Gigi Griffis | Official Website

I’m still here, but I am tired

Gigi Griffis — Sat, 18 Apr 2026 11:04:05 +0000

First, a truth that makes me feel like I want to scream-cry: I haven’t sold a new project in two years. This fact is obscured by the truth that publishing a book takes about two years from sale to publication. So my latest book–And the Trees Stare Back–is less than a year old in everyone else’s minds. Behind the scenes, though, I’ve been trying to sell more projects (and stalling out). I wrote a proposal years ago now that’s eerily similar to the recent Netflix show about teen boot camps. I have another proposal about the Middle Ages’ most powerful lady con artist, a book I hoped would be a follow up for fans of The Lioness. I wrote a (full) novel I love about a real group of queer artists whose underground ID ring and bombing plot saved many from the Nazis. It is, in my opinion, the greatest love story I’ve ever written (The Empress cannot compare), but it’s been sitting in editor inboxes, largely ignored. Another personal favorite book-of-my-heart project that could take years upon years to sell despite constant feedback that it’s fantastic. If someone bought it when it first went out as a proposal, it would have been published this year–an extremely appropriate timing for that kind of story, when we all need stories about the impacts a handful of people can have against authoritarian regimes. After that, I wrote a proposal about two desperate young women in a West Virginia mine town trying to unionize in 1920. Facing threats of sexual assault, eviction, and even death, they summon a forest god to save them–and discover the god might be danger, not savior. I could have sold that one, but the editor asked for my soul in the bargain. I would have to strip out the real history that makes that story powerful to me. Place it in an alternate universe so that we could focus on the gods and monsters instead of weaving it with the real historical horrors of unchecked corporate greed. Another editor asked for an exclusive look at that one. So we kept it just for her for a few weeks, at the end of which she didn’t even have the courtesy to respond. There’s a special kind of exhaustion that comes from this kind of journey. Writing, writing, writing, loving what you write, knowing your stories could find an audience if the gatekeepers let them pass – yet finding no publishing home for them. Being told that you just haven’t “broken out yet,” as if that’s something within your control, when we already have the data that shows that publishers have control over book sales, not authors. Being told that once you have several books under your belt, you can start selling books on proposal, which means you write maybe 1/3 of the book (plus a full synopsis of the story) and publishers buy before you finish. (This is where the concept of an “advance” comes from – paying the author to live while they write.) And finding out this simply isn’t true anymore. Even your New York Times bestselling friends are having to write full novels in order to sell anything new. Having five novels published hasn’t saved me from this. My Netflix connection hasn’t. My award nominations haven’t. Publishing’s latest set of demands are that authors – already hugely underpaid and typically surviving on spousal income or other jobs – must write full novels with no guarantees until and unless they become Stephen King or Terry Prachett (ironically: the success level wherein they may no longer need the advance). I’m stopping by to say that I am tired. That for the last few months, I’ve taken a break from fiction. That I want to write, but for me writing has always been about wanting other people to read my work – and so stalling out on project after project leeches the motivation. Not because I need the commercial success, but because I need the access to readers. Some of the aforementioned projects might sell any moment. That was the truth for my projects before, too. And the Trees Stare Back – the book closest to my heart – took multiple years and multiple agents to find its home. Perhaps Pansies (the queer WWI heist book) or I Owe My Soul (the story of unions and forest gods) will sell tomorrow. And in two years, another book (or both) will slip into being. I suppose with Pansies I still feel some resentment because it could be out now. And I think we need it now. (And yes, I understand that self-publishing is an option. I have done it before; I’m sure I’ll do it again. But if reach is my goal and I don’t have the energy or money to market it myself, trad pub is a better choice, despite it’s MANY many failings.) There’s no point this post. No call to action. I just wanted to share that it’s hard. And even being grateful for the success I’ve had getting so many books of mine into the world, I am tired. And more than that: the system is broken. Authors should be able to support themselves. Publishers should not be earning 75 – 90% of the profits on a book while the author lives off ramen. So I guess there is a call to action. But it isn’t about me. The call to action is this: join a union. Start a union. Do whatever you can, whenever you can, to push back against all the corporate systems feeding money into a handful of people at the top while destroying those whose work the whole thing is built on. And if you are an editor, your call to action to buy my heist book. That one should have been in the world yesterday.

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Two favors and a bonanza

Gigi Griffis — Sun, 01 Mar 2026 16:29:44 +0000

Hey there readerly, travelery people! It’s been awhile. I’m not back to regular blogging (at least not yet), but I am stopping by with a piece of good news and two favor requests that would mean the world to me. So, first, the good news: And the Trees Stare Back is now in audiobook! The narrator is incredible and I’m so pleased to have an audio version out in the world. Purchase your copy wherever audiobooks are sold. And now, two favor requests: 1. My incredible bestie is looking for a job in Spain. If anyone knows of anything in data analysis, communication, HR, or manufacturing, please let me know! He’s Puerto Rican (fluent Spanish and English speaker) and looking for something that would be open to sponsoring his visa (he has family in Spain, but unfortunately they’re not eligible for family reunion visas). If you can help, thank you in advance! 2. Do any of my readers work at Reddit? The account I use for one of my side gigs got hacked and then shadow banned. I have the account back (bye, bye hackers! Hope you step on a lego.) but my pleas to lift the shadow ban have been falling into a customer service black hole for over a month. This was a big blow to my income and if any of you know someone at Reddit who could get my plea in front of a real human in customer service, I’d owe you forever. Hit me up if you can help with either request.

