IN WHICH I BECOME A NIGERIAN SCAMMER CONNOISSEUR

Have you heard of the Nigerian book marketers?

No? Neither had I until about a year ago, when I published the final installment of my trilogy, and they started flooding my inbox like a plague of marketing locusts.

Apparently, indie authors are the hot new target for Nigerian scammers. They've moved on from princes who need help moving money to preying on our need for validation.

These scammers have figured out that reader praise is our kryptonite. When someone tells us they stayed up late reading our book, that it made them cry, that our story meant something to them, it hits different than any sales rank or bestseller list. Reader praise validates the work we poured our heart into for months or years. It makes our stories feel meaningful and fulfilling. We screenshot it. We reread it on bad writing days. We cling to it when we're drowning in self-doubt, convinced we're frauds who can't string a sentence together.

And scammers have learned how to weaponize that vulnerability.

These frequent emails show up wrapped in flowery, AI generated language that appears to be genuine appreciation at first glance. They praise your craft and tell you your book "lingered" with them. They make you feel seen.

Mind you, these scams aren't sophisticated. They're riddled with red flags, like Gmail addresses for "professional agencies," no websites or domains, vague and generic praise that drips with ChatGPT, foreign phone numbers, etc. But they don't need to be clever. This is a numbers game. Send thousands of emails, and eventually you'll hit an author who's vulnerable enough, desperate enough, or new enough to fall for it.

Just thinking there's authors out there who have paid these scammers for "marketing services" that never materialize makes me mucho angry. But instead of stewing on it, I decided to channel this indigestion into a blog post that—I hope—will brighten up your day with a smirk, or a perhaps even a chuckle.

After over a dozen or so emails had inundated my inbox, I went from ignoring and sending to my spam folder, to replying. First, it was with simple one-liners like "No thanks, Yatunde." Then I got creative. Ileen Smith, Book Marketer from Epic Agency fed my book's blurb to AI to create the generic sales pitch:

---

The Forged Empire reads less like a standard romantic fantasy and more like an exploration of the choices and sacrifices that define identity under pressure."
What stands out is how Meredith navigates a world teetering between loyalty, love, and duty. The tension between her heart and her obligations, the prince she married and the soldier she never forgot...

​Here's what I sent back to dear Ileen:

And then there was Charlotte, from the very original Charlotte Agency, who claimed my trilogy was begging for a louder battle cry and that she was in possession of the reader army I needed. I regurgitated ChatGPT right back at her:

I must thank you for this… prophetic revelation about my books, which you have definitely, unquestionably, 100% read using your third eye of literary omniscience. Truly, no one captures the emotional pancreas quite like you do.
Your description of Meredith, Ethan, Connor, and Theros was so accurate that I, the actual author, briefly wondered if you wrote the series and I merely hallucinated the last five years.

Despite being mocked, some of these scammers don't give up right away. Meet Stella Loche, who sent me this gem:

I've been spending time with The Forged Empire, and what immediately stands out is the weight of consequence running through every choice Meredith faces. This doesn't read like a final book racing toward spectacle, it reads like a reckoning.

Flattery will get you everywhere, baby!
​
The email continues with a pitch about BookTok and targeted angles. For a fee, of course. Naturally, I invoked my inner Shakespeare to respond to Stella:

Good morrow to thee, thou purveyor of most curious electronic missives! Verily, I am most profoundly stirr'd by thy words, which do cascade upon mine eye like unto the mellifluous dewdrops upon the petals of roses in the garden of mine aunt's cousin's former neighbor.

After some more Shakesperean nonsense that I'm sure went right over their scammer heads, I closed with:

I shall take thy generous offer under most serious advisement, consulting first with the phases of the moon, the alignment of mine humours, and the wisdom of mine goldfish, Sir Reginald, who hath experience in such weighty matters of consequence and import.

​To my surprise, "Stella" was not done pursuing my wallet:

Thank you for your thoughtful and good-humored reply. I appreciate you taking the time to engage with my message. Please feel free to reach out whenever you're ready to talk further.

After I ignored that response, I soon received another follow up from dear old Stella, who was wondering if I had made a decision to move forward with her amazing offer. So, I finally consulted with Sir Reginald. He advised the following response:

Lady Stella,
The soup was too salty. This changes everything.

Still waiting to hear back on that one.
​
Jokes aside, next time you read a book you love, tell the author or post a review if you have the time. Real reader feedback means everything to us, and it might be a welcome change to an inbox full of ill-intended fake praise. It doesn't even have to be glowing, either. If you read a book you didn't like, your thoughtful feedback helps us grow (after we lick our wounds). Just, you know, maybe don't be vicious about it. We're already our own harshest critics.

'Till next time!

—Sam ♡