The New Music Man*

How a charismatic scammer preyed on my publishing dream

by Julianne McCullagh

Key facts:

  • Book: The Narrow Gate, a self-published novel about three generations of women navigating betrayal, spirituality, and grief
  • Author: Julianne McCullagh, writer and speaker based in Sharon, MA
  • Scam red flag: a request for payment via a Nigerian bank account, after a paid “editorial service” and promises of a literary agent and film/streaming interest
  • Lesson: increasingly sophisticated, AI-personalized scam emails are targeting authors, especially after any sign of public success (reviews, book talks, retreats)

Why Are Writers So Vulnerable to This Kind of Scam?

We writers are a vulnerable lot.  We can smile for a week when a reader tells us how much they like our work, or, even better, that it helped them.

We sit at our keyboard, hoping to work alchemy with words, bits of lead we hope to turn to gold.  We toil away, alone, tip-tapping out words we hope are useful to a reader—readers we have never met, our lives colliding over cups of coffee or book clubs or late-night, falling asleep page-turning sessions.

I devoted hours, days, and what turned into a few years trying to shape and coax a flash vision I had of a woman, desperate, alone, reaching for a token of hope after a family revelation shattered her life story. The story she told herself to keep moving forward through struggles and grief. A story that, underneath it all, all the dark days and loss, that there was meaning and hope and fidelity at the core of her story, her family, her identity.

How The Narrow Gate Began: A Flash Vision at a Writing Workshop

The seed of this novel flashed into my mind at a writer’s workshop in Dallas at The Writers’ Garret.  I forgot the prompt, but I remember the sensation. A picture, a woman’s hand reaching out for a symbol of her faith and clinging to it.  At that moment, the moment of the flash vision, I had no idea what had devastated her, why she was so vulnerable and broken.

I only knew that she was.

I had to sit with that bit of revelation and wait to see, to hear, to apprehend her story. I had to wait for her to tell me her name, and she did; she told me her name was Rose, and bit by bit she told me her story.

The Moment a Reader Said the Book “Saved My Life”

Now, that sounds rather ridiculous to the more practical members of the world. People who spend their time making or fixing, producing something that others can see, eat, or live in: something useful.

No, many writers have a small voice whispering that they are wasting their time, who cares about the marks on a page or a screen?  Who cares about a story of lives that appeared in a flash in a writer’s workshop?  What use is this, which you devote hours of your life to, when you could be doing something productive?

Until, until, one evening, a few years later, after the words have been transformed into a book that a stranger holds, one evening, going around a small room introducing yourselves to a group of women with whom you will be spending the rest of the weekend retreat, when a woman you don’t know, a woman who attends your church but you have never met before this retreat, asks, you, you wrote The Narrow Gate?  I didn’t know where her comment would lead—I couldn’t tell if she was going to tell me that the hours she spent reading my book were a waste of her time, and then she says, tears in her eyes, that book saved my life.

Saved her life.  If ever a writer hears such a thing, what a prize that is, what a validation, what a treasure.

I was stunned, here I am in a dormitory with several woman whose only connection was that we attended the same church, going around introducing ourselves and answering, ‘what do you do?’—I chose to go last because it had been a while since I had a job that I could say I work at such and such a company, I chose to go last because I wasn’t sure that the work I do had any real value—so when this woman, a generation older than I, said that my book saved her life, it marked a before and after in my timeline.

She had a pile of books next to her bed, books her daughter gave her.  Mine was in that pile, and when it reached the top, she read it.  Her daughter had purchased my book after a talk I gave at the church, where I did a few signings.  That had been more than a year before this November night at a retreat house, in a cabin where 6 women shared a room.

Gloria, the woman who told me that my book ‘saved’ her life, showed me that what I had toiled over, worried over every sentence, phrase, and plot point, saved something in me that evening.  She was why I wrote the book.

She was the reason, the why; she showed me that what I had fretted over was useful, an instrument of healing for a woman whose life had been difficult.

Grief Interrupts the Story: Her Husband’s Sudden Death

Five months after that evening, the most major turning point of my life struck me down and almost silenced me. My husband, my love, the center of my world, died suddenly of a heart attack.

I could not write anything, even thank you notes, to all the wonderful people who came to his funeral, all the wonderful friends who brought casseroles and held me in their prayers and in their love. I was mute.

Ten Years Later: The Inbox Fills With Publishing and Film Offers

Flash forward, ten years, after moving across the country, leaving our family home, leaving those wonderful friends who held me up, held me together, my inbox is getting flooded with offers to turn my book into a film, a streaming television series, offers to promote me and my work, that after all the big turns and upsets in my life, I was more than eager to hear these offers. This book, which I had done nothing to promote, which I almost pulled from Amazon because I wanted to revise it, make it smoother, was now on the radar of promoters.

