In February, Philadelphia-area author Hannah Levin found out she’d been accepted to participate in A Million Lives Book Festival, a convention of fantasy authors, narrators and influencers to be held the first weekend of May at the Baltimore Convention Center. As a new author whose debut novel, “The Treasured One,” was published by Aethon Books in 2024, she was excited about the event. “We thought it would be a big thing for us,” she said.

It was a big thing, but not in the way anyone expected. The festival, organized by Baltimore-based author Grace Willows’ Archer Fantasy Events, was supposed to provide an opportunity for writers to network and an audience of at least 500 to 600 paid ticket holders. What participants got, they said, was a disappointing weekend of dashed expectations, unfulfilled promises, lost money and more questions than answers.

“I think ‘debacle’ is the word for it,” Levin said of the event that was quickly dubbed online as the Fyre Festival of literary festivals.

The 11 authors, vendors and influencers I interviewed by email and phone spent between $300 and $2,000 to attend A Million Lives depending on their travel arrangements and other factors. They said they were promised special badges that designated them as official participants, a creator’s lounge, cosplay events and a VIP swag bag for the top two ticketing levels.

That didn’t happen.

“There was a huge financial loss for authors, vendors and narrators attending,” wrote a book influencer known as Azthia, who spent about $300 on a plane ticket but crashed with other participants when her hotel stay was not paid for as promised. “They were told 600 tickets and in the end there were more authors than attendees.”

I had never heard of the festival until I checked social media Sunday. Coincidentally, I’d been at the Annapolis Book Festival to promote my upcoming novel at the same time. As an author lucky enough to be traditionally published, I took it personally that newer independent writers were being disappointed.

I reached out to Willows on her Instagram on Sunday, and she agreed to answer email questions. She has yet to respond to my queries, but she posted on TikTok Monday afternoon that she “wholeheartedly” apologized “for how the event turned out this weekend” and was working to process refunds by May 31.

Levin noted that in an email sent late Sunday to authors, Willows insisted that she had, indeed, sold 600 tickets. “She can’t say why attendance was so low, to then have less than 100 people,” Levin said. “We want to see proof.”

There are bound to be a lot of people demanding proof. Jonathan Hawker, a featured author from Michigan, expected to have three paid nights at the Hilton Baltimore Convention Center for himself and an assistant as part of a planned $1,000 reimbursement. He was told the hotel hadn’t given confirmation numbers, which necessitated a relocation to the nearby Days Inn. Only one night was covered there. He thinks he spent at least $2,500 in total to attend.

Hawker said if he could talk to Willows, “I would tell her that this was one of the greatest disappointments of my life. I felt so recognized and appreciated to be invited to something like this event was portrayed to be, only to be left feeling so incredibly taken advantage of.”

Upon arrival, authors were told their promised badges arrived broken, that the creator’s lounge had technical difficulty, and that the boxes of swag bags had been misplaced by the convention center.

Author Lara Buckheit, who drove down from Delaware, posted an exchange on Threads between herself and Krystine St. Michael Bussiere, the Baltimore Convention Center’s director of sales and services, asking to clarify those details and if it were true the organizers weren’t allowed to post signage for participants. Bussiere responded that the facility hadn’t disallowed signs or heard anything about missing boxes. Reached this morning, a representative for the center acknowledged the validity of the exchange and declined to comment further.

Hope E. Davis, an author who came to Baltimore from Europe for the event, said that when she showed up early on Friday, the event map had changed with little notice. “Heck, there wasn’t even anyone to check in with,” she said. ”I just waltzed into the event center and began setting up, which really didn’t seem right to me.”

Like most book events, A Million Lives had an official bookstore partner, which is used to provide sales for featured writers. Author Celaena Cuico said she was told the original bookstore, Four Seasons Books in West Virginia, dropped out at the last minute, so she stepped in to run sales herself. But Four Seasons owner Julia Young said she never actually formally agreed to being involved and declined the offer from Willows in February after not hearing from her for months.

By the time of the festival, Cuico, who drove up from North Carolina, said many authors were told she would provide the books for them to sell, when her understanding was that Willows would take care of that, leaving “these authors sitting at tables with no books to sign.” Then authors were told they could take Cuico’s books “as payment for being VIP. Everyone felt uncomfortable doing so, but I did not blame the attendees as they were also lied to and deserved what they were promised.“

Even the Lavender Romance Ball, which took place Saturday night, did not live up to expectations. The dance had no decorations and no DJ; the planned emcee was allegedly sick. Music was provided via a personal Bluetooth speaker a security guard provided.

Understandably, this experience has soured a lot of participants on these types of book events, particularly new ones without a track record. “I am appalled by their actions, their lies, and their lack of accountability,” Buckheit wrote.

“It’s possible that Grace probably began with great intentions, but you can be doing an event that you’re so excited about and the ball can roll away from you,” Young said.

Although Fyre Festival’s organizer Billy McFarlane went to jail for fraud, Levin doesn’t believe Willows set out to defraud anybody. “I think she was overwhelmed. I think it was a vision that got out of hand.”

But it’s not a vision, the authors said, they are willing to share in again.