When is "too good to be true" just perfect? One summer morning while taking a neighbornhood walk, I was pleasantly shocked to receive an email from someone I will call "Katherine", a managing partner and editor for Stanford Books. Not Stanford University Press at the lauded northern California college. Katherine's email focused on "exploring whether...books have potential for film, television, documentary, or streaming adaptations." What??? I have sold 28 books and she wants to pitch "Harmony's Bytes" for screens big and small?

Of course, based on experience, I had my "scam-dar" on high alert. Katherine's email came from Stanford Books, not a gmail address. So she passed the first test. Still on my walk, I took a quick detour to the Stanford Books website ("Where Passion Meets the Page") under "Services" option 4--Marketing--I spotted a drop down click for "Hollywood Book Review", which "is ideal for authors who want their book assessed from a film, television, or entertainment perspective, especially for stories with screen adaptation potential." So they promise what Katherine emailed, so that checks out. However, the website's "About Us" and "Contact" links mentioned no Katherine, nor any individual.

I decided upon "optioning" my reply, with the following opening: "During my shoestring-budgeted journey to promote my debut foodie romcom with heart, Harmony's Bytes, I have run into many offers that appear too good to be true. This one goes to the top of that list. Yet here I am responding!" I proceeded to make my very best elevator pitch for Harmony's Bytes, of course mentioning the novel's movie comp with "When Harry Met Sally". I attached all my best promotional materials at the time, and sent a PDF manuscript of H.B. as well. Then I forgot about it and moved on.

But only two days later another email from "Katherine" sat in my inbox. She reassured me that, "I can certainly understand why you approached my email cautiously. From what you’ve shared, though, you have already done something very useful for a potential screen property: you have begun building a world around the book rather than simply publishing it and waiting." Katherine continued by scratching my Harmony's Bytes promotion itch in all the right places, even imagining with me where there might be opportunities to shoot scenes in restaurants and get San Francisco visuals. She promised to look over the manuscript and respond in a few days with "our preliminary assessment and tell you where we think the strongest adaptation opportunity lies." Was this really happening to me to Harmony's Bytes??


Just four days later, the next email from Katherine arrived. I was cautiously optimistic, cautious because I was unsure of the details, and whether this was a classic pay-for-play situation. Optimistic, well, because that is my natural inclination. Katherine began, "We’ve now reviewed Harmony’s Bytes, and our preliminary assessment is positive. I think the strongest direction is a limited television or streaming series rather than trying to compress everything into a single feature film." She mentioned a dramedy specifically. So..."Harmony's Bytes: The Miniseries"???

As I read on, the mantra "What's the catch?" repeated through the neurons of my brain.
Finally, the catch was revealed in red ink: "Our Professional Hollywood Coverage, Written Pitch and Submission Package is a one-time US$599". I was strangely relieved, in the sense of "the expensive devil you know is better than the unresolved price devil you don't know".

Katherine went on to explain everything the $599 covered, from the screen strategy development to the pitch process to the materials I would get to review before they pitch to the Screen Studios (their caps).
I was asked to send my full legal name, address, and phone number to get started. But something still didn't sit right with me, irregardless of the $599 fee.

I responded, expressing that I needed more time to think it over. But in the meantime, I asked if she could provlde Stanford Book's track record with books and multimedia projects.

Meanwhile, I put Katherine's name and Stanford Books on Google, and the following AI message came up:

"(Katherine J.) is the Managing Partner and Editor at an entity operating under the name Stanford Books.

If you are searching for this name because you received an unexpected email from her, please exercise caution. Author communities and online reports flag these communications as part of a suspected phishing scheme or vanity press operation targeting independent writers.

The Solicitations
Independent authors report receiving cold emails from (katherineJ) as this email (@stanfordbooks.com). The messages generally include the following elements:

The Pitch: She claims to review book manuscripts at no cost to evaluate their potential for film, television, streaming, or documentary adaptations.
YES!

The Request: Authors are asked to send over digital copies of their completed book files or manuscripts for a "review".
YES!!

The Red Flags: Writing groups note that legitimate film scouts or publishers rarely solicit unknown authors via cold emails to offer free adaptation reviews. These tactics are often a front to charge writers high upfront formatting and "pitching" fees, or to harvest intellectual property.
YES! YES! YES!!!

If you received an email from (Katherine J.), I can help you verify the sender's details or point you toward trusted resources to check for publisher scams. Did you receive one of these solicitations?"

Oh yes I did, AI!!! AI and I wound up having a complete conversation. AI commended me for the "track record" reply, and the other various hesitations I had included in my past emails (I sent the whole email exchange to AI). AI also alerted me to various strategies in Katherine's response. She might do a denial (we don't do pay-for-play and this investment is well worth it) , redirection (look at all the great things we do), or defensive position (we are the experts, you are not).

Suddenly I did not feel like an author patsy who someone was trying to bamboozle. I felt like a
scam sleuth, pay-for-play private eye, or dramedy detective, ready for my case.