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Big news: I’m offering life coaching

Gigi Griffis — Tue, 08 Jul 2025 06:55:00 +0000

Need a vent session, a listening ear, or some adulting advice? I'm your girl.

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Surprise! I accidentally rescued a kitten

Gigi Griffis — Tue, 01 Jul 2025 04:42:26 +0000

Well, this was unexpected.

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Starred Kirkus review!

Gigi Griffis — Tue, 03 Jun 2025 11:06:00 +0000

Good news for my latest novel!

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And the Trees Stare Back is out now!

Gigi Griffis — Tue, 27 May 2025 12:03:53 +0000

My latest horror novel is on a shelf near you!

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Dress rehearsal for the apocalypse

Gigi Griffis — Tue, 13 May 2025 06:32:23 +0000

I was in the basement of a thrift store trying on a skirt when it happened: The hum of electricity faded to nothing, the faint sound of music upstairs silenced, and the space descended – with no warning – into darkness. No stranger to occasional power outages, I shuffled around the pitch black space to find where I’d set my bag and phone to turn on the phone flashlight. As I re-dressed myself: no light. As I ascended the stairs: no light. When I asked the owner what was going on, she said it was a general outage, which I took to mean the whole block had gone down. I started south, toward my next errand, when my partner pinged my phone. “Do you have electricity? My house is out.” Oh wow, I thought, the power outage is much more extensive than I thought. I turned around and headed toward home and my little dog. Fifteen minutes later, with no electricity in sight along my route, I concluded it must be the whole city center or, perhaps, the whole city. The fire alarm was beeping (annoyingly) in the building hallway. The emergency lights were on. But otherwise, all was calm at home. The dog happy to see me. Even service on the cell phones still working. Knowing this might be a larger-scale problem, I took to texting everyone. To friends and colleagues abroad, the message was I’m ok and I have supplies. Don’t worry if my service goes down. To friends in Porto, the message was Are you ok? Please come to my house if you need anything. I paused to fill up every pitcher and bottle in my house with water in case we lost water (again: I had no idea what the issue was and if any other services were at risk). I already had canned food. My water was still working (and I had plenty in pitchers and buckets now). But unfortunately it was grocery day, which meant I had almost no fruit, veggies, etc. With no information yet about the cause (other than a claim that it was a cyberattack, which turned out to be false) and assuming the outage could last several days, I headed to the frutaria nearby to stock up – not just for me but because I had already made it clear to my closest friends that my house could be the meeting point in case of emergencies (not just at this level, but even something as small as “a creepy guy is following me and I need to get somewhere safe quickly”). I had to assume that at least a few anxious friends would be showing up on my doorstep. “What do you want from the frutaria?” I texted my partner, who I assumed either was or would soon be on their way to get their kid from school and didn’t need the stress of trying to also shop for themselves. The answer was bananas and apples, crackers and cookies. The latter perhaps a special treat to make things feel not-anxious for the kid. At the frutaria, a new process was in place: four people allowed inside at a time, a line outside, and a woman (I think the daughter of our local proprietors) manning the door to let one person enter when one exited. The fruit was mostly outside, so I piled it into my bag as I approached the entrance. Apples for my partner. Pears for me. Red onions, garlic, oranges. Inside: bananas, cookies, some more beans… And then my partner and two friends appeared outside the frutaria. Unbeknownst to me, service had gone down now, and the friends had appeared to check in, seen my partner lingering outside the frutaria, and asked to poke their heads in the door and tell me to get coal. Because they had a coal-fired cook stove for camping but were low on coal. I waddled out of the frutaria 70 euros lighter and an overflowing bag of produce heavier a few minutes later and ushered everyone into my apartment. We made our plan: if the power was still out by dinner, they’d come to me, bring all the perishables in their fridge (which wouldn’t last a full night of no power), bring their camping stove, and we’d make a feast. As they left to check on friends around the city and my partner left to pick up their kid, I settled in to read. More friends stopped by and I invited them to the feast. I chatted with the neighbor, who turned out to have a radio and access to up-to-date information. And I marveled at how much the community around me had everything we needed, really, between my garden and my friend’s stove and my neighbor’s radio and the rich (and random) bounty of perishables in our fridges. A few hours later, with no power in sight, people started to return. First my partner and their kid, who spread out a picnic blanket on my living room floor and made paper flowers while I cut veggies for two huge salads. Then my friends with the stove, who went immediately to the garden to start the process of stoking the coals. Then the upstairs neighbors, with bags full of frozen veggies and unusual alcohols. In the end, there was lemon-pepper chicken with a Georgian spice mix, chicken in an Asian marinade, two salads (one with lemon dressing and feta, another with a creamy peanut-butter-soy sauce-sesame oil dressing, pot stickers, rice, fruit, and – my piece de resistance – Champagne. Real Champagne. Something for a special occasion. Because this was a party. Because this was a lot of people I loved all in one place. And because when you get a dress rehearsal for the apocalypse, you toast. As day turned to evening, solar lanterns and candles lit the garden table. People laughed and cuddled, ate and drank. And then the power came back, went out again, and finally came back for

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Goodreads giveaway for my latest YA horror!

