From scammers to spammers it has to stop. We authors need our time to write books — not defend against algorithm hunters!
This article was originally posted on Linked In 19th May 2026:
The latest arrived at 1:17 this morning. I was, of course, fast asleep…
“Dear Author,
We noticed your excellent book on Amazon and believe it deserves far
greater visibility. We can dramatically improve your rankings and sales…”
I deleted it before reaching the second sentence.
By breakfast, there were two more.
One promised bestseller status. Another guaranteed page-one placement on Amazon. Later, a third warned that my “SEO performance was critically low” despite clearly having no idea what my books were about. They had simply copied and pasted text from Amazon and other bookshops.
These people are relentless.
As an author, you begin to feel hunted.
I call them “bobbits” — a nod to my novel Pink Bobbit — tireless online opportunists who descend on writers offering miracle marketing cures while quietly trying to separate them from money they probably cannot spare.
And the worst part? They target hope!
Writing a novel, textbook, or even an industry paper is not for the faint- hearted. Authors spend months, sometimes years (like me), crafting a book while battling doubt, exhaustion, financial pressure, and the uncomfortable silence that often follows publication. Then along comes a cheerful Gmail promising instant visibility, guaranteed rankings, and a shortcut to literary success.
For vulnerable writers, that can sound dangerously tempting.
After nearly forty years working professionally as a cosmetic claims specialist under my real name, Theresa Callaghan, I have spent a career examining the claims people make to sell products. You develop a nose for exaggeration. You learn how easily confidence can be manufactured through clever wording and manufactured urgency.
And these marketing emails are full of it.
One informed me that my books were “underperforming in global search optimisation metrics.” Another claimed to possess “inside knowledge” of Amazon’s algorithms. One particularly ambitious individual assured me they could make my novel “trend internationally” within fourteen days.
Fourteen days. I’ve lost count of how many times I’ve read those two words.
Apparently, Dickens, Christie, and Tolkien were all fools for relying on readers instead of Gmail consultants.
What these bobbits never mention is that genuine publishing success is rarely instant. Most books build slowly. Some disappear quietly at first, only to find readers months later through word of mouth, reviews, book clubs, or simple chance.
Real readership cannot be manufactured like instant noodles.
That does not mean we authors should avoid promotion. Of course not. Writers need visibility. We need websites, reader engagement, honest reviews, and occasionally a thick skin. But there is a profound difference between sensible promotion and predatory exploitation.
The bobbits thrive on insecurity.
They know authors obsessively refresh sales dashboards. They know writers compare themselves to impossible online success stories. They know rejection and silence breed desperation. So they flood inboxes with phrases like:
“Your book deserves better exposure.”
“You are missing valuable sales opportunities.”
“We can unlock your book’s true potential.”
Translation: You are failing, and only we can save you.
Nonsense!
Some of the finest books ever written had painfully slow beginnings. Many successful authors spent years building readerships before anyone noticed them. Writing has never been a profession built on instant gratification, despite what social media now suggests.
I worry especially about newer writers. While I am not new to non-fiction, I am new to fiction, and some of these marketing ploys could give the cosmetics industry I work in serious competition for exaggerated claims.
Too many authors come to believe that achieving success depends entirely on algorithms, rankings, optimisation tricks, and expensive promotional packages. They start doubting perfectly good work because a stream of strangers tells them they should.
It is corrosive.
A worthwhile book still depends on the oldest marketing system in the world: one reader telling another reader, “You should read this.”
No Gmail campaign can replace that.
As the creator of the Zoe Blaise Mysteries, I prefer gaining ten genuine readers over ten thousand meaningless clicks driven by empty promises. I wrote these books for myself—to enjoy, to test my ability to write fiction as well as scientific non-fiction, for my colleagues, network, and family to enjoy, and hopefully find some success. They weren’t made to win the Booker Prize or to become the next John Le Carré. I wrote them because I simply want to, not to please some cold, indifferent algorithm. (In fact, I even wrote a book with that very title!.)
Be patient — though I admit I am not always good at that myself. Protect your confidence, especially on difficult days.
Stop measuring your talent by automated emails and fluctuating Amazon numbers.
And when the next “marketing expert” appears in your inbox promising literary stardom by Tuesday afternoon, do yourself a favour.
Delete it.
