Watching my Tracking Jane series unfold, and noting reader reactions, both communicated in writing and via online reviews, I’ve confirmed most of what I suspected and feared as I developed the storyline. Some readers can’t stand the story. Others love it. Some have mixed feelings, and in the end, the main character and her struggle win them over.

In a way, all this is by design. I didn’t write Tracking Jane because I wanted people to love Jane or get a feel-good vibe. I wanted people to think—and hard!—about the nastiness of war, the wreckage it wreaks on our veterans, and the ugliness of the world in which many of them must rebuild their lives. Choosing a fluffy storyline, or opting for a smooth, free-flowing voice didn’t fit the story’s ethos. For me, it had to be raw. It had to hurt. It had to challenge and disturb—and trust me, I struggled mightily to get through some parts of it!

At the core of the Tracking Jane reader challenge is Jane herself. For starters, though owning a college English degree, Jane chooses—purposefully—to speak in the “hick” (her own term) dialect of her childhood. Since she tells the story in first person, I knew this choice carried a sharp double edge: on one hand her voice would come out strong and unique, and on the flip side, some readers might deem this voice in the same category as nails on a chalkboard. Add to this her psychological fragility, and the often negative, cynical way she views her world, and Jane ain’t scoring too many points in that there likeability department.

To describe this challenge, fellow author, Jefferson Smith, uses the word immersion. Through an ongoing series of blog posts, Smith has examined a variety of stories to highlight elements that halt or impede reader immersion. Starting with his most recent article, he now aims to summarize his findings in more general terms. Since his review-survey focuses primarily on indie authors, Smith rightfully highlights that readers often approach independently published books cautiously. However, I think he pushes the point a tad too hard when he states, “new readers approach your book already primed for it to suck.”

Do they? Even if someone they know has recommended it? Even if the book blurb reveals a story whose subject matter interests them?

Though I admire Smith’s work, I can’t support that foundational premise. From personal experience, and from observing others approach a story, I think many (most?) of us come expectantly. We want to immerse ourselves in an experience that will either help us escape everyday life, or help us understand everyday life in a different light. We’re not ready for it to suck. We desperately want it to soar! Why would we spend our valuable time to try a story in the first place if hope were not our prime motivator?

I would therefore argue the first ingredient in immersion is wanting to be immersed. If you approach a story with skepticism from the outset, the probability is high indeed you’ll find something wrong. Hovering somewhere around 100%, I’d say, because nothing’s perfect: no amount of craft will produce one flawless sentence after another, no protagonist is wholly likeable, no circumstance is bullet-proof believable, no plot is endowed with pure and flawless logic, and so on.

By the way, I allow an exception here for readers who are also writer-authors. As I noted in a past post, we are damaged readers!

Now, can a storyteller blow it for the reader? Sure, and I see Smith’s efforts to highlight what for him are examples of how a story can lose a reader as a worthy exercise. I am certainly learning a lot by following his series, even in cases where I wrinkle my nose at his assessments. As a storyteller I grapple every day with how to improve my game and provide a compelling experience for my readers. Much of what Smith exposes in his immersion series hits on areas I must focus on and improve.

Still, I maintain that storytelling involves a willing, expectant partnership between author and reader.

Let’s return to Tracking Jane. Some of us would never want to socialize with or befriend someone like her. We’d avoid her, maybe even with our speediest running shoes. (One of my reviewers says he wants to strangle her!) Other readers may have no interest whatsoever in a story about a PTSD/IED-damaged veteran coming home to piece her life together. Others may not care for dogs, or may not care to read how a highly trained K9 tracks a subject. A few may not be willing to suspend belief and accept these particular dogs have traits and capabilities beyond those of “real world” K9s.

In general, then, we should acknowledge that some stories, no matter how well written, do not stand a chance to immerse a given category of readers. No amount of craft will make me read an Erotica story, for instance. Yet, for another reader, a Cyber Thriller (my genre) may represent an insurmountable bore. I try to sweeten the pot with relatable, interesting characters, but that only goes so far.

We all approach storytelling from our own preferential biases, and that in itself can prove the strongest barrier to effective immersion. This, too, suggests, that immersion is first and foremost voluntary, a desire in the reader’s heart. Our job as authors involves the fulfilment rather than the unravelling of our reader’s desire to enter the worlds we create.