Have you ever wondered how such a poorly told story could be such a blockbuster bestseller? Have you struggled to arrive at the end of chapter 2, finally setting a book aside as hopeless, and asked yourself how so many of your friends can recommend it so highly? It’s happened to me, and if like me you’ve studied the writing craft, maybe given it a whirl of your own, you too may be a damaged reader.

What? You say? Yes, a damaged reader, by which I mean a reader that approaches a story as a technician rather than a consumer of entertainment. Yes, a damaged reader, far more consumed with dissecting the skill of the writer than with the enjoyment of the story, more concerned with how the author makes something happen than with what happens next.

Take the damaged reader test

If you…

• Deduct fifteen points for a story that stars with a prologue, or
• Can’t read more than three passive voice sentences in a row without rolling your eyes, or
• Find mid-scene point of view (POV) switches a total turn-off, or
• Pull out your hair at the appearance of sentence fragments, or
• Meet long passages of backstory exposition with a gag reflex, or
• Take off ten points when a sentence’s length exceeds your chosen maximum number of words, or
• Edit and reconstruct prose on the fly, or
• Dive into a tailspin of derision at the sight of a typo

…you might be a damaged reader. And I’m sure I left a few things out.

But how can this be? How can someone more appreciative of effective storytelling than the average Joe fall into the damaged reader category?

Can I say something controversial? OK, well, I’ll go ahead and say it without your consent, anyway. How disingenuous of me to ask.

We no longer read the way we used to

The majority of readers that turn a story into a blockbuster bestseller don’t read it like someone who has (a) attended writing workshops and/or (b) read innumerable how-to story-tell books. Quite simply, you (we, really), are no longer reading the story for the most important thing it offers: entertainment.

Remember how you approached a story back when Mom or Dad read it to you? How many of the questions in the damaged reader test did you ask? How many of them did you ask as you grew up and read on your own? Why do you ask them now? What changed?

Now, hear me crystal clear. I am not saying those elements you may notice because of your added expertise aren’t important. Nail them, and for the most part, your story will transcend the average tale. Hopefully a critic or two will notice and kudos will fly your way. I’m saying, however, that if you want to understand why a horribly flawed story—in your and my estimation, and no one else’s, perhaps—may also find great success among the reading public, you must relearn how most people enjoy storytelling. Maybe by keeping that in mind, in addition to striving for superb technique, you will serve your reader’s rather than the critic’s best interest as you write. And you will also start enjoying reading a few more stories than you are right now.