There’s a quiet fatigue settling over authors, and it doesn’t come from the writing. It’s not the editing, the rewrites, or the endless battles with self-doubt. It’s not the algorithm, or the market, or even the low sales numbers. It’s the growing tide of unsolicited messages that slide into our inboxes like clockwork, asking if our books are on Amazon (yes), offering services we never asked for, and failing, in every possible way, to show the slightest understanding of who we are or what we’ve created.
There’s a difference between marketing and opportunism, and too many people out here have confused the two.
It’s not just the cold messages that frustrate. It’s the lack of effort behind them. If someone truly wanted to support an author, they’d take thirty seconds to read the profile. They’d look at the pinned tweet. They’d glance at the tone of the work or the covers we’ve already spent hours refining. They’d take a moment to ask, “Does what I offer even fit with what this author creates?” Because it’s not just about selling books. It’s about representing them well.
But that’s not what’s happening. What we get instead is a barrage of impersonal pitches and “promo packages” made with slapped-together templates, generic captions, and visuals that look like they were cobbled together on a lunch break using the free version of every design tool. There’s no cohesion. No sense of genre. No understanding of tone or audience. Just noise.
And the worst part? Many of these so-called marketers charge authors who don’t yet know better. Authors who are new. Authors who are already overwhelmed. Authors who are just trying to get their work seen. So they say yes. They pay. They hope for traction. And what they get is a carousel of low-effort Instagram posts buried under recycled hashtags and engagement bait.
It’s frustrating to watch. It’s infuriating to receive. And it’s disheartening to know that for every author who says no, there’s another one who might feel too unsure, too desperate, too alone in this industry to say anything other than “okay.”
No one is saying marketing shouldn’t cost money. People deserve to be paid for their time and skill. But if you’re charging authors, many of whom are already stretching budgets, you need to show that you actually see them. Not just their product. Not just their potential as a client. You need to understand the story they’ve poured themselves into. The tone. The message. The genre. The vibe. Something. Anything.
If you can’t be bothered to learn even the basics of who you’re reaching out to, you don’t deserve access to their work, let alone their wallet.
There’s a reason many of us get wary. There’s a reason we put “No DMs” in our bios. Because every interaction that ignores that boundary chips away at our time, our trust, and our energy. It’s not about being unfriendly. It’s about protecting ourselves from being drained by people who don’t see us as creators. They see us as content generators with credit cards.
It’s also why some of us are so careful about who we let near our book covers, our trailers, our ads. Because when done right, those things are extensions of the book itself. They carry its energy. They speak to its reader. And we’ve all seen what happens when that’s left in the hands of someone who doesn’t care.
So if you’re a marketer reading this, here’s what authors are asking for. Do your homework. If you want to offer a service, lead with something personal. Tell us why you reached out to us. Tell us what you saw in our work that resonated. Show us that you have eyes, taste, and a record of results. Don’t pitch us with a cold script and a portfolio full of ads that look like they were made for a completely different genre. Don’t treat our books like interchangeable products on a shelf. And please, for the love of all things holy, respect the boundary when someone says no.
We aren’t being difficult. We’re just exhausted. And the more noise there is, the harder it becomes for genuine connection to happen. For the right promo teams to find us. For the readers to hear us through the static.
The writing world is already hard enough. The last thing we need is to keep fending off the kind of help that feels more like a hustle.
You want to promote books? Great. Start by treating them like they matter. Start by treating us like we do, too.
P.S.
And one more thing, since this needs saying. If you’re a marketer reaching out uninvited, we are not obligated to respond, especially not to a generic message that barely recognizes who we are or what we write. What we do not appreciate is being told you feel ignored, as if the silence was some personal slight. Meanwhile, you have ignored our work, our time, and our boundaries.
We are not going to leap at the chance to hand over a few hundred dollars after three cut-and-paste messages that could have been sent to anyone. And if your pitch is tired, if it feels like it has been recycled a hundred times before, that is because it has.
This is not about your feelings. It is about our value. Show some respect or stop knocking.
