I Put a Curse on a Book Scammer — And Then I Turned My Phone Off Forever

Book promotion scams are getting slicker. Here’s how they sell hope to authors — and the red flags worth memorizing before you pay anyone.

I kept a book scammer on the phone for almost two hours once.

I had a slow day, and honestly, I wanted to see how long the performance would last. She had called to “promote my books.” The pitch was polished — too polished. The kind of polished that only exists when someone has delivered the same script five hundred times and no longer hears the words coming out of their own mouth.

But I stayed on the line. I asked questions. I wandered down side roads. I poked at the edges. I listened for the little cracks that show up when someone is pretending to know more than they do.

Around the ninety-minute mark, exhaustion got the better of her. The carefully constructed American accent slipped. Then it slipped again. Then it was gone entirely.

The jig was up.

I hung up mildly entertained, filed it away as a story, and moved on.

The second one was not as funny.

A man called claiming he was responding to my request for a meeting. I knew immediately it was a lie. I had made no such request. But there was something about the presumption of it — the casual confidence that I could be handled that easily — that made me furious in a way the first call had not.

So I told him I was going to put a curse on him. He said he didn’t have children. I told him the curse would make sure he never would. He hung up.

I am not proud of that one. But I am not entirely not proud of it either.

Here’s what I am: exhausted.

It has gotten so bad that I rarely turn my phone on anymore. I am a working author, a producer, and a co-founder of a company actively building relationships in the publishing world — and I have been driven to functionally disconnect from a basic communication tool because predators have made it a liability.

If it is happening to me, it is happening to you.

And if you are an author, especially a new author, you need to know what these people are actually selling. They are not selling marketing. They are selling hope. And they know exactly when to offer it.

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What They’re Actually Selling

Book promotion scams all have one thing in common: they show up when authors are most vulnerable to believing.

You have just finished a manuscript. Or you have published, and the sales are not what you imagined. Or you have been querying agents for eighteen months, and the silence has started to feel personal. Or you are standing in that strange emotional no-man’s-land where the book exists, but the readers have not found it yet.

That is when they call. That is when the email lands. That is when the Facebook message arrives from someone who “loved your book” and just happens to have a promotional platform that reaches hundreds of thousands of readers.

They know the landscape. They know the language. They know that authors desperately want to believe there is someone out there who can open the right door. And they know something else: most authors are tired.

Tired authors are easier to sell to. Hopeful authors are easier to sell to. Authors who have done the work and are now staring at the wall between the book and the reader are very easy to sell to. That does not make authors foolish. It makes them human. The scammers are counting on that.

The old version of the scam was crude. Bad grammar. Weird email addresses. Promises so ridiculous they almost had comic value. The newer version is better dressed. They have websites. Testimonials. Fake media logos. Sales reps with calendars. Some will get on a video call. Some will send “campaign decks.” Some will name-drop real publications, real conferences, real distributors, real publishing terms.

Some of them have just enough polish to make you doubt your own instincts. Do not doubt your instincts.

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The Patterns Worth Memorizing

They contacted you first.

This is not always proof of a scam, but it is enough reason to slow down. Legitimate opportunities rarely arrive as a cold call from someone who urgently wants to talk about your book. Real literary agents do not DM you on Instagram offering representation. Major trade publications do not email you out of nowhere offering a feature package. Film producers do not need your credit card to “begin the adaptation process.”

If someone reaches out unsolicited with a too-good opportunity, your answer does not have to be yes, no, or maybe. Your answer can be: prove it. And if they get slippery, you are done.

The timeline creates urgency.

“We only have three spots left.” “This offer expires Friday.” “We are finalizing our fall catalog, and your book would be perfect.”

Urgency is a manufacturing tool. It is also a pressure tactic. Real opportunities may have deadlines. Scams have countdown clocks. A legitimate person will give you time to think, research, ask questions, and talk to someone you trust. A scammer wants you excited, flattered, afraid to miss out, and moving before your common sense has time to put its shoes on.

The money is framed as an “investment.”

“Most authors in our program invest around $2,500.”

The word invest is doing a lot of work there. You are not investing. You are paying. So ask the grown-up questions:

• What exactly am I paying for?
• Who is doing the work?
• Where will it appear?
• When will it be delivered?
• What proof do you have that this reaches actual readers?
• What happens if the deliverable does not happen?
• Can I speak with authors you have worked with?

If the answers start turning into fog, walk away.

The results are vague.

“Massive exposure.” “Thousands of readers.” “Industry visibility.” “Hollywood interest.” “Guaranteed attention.”

All of this sounds exciting until you try to hold it in your hand. Ask for specifics:

• Which outlets? Which platforms?
• How many verified subscribers?
• What audience? What reporting?
• What examples? What authors? What results?

If they cannot show you the machinery, assume there is no machinery. There is only a sales script.

They know just enough to sound legitimate.

This is where it gets irritating. They will name-drop real publishers. Real producers. Real conferences. Real media outlets. Real industry language. That is research, not credibility. Anyone can Google the publishing industry for twenty minutes and come back sounding like they sat on a panel at a writers conference.

The question is not whether they know the right names. The question is whether the right names know them.

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What Legitimate Support Actually Looks Like

Legitimate support is not mysterious. It is specific. It tells you what it does, what it does not do, what it costs, what you receive, where the work appears, who owns what, and what happens next.

It does not pressure you into a decision before you understand the terms. It does not hide behind vague promises. It does not treat your book like bait. And it does not require you to suspend your common sense in order to participate.

There are real people doing good work in this space. There are also people selling smoke with a logo on it. The difference is usually visible if you slow the conversation down.

• Ask for the deliverable.
• Ask for the timeline.
• Ask for examples.
• Ask who owns the final asset.
• Ask where it will be posted.
• Ask what happens if you are unhappy.
• Ask whether you can talk to someone who has worked with them.

And then listen to how they answer. Not just what they say. How they answer. That is where the truth usually leaks out.

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A Note on the Anger

I cursed a scammer’s unborn children on a Tuesday afternoon. That probably tells you everything you need to know about where this industry has pushed some of us.

The anger is legitimate. These operations target writers — people who spent years, sometimes decades, building something — and they exploit the gap between the work and the recognition. That is not a minor inconvenience. That is predatory.

But anger without information just burns. So take the information. Share it with the author who just published. Share it with the writer who is tired of querying. Share it with the friend who got an email from someone claiming their book is “perfect for a film adaptation.” Share it with the poet who is flattered someone finally noticed.

Tell them about the accent that broke after two hours. Tell them about the man who claimed he was returning a call I never made. Tell them I put a curse on him — not because that is a recommended business practice, but because sometimes a woman reaches the end of her patience and folklore takes the wheel.

And then tell them the useful part:

• If someone is selling you hope, slow down.
• If they are selling it urgently, step back.
• If they cannot explain the deliverable, walk away.
• If they make you feel foolish for asking questions, hang up.

Your book may need help finding readers. Most books do. But desperation is not a marketing plan. And anyone who tries to turn it into one has already told you who they are.

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This is where I really miss my landline!