Make a cup of tea.
Then get back to writing the next chapter. Because good stories still matter.
And thankfully, readers are far smarter than the bobbits assume.
What concerns me most is not simply the annoyance of these emails, but the mindset behind them.
Many authors are emotionally exhausted before they even receive the first marketing pitch. Writing a book demands enormous personal investment. We spend months — often years — building characters, constructing worlds, rewriting chapters, doubting ourselves, and quietly wondering whether anyone will care about the finished work.
The bobbits know this.
That is why their messages are rarely blunt sales pitches. They are carefully engineered emotional hooks.
First comes the flattery:
“Your book has amazing potential.”
“You deserve more recognition.”
“We were impressed by your work.”
Then comes the undermining:
“Your visibility is low.”
“You are missing sales.”
“Your current marketing strategy is ineffective.”
The message beneath it all is simple:
You have done the hard part, but you are still failing.
For writers already struggling with self-doubt, that can be very hard.
Books are deeply personal. A novel is not office furniture or washing machines. It contains fragments of the writer’s imagination, fears, experiences, and identity. When someone suggests your book is not succeeding because you have failed to market it correctly, it can begin to feel like a judgement on you as a person.
That is where desperation starts.
Some writers spend money they cannot truly afford because they fear their work will disappear unnoticed. Others become trapped chasing algorithms, rankings, and promotional schemes instead of focusing on what matters most: writing the next good book.
I nearly fell into that trap myself. Fortunately, sensible people pulled me back out.
Unfortunately, many so-called ‘bobbits’ exploit that very fear.
To be clear, not every marketing professional is dishonest. There are reputable people within publishing who offer legitimate services. But genuine professionals rarely appear via generic Gmail messages filled with urgency, flattery, and impossible guarantees.
Predators do.
Here are just a few examples I encountered recently in my mail box:
1. Hijacked identities
One email I received (overnight) appeared to come from a genuine reviewer. The website existed. The social media accounts were real. At first glance, everything looked legitimate.
But the email address did not match the reviewer’s actual contact details.
So I forwarded the message to the real reviewer and warned her that someone appeared to be impersonating her identity to solicit authors.
I hope she throws the book at them — literally.
2. The “expert analysis”
Around lunchtime today, another arrived in my professional work inbox rather than my author account. The sender claimed to operate a marketing website which, upon inspection, appeared largely fabricated — stock imagery, vague claims, and very little evidence of genuine work.
The email itself exceeded one thousand words (!), and launched straight into dramatic passive-agressive analysis, no greeting beforehand:
“This is not a standard debut. That is a BBC-featured, insider-written cosmetic thriller from a 35-year industry veteran with a complete trilogy already available…”
It continued by lamenting my Amazon ranking and low review count “nine months after release,” despite getting the month wrong entirely.
We are now in the middle of May 2026, not April!
More importantly, books sell across multiple retailers, and readers need time to read before reviewing. Even Amazon acknowledges that only a small percentage of buyers leave reviews at all, and less than 1 in 2 UK adults reads one book per year!
In fact less than 1% of readers leave reviews.
But none of that mattered to the sender. The goal was not accuracy. The goal was anxiety.
3. Manufactured urgency
Then there are the follow-up emails:
“I have a bone to pick with you…”
Suddenly you are invited to an “exclusive online discussion” about your book scheduled for the following evening, complete with demands for videos, promotional images, synopses, and preparation materials.
I fell into this trap once last year. What eventually emerged was a network involving a video creator requesting direct payment after their Fiverr account had apparently been suspended.
That alone told me everything I needed to know.
The strangest part of all this is that many of these people insist they have personally read your books.
If even half of them had genuinely bought copies, my Amazon rankings would probably look considerably healthier — and I might even afford a holiday in August.
So, fellow authors, the next time a Gmail bobbit lands in your inbox, investigate first.
Check whether they have a genuine professional presence. Look for a credible website, verifiable publishing history, proper contact details, and established industry links. If all you find are vague promises, artificial urgency, and recycled flattery, trust your instincts.
Most importantly, remember this:
A slow-growing readership is not failure.
Writing slowly is not failure.
Building an audience gradually is not failure.
The real failure would be allowing self-serving opportunists to convince you otherwise.
Here’s to our next books!
Tess.