6 things (you might not have considered) that will hold you back as a writer

1. You’re actually interested in the writing (you know, style, elegance of expression) — not just getting noticed for your hackneyed, no-intelligence, punctuation-doesn’t-matter story.

2. You hate Amazon: a company run by a psychopath with dodgy working practices being indulged by sycophantic governments as it moves towards a virtual monopoly position (my novel’s on Smashwords).

3. You hate Facebook: a data-mining company run by a psychopath (I’m not on Facebook).

4. You hate posts about how to promote yourself on social media (I deleted my Twitter account).

5. You find self-promotion rather unseemly, a bit undignified really (while recognizing you have to tell people it’s there — the novel, that is — if you want them to read it).

6. You think best-sellers are mostly shit (Dan Brown, James Patterson, E.L. James, Lee Child, Clive Cussler, to name a few), reflecting the poor taste of the “average” reader.

7 (bonus point). You recognize, at bottom, that this world isn’t really for you.


Futerman Rose Associates

An example of a monetizing rejection letter I received nearly three years ago now. I wonder if they’re still sending them out. They’ve had a bit of re-branding since, though Guy’s still there.

Dear John

Many thanks for this.

The writing is strong and the storyline intriguing. I have to tell you however, that agents are finding novels, even intelligently written commercial work like this, harder to place nowadays. Publishers are so subjective and only concerned with the bottom line.

What I can do is to suggest an organisation who, for a reasonably low fee will make the full arrangements to ensure a full Kindle publication of your work.

What is more, they will edit as well – obviously not a radically comprehensive edit – to a thoroughly presentable standard . Many Kindle books are going on at a later stage to traditional publication or Print on Demand.

Their fee is just £950 and you get a free Kindle as well. Let me know if you would like me to put you in touch with them.


There is a publisher we deal with now, (not vanity) who have taken some of my more worthwhile mss and I believe they will promote and publicise properly. They do charge a fee (£4,500 – refundable to you after sales of just 2,000) but I believe it is an acceptable deal as the writer enjoys a far better rate of royalties. One of my authors who has taken advantage of this, is Provost of one of the oldest Oxford colleges and is a knight of the realm. His work has just been nominated for an award for Political Fiction. My most recent was a High Court Judge.

Let me know if you would like me to submit [novel title] to them.

Very best wishes


Guy Rose

Futerman, Rose & Associates


Scent of a profit

If I made a fortune selling scented shit, I’d be congratulated and feted. I’d be a successful business person, a job and wealth creator, an entrepreneur. This is the emptiness at the heart of capitalism. Profit is king, money god. Price matters, intrinsic value not so much.

As a successful purveyor of scented shit, I’d have to grow my business. I’d get a business loan from the bank, employ someone or ones to market my scented poo, my marketing department. I’d also have an R&D department to blend the various scents with the different colours and textures of shit. Runny Brown Rose could be a market leader with Lavender Log more of a connoisseurs’ choice. We would sell celebrity scented shit, which would come with a certificate of authenticity and said celeb’s autograph. We would also promote a cheaper celeb product, the celebrity smear, in order to allow everyone to participate in the exciting world of scented shit. The Celebrity Smear would be a scented, autographed, coloured napkin (and we’d seek to grow our range of scents and colours in response to market demand) on which a celebrity had wiped their bottom. Perhaps we could add a “story” to the moment of the wipe because buyers of the smear would be interested in what was going on in the life of the celeb at the time they applied the napkin to their posterior.

With the company growing, we’d need to find a way to keep manpower costs down – by off-shoring and making use of automation. Developers would write programs to implement scent-to-shit formulae without the need for human sniffers, who would likely prove expensive in the medium- to long-term. In the event our high-end product required human sniffers, we could and would sub-contract to India or East Asia, where they have competitive labour laws.

With our stock high, we’d form the SSBF (Scented Shit Business Forum) to lobby governments to legislate in our favour by removing barriers to the scented shit industry worldwide. We’d create a fund for discreet  donations to political parties in return for honours and concessions.

An empire built on shit would have me and the board smelling of roses, and I’d tour the country and world giving talks on how to create a successful business. Of course, I’d have “written” a book, No Shit! The Sweet Smell of Success!  which I’d sell at these events and online along with other products, such as T-shirts and mugs.

And, yes, I’d be proud to accept the Donald Trump Award for Business Excellence.

Marketing your novel

This is not a vacuous (copy and paste type) post about marketing your novel (designed to attract eyeballs and comments). It’s more to do with the dreadful necessity of doing it (marketing, that is), and the feeling of unseemliness that accompanies the so doing.

First, you have to be (or have something) “out there”. I’m not going to reflect overly long on the kudos afforded by the fact of being “out there” in a loud, notice-me, capitalist world. It’s perhaps enough to remark that it might be making a virtue of necessity where artistic endeavour is concerned, since post-production you’re engaged in the game of getting noticed.

Picture me walking into a room of disparate people who share my plight. My name is John, and I have something “out there” — a novel to be (somewhat) more precise, a stylish, philosophically bleak work of detective fiction. One of my readers (and, like all rare things, I value them all) told me recently that they’d read a quarter of it and put it aside because it was too depressing. Clearly, it’s bleaker than I thought.

Okay, so let’s put together an entirely fictional marketing strategy. You persuade twenty people to buy the book (I managed that bit). They read it (mostly succeeded in that. Thank you, dear readers), and then… what? Well, they feed back to you, which is helpful and useful and generous and kind. Unfortunately, what you really want them to do is blog and tweet and Facebook and review (on books sites, preferably those from where they purchased your book). You need to be talked about on social media. I’ve entirely failed in this. I just don’t know those sorts of people, and it’s surely deeply unseemly to be nagging people who bought your book as a favour in the first place to spend time reviewing it. I mean, life is very busy. I do more blogging than anyone I know.

In short, then, to succeed from Nowhere, you have to become a needy, whining, attention-seeking wannabe prattling on about yourself and your work at every opportunity, constantly racking your brains to come up with ways to attract attention to yourself. Not very dignified, is it? That presumably is what agents and publishers spare you, allowing you to get on with the art and (mostly) skip the marketing, notice-me indignity of it all.

I’m writing my second novel (or was; I have 9,000 words of it), which is much more mainstream in terms of subject matter and, perhaps more importantly, style. This is what feedback does to you. Needed and necessary, ultimately it promotes conformity. Truly individual voices go unheard.