I easily deleted the emails that were poorly written and poorly presented.  I had heard about scams and AI-generated seductions sent to eager writers. I thought I was being discerning, intelligent, not a fool, in other words.  But then the emails became more specific about my book, my characters, my overarching themes. Hey, strangers are reading my book, I thought.  A few asked me to send a link to Goodreads reviews.  I didn’t think I had any. I check Goodreads, well, there it is, lovely reviews about my book. What a great surprise.  Maybe there is interest.  Maybe through whatever magic of algorithms and search engines, my book has been caught up in the net of readers and promoters.  I thought, okay, perhaps a family saga of three generations of women dealing with betrayal, spirituality, and grief is a hot topic right now.

The “Literary Agent” Email That Looked Real

Then, I received an email, well-written, professional, something writers dream of getting after submitting their work in countless venues. I was offered the services of a well-respected Literary Agent.  A link to a website with her name assured me that this was legit, not a scam. I had not contacted her; I had not contacted any agent. She sought me out.

She offered hope of finding a major publisher by re-igniting my self-published book.  We just had to generate enthusiasm and visibility. That sounds reasonable. That sounded like something I should do.

As I said at the beginning, writers are a vulnerable lot.

We corresponded. She introduced me to an editor. He wrote all the right words of encouragement and praise. I was seduced. I sent money for his editorial service. I received back a very lengthy editorial review of my book, very lengthy and detailed. I thought (remember, I was seduced) that my manuscript had been sent to several junior editors in his department. I revised my manuscript. I accepted some of their suggestions, making slight adjustments, cleaning up some passages.

I now have a cleaner, crisper manuscript.

It sits in my Word folder, saved to my Desktop.

The Red Flag That Stopped Her: A Nigerian Bank Account

I nearly took the next step. Very nearly. Until a Nigerian bank account was the preferred method of payment.

I was naïve, I admit. But, even I, eager for a new life for a book I devoted time and love to, hoping, if not for a resurrection, at least a resuscitation, had to see the red flag and stop.

Friends in the writing and artist community warned me. Articles in the writer’s journals and zines warned me.  Some little voice in the back of my mind that I tried to hush warned me.

The publishing industry is so complex, so overwhelming. Writers are primed for rejection. We are told over and over that you need a tough skin to make it in this world, to get your precious manuscript to the desk of anyone who will see worth in it, who will take a chance and maneuver its way to a publisher: The Holy Grail. But the skills and personality of someone who writes a book about grief and spirituality, and the depth of emotion, are not the skills of someone with a thick skin. So, when a friendly email arrives, a clever email that sounds like an actual human who was genuinely touched by my work arrives, critical discernment steps aside and lets the validation and praise seep in.

What This Reveals About AI-Era Publishing Scams

In other words, I was fooled. Not skeptical enough.  Not discerning enough. Not careful enough. Not smart enough. Not tough enough.

Pollyanna, meet AI.  How clever, how cunning, how seductive AI is. Sounds almost human. It’s the almost that gets us. I am now the sadder but wiser (thank you, Music Man) version of myself.

About the Author

Julianne McCullagh is a writer and speaker living in Sharon, MA. She has been a writing instructor at The Writers Garret in Dallas, Texas, and has led several discussion groups on the topics of spirituality, scripture, and literature.

She has participated in writer’s retreats in Tucson, Arizona, Astoria and McMinville, Oregon, the Beara Peninsula, Ireland, Ceret, France, Tuscany, Italy, Archer City, Texas, and has been a pilgrim in Spain on Ignatian Spirituality.

She is a First Place winner at the Mayborn School of Journalism Southwest Literary Nonfiction Conference. She has been published in Ten Spurs Journal, Loyola Press and is a Writers Digest Literary Fiction winner. She has been published on several online sites.

She is currently working on a memoir about grief and the spiritual journey.

You can contact her at [email protected], GraceNotes,  and The Narrow Gate

Note: *The Music Man is about a charming con man, Harold Hill, who tries to swindle a small town by posing as a boys’ band organizer, but ends up finding love and redemption.

FAQ

What is The Narrow Gate about? A self-published novel following three generations of women dealing with betrayal, spirituality, and grief, centered on a character named Rose.

What was the scam warning sign in this story? After paying for an “editorial service” from a contact introduced by a supposed literary agent, the author was asked to send further payment to a Nigerian bank account — a widely recognized scam indicator.

Why do scammers target authors specifically? Writers who have published a book, especially one with genuine positive reviews, are findable and identifiable targets. Scammers can reference real book details, characters, and themes to appear credible, and can exploit writers’ hope for wider publication or adaptation deals.

How can writers protect themselves from similar scams? Verify literary agents and editors independently (industry directories, agency sites, existing author references) rather than through links provided in unsolicited emails; be wary of unsolicited film/streaming interest in a self-published book; and treat any request to pay via wire transfer to an unfamiliar or foreign bank account as a definitive stop signal.