings that listed Marsceau as an officer or entities under those business names. Marsceau did not respond to multiple calls for comment. Despite the fiasco, Alyssa McCoy who owns a business selling book-themed drinkware and apparel was set on attending the Saturday night ball to celebrate her birthday that weekend. She and her friends got ready together in one of their hotel rooms while watching Twilight. 'I was always going to the ball, I loved my dress,' she said. But when they arrived at the same brightly lit conference room as the event, there was no decor or music. A small cash bar and a plate of macarons were the only signs of a party. As they sat around in chairs, the security guard went home to retrieve his portable bluetooth speaker. They named him 'DJ Steve' and took turns playing music from their phones. Neith was irate for her fans that had paid up to $200 for the ball when she arrived and saw nothing was there. 'Me taking a loss because this was a rubbish event is one thing, but not delivering on anything for my readers is a completely different thing,' she said. 'All I have is the trust of my readers.' Neith told Marsceau the event was unacceptable and instructed her to make a post promising refunds and to tag her in it. 'Hi everyone, I want to issue a formal apology,' Marsceau said carefully in a video on Saturday as Neith stood nearby. Neith said she was 'still in disbelief how bad this was and it wasn't just cancelled'. Marsceau has said she will issue refunds by the end of the month and maintains that she sold 603 tickets, according to emails. In interviews, authors estimated 80-100 people showed up the entire weekend.
CBC
08-05-2025
- Entertainment
- CBC
These authors were sold a romantasy convention. Instead, they got the Fyre Festival of the book world
Imagine getting dressed up in your finest for a fantasy-themed ball, only to find yourself standing on the concrete floor of a massive, nearly empty convention hall, decorated only with a few rose petals. Welcome to A Million Lives Book Festival. What was billed as a romantasy BookTok convention for indie authors and book fans is now being compared to infamous event flops like Fyre Festival and DashCon, after a flood of social media posts from attendees painted a picture of a confusing and disappointing event. Some authors say they're out thousands of dollars after carting books and merchandise to Baltimore, Md., for the event, which was held May 2 to 3 at the Baltimore Convention Center, and not being able to recoup the costs. Pitched as "the perfect event to make more bookish friends" on organizer Archer Management's website, the festival was supposed to include a vendor hall, panels, a content creation room, cosplay meetups and a competition, as well as a fantasy ball for those who bought VIP tickets at $250 US each. But although numerous authors say they were told 500 tickets were sold, they reported being greeted with fewer guests than authors, and a barren convention hall instead of the promised ball. Perci Jay, who writes romance and fantasy books, called it "the Willy Wonka experience but with books," in a TikTok, referring to the 2024 Glasgow event that caused a stir after its real-life warehouse location failed to live up to the AI images used to advertise it. "I flew out for this," the author, who is from Texas, said. "I planned my pregnancy around this event like a clown." Organizer apologizes for event's issues Grace Willows, the organizer behind Archer Management, posted a video statement through her event planning company's TikTok page on the weekend, apologizing for the ball being "not set up to standards." "If you would like a refund, please contact me and I will issue you a refund immediately," she said. Archer Management, also known as Archer Fantasy Events, has since apologized for the entire event and stated that refunds are being processed automatically. After confirming receipt of CBC News's request for comment, Archer shared a new statement on TikTok on Tuesday evening. It has not responded to further requests for comment. "We take full responsibility for the way that AML was handled," the latest statement reads, with a remix of Nirvana's Smells Like Teen Spirit playing in the background. "We are doing refunds for every attendee, author and vendor. We are also canceling all of our future events and will be processing refunds for those as well." Inside the Fyre Fest of romantasy Across numerous TikTok posts, authors and attendees allege that the event had problems from the beginning. Issues ranged from panels starting late to authors not being given badges and the promised swag bags not being delivered. One panel on audiobooks took place with panelists and attendees all seated on the carpet — there were no chairs designated for the panel, narrator Carmen Seantel said in a TikTok post. More than 100 authors, vendors and audiobook narrators were listed as attending on Archer Management's website. Authors paid a $150 US table fee, while tickets for attendees ranged from $50 US to $250 US, with only the priciest tier providing entrance to the fantasy ball. Only around 30 people came through the vendor hall on the first day, Jay said in her TikTok. And while the first day was exclusive to VIP ticket holders, the second day wasn't much busier, according to Jay, who estimates around 80 guests showed up. The promised "content creation room" was an empty conference room, and closed on Saturday. But the biggest disappointment for attendees was the fantasy ball. A largely empty, grey room Attendees found themselves stranded in a massive, grey room, barren except for a few long tables with fake rose petals scattered on top. There was a cash bar, a small table with desserts and a single Bluetooth speaker propped on a chair to play music — far from the opulence that the price tag promised. "People showed up, dressed to impress, tried to make the best of it," author Stephanie Combs said in a TikTok post, adding that she felt bad for people who had flown in. One influencer invited to the event, Azthia Bookwyrm, said on TikTok that she had travelled from Spain to attend. For author Kalista Neith, the ball was the last straw. In a series of TikToks, she said she had been invited 18 months ago as a featured author for the event. The organizer had promised to put these authors up at a nearby Hilton hotel, but Neith said this was changed just days before the event to the Days Inn across the street. Indie authors expect some business risk when attending in-person conventions, Neith said on TikTok. It was only after the ball that she felt compelled to share her experience online, and apologize to those who bought tickets to the event after she had advertised that she would be there. "For my readers to spend money on an event and this ball, and having to walk into that, that is unacceptable," she said. "As an author, all we have is the readers' trust." 'We did not sell much of anything' The popularity of the "romantasy" sub-genre, along with online communities like BookTok, has meant more of these conventions cropping up to provide opportunities for indie authors to meet their peers and readers in person. But authors have to print their own books in the hopes that they'll make enough sales to make it worth it. "When you are an indie author, you pay for everything yourself upfront, and only if you do events like this can you finally recoup the cost," Jay said. "People are thousands of dollars in debt because of the lies and the false promises and the mismanagement." Sales were minimal for authors like Caitlin Burkhart, who publishes under the name C.A. Burkhart. "We did bring physical copies to this event, and we did not sell much of anything, really," she said on TikTok. Only days earlier, she had been excitedly posting the times she would be signing books during the event. But the festival kept at least one promise: fostering friendships. Authors have since banded together to boost the work of their peers who'd tabled the event. "I just wish it was a meet-up and not a paid thing that we all lost money on," Burkhart said.
