Some years back I received an email from a woman who identified herself as a literary agent employed by a major agency. She was leaving to start her own agency. To this end, she had been searching the internet for potential clients and came across my archive. Was I represented? If not she would like to represent me because ... and here followed the most over-stated and outrageous praise of my work I'd ever read, or even imagined.
If she had cooled down on the praise, I may have responded because I was, in fact, between agents. But this was ridiculous. Obviously a scam. I deleted the letter.
A few weeks later I received an email from a former student. Is this legit? he asked, forwarding me the same letter with the same boilerplate praise!
There's a special place in hell for such scammers. This novella was inspired by this experience, a kind of fantasy about how a writer might respond. It's one in my CineFicion series, novellas that originally were screenplays.
If she had cooled down on the praise, I may have responded because I was, in fact, between agents. But this was ridiculous. Obviously a scam. I deleted the letter.
A few weeks later I received an email from a former student. Is this legit? he asked, forwarding me the same letter with the same boilerplate praise!
There's a special place in hell for such scammers. This novella was inspired by this experience, a kind of fantasy about how a writer might respond. It's one in my CineFicion series, novellas that originally were screenplays.