Gigi Griffis — Tue, 06 May 2025 06:25:54 +0000

Good morning, readerly friends! Breaking news: There’s currently a giveaway over on Goodreads for AND THE TREES STARE BACK – my next young adult horror novel, which officially comes out later this month! To enter to win a free copy, click the link above. Here’s the description, in case you aren’t yet familiar: Many go into the forest. Only one comes back. 1989, Soviet Estonia. In sixteen-year-old Vik’s village—and the cursed forest that looms beyond—danger is everywhere. Soldiers threaten those who so much as dream of dissent. The villagers’ words are sharp with accusations of witchcraft. And deep in the heart of the wood, a lantern-eyed spirit lies in wait to disappear those who wander too far past the trees. Vik knows because five years ago, she led her little sister Anna over that invisible line—and never saw her again. The only thing Vik has wished for since then is her sister’s safe return. So when Anna stumbles back through the tree line on the anniversary of her disappearance, it’s a miracle… Or is it a lie? As unsettling inconsistencies between this girl and the one who vanished reveal themselves, Vik starts to doubt whether this Anna is her Anna—or something else entirely. Whoever she is, one thing is clear: she was never meant to escape the trees. And unless Vik can uncover the secrets of the forest, it’s going to take her back. Rooted in real history with a speculative twist, the horrors of And The Trees Stare Back are the ones we already know: existing as a marginalized person under a hostile state. Raising powerful questions about whose humanity counts and how to survive if the governing body decides yours doesn’t, this politically incisive folk-horror irresistibly explores ever-relevant legacies of activism and solidarity.

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This too shall pass

Gigi Griffis — Tue, 25 Mar 2025 09:29:53 +0000

On self-kindness...

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Every book I write, I write for one person

Gigi Griffis — Tue, 18 Mar 2025 00:19:03 +0000

When I started the first novel that I would finish, I gave myself permission to quit at any time. If I hated the research? Quit. If I stopped having fun writing it? Quit. If publishing didn’t want it? Quit. I was not the person you hear the stories about. The one who vows to never give up. The one who will write 1000 books in pursuit of a publishing contract. No. I wrote the book because I wanted to write the book. And I discovered that writing was still something I loved and was good at and wanted to keep doing. Since starting that first project, I’ve finished seven novels (four published, one coming this year, one currently in my agent’s reading queue). I did quit once in the midst of all that. Because querying stole the joy of it. But after about nine months away, I found my way back and eventually found my way into a series of publishing contracts. Still, I write because I want to write. And I write each book, I realized somewhere along the way, for one reader. If each book can find its way into that reader’s hands, whatever it’s other successes or failures are, it is—for me—a success. * For The Lioness, a book that follows a French noblewoman-turned-pirate who has largely been erased from history, that perfect reader found me before the book ever hit shelves. I’d written that book for several reasons, but one of the ones was this: I wanted to be a gateway drug to historical fiction for people who normally found it boring, intimidating, or overly verbose. My author friend Sami turned out to be that exact person I was writing for. And I got lucky enough to find more Samis once the book was published. I will never get tired of hearing someone say they normally don’t like historical fiction, but my book gave them an in. * For The Wicked Unseen, a story about the disappearance of a preacher’s daughter during the Satanic Panic, the perfect reader found me after publication. The book was there to tell her own story back to her–and take her kids with her on the journey. * We Are the Beasts found its perfect reader in an unexpected place: someone I love dearly who asked to read it when it was still in draft form. “It shaped my feminism,” they told me later. “It made me feel the things I’d previously only intellectually considered.” A year or so later, the book published and found more readers who found something true and resonant in similar ways: * Then, there is And the Trees Stare Back. I love every book I write, but this is the one that I wrote for me. The ideal reader, the person this book needed to reach, was my younger self. And what a joy it is to find a few more mes out there already even before this book is officially on shelves: * Last month, I finished writing my seventh manuscript, a queer, anti-fascist heist book based on a true story. It is with its second and third readers now (my agent and my love) and hopefully soon it will slip into editor inboxes and start the oft-long, oft-slow, always-unpredictable journey toward (hopefully) publication. And today I wonder who this one is for. I wonder who will find hope in those pages. Who will wrestle with hard questions. Who will see themselves as revolutionary, who will become revolutionary. There are so many books that have changed my life over the years. So many books that I felt were written just for me. The Poisonwood Bible, which saw me and held me. Graceling and Three Dark Crowns, which gave me hope in a hopeless time. Bad Witch Burning, which showed me one of my hardest truths on the page. This is the soul of why I write books, despite the publishing industry’s unpredictable financials, despite book bans, despite the ever-present uncertainty of whether each new book will sell. Because I need my books to find that one reader. I hope that one of them finds that reader in you.

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