Congratulations! You’re a Global Author… Said the Scam

 

If there’s one thing they don’t teach you in school, it’s that the Philippines has a long and colorful history of literary scams — like, longer than your crush’s list of excuses. I first learned this while doomscrolling one night, discovering that as early as the 1900s, José E. Marco was already busy forging historical documents like the “Code of Kalantiaw,” which fooled the entire country for decades. Imagine scamming historians so hard your fake laws get taught in class — that’s commitment. Fast forward to 1998, and we had the iconic textbook scam that drained millions from public school funds. And now here we are in the modern era, where scammers don’t just knock on your door — they slide into your DMs, offer “global publishing deals,” and slap the words international, premium, and Hollywood on every email like seasoning.

My personal descent into this historic tradition began on a perfectly boring Tuesday. I was scrolling on Facebook when an ad popped up saying: “Become a Global Author — Netflix Is Looking for Filipino Stories!” The ad featured a woman holding a book that didn’t exist, smiling like she just got paid not to ask questions. The page had quotes like, “Your story matters,” which, let’s be real, is something only scam publishers, motivational speakers, and your best friend at 2 AM will tell you. Somehow, despite knowing better, I clicked. A consultant called me within minutes, complimenting my manuscript before he even read it — a huge red flag but also, emotionally, I needed it.

The consultant told me I had “rare talent,” which sounded flattering until I realized they say this to everyone with a keyboard. Then came the fees: a publishing fee, an ISBN fee (fair), an international author branding fee (suspicious), and a Hollywood executive pitch fee (sir, what?). They even hinted that if I moved fast enough, my book might be selected for an Amazon Prime adaptation. At that point, even my cat squinted at the phone like, “Are we sure?” But the final blow came when they offered a “guaranteed film deal” for a “small one-time payment” — and that’s when I remembered the golden rule of adulthood: anything guaranteed but requiring payment is either a scam or a gym membership.

Naturally, I turned to Google, where all painful truths reside. And wow — the horror stories. There were authors who paid ₱20,000 and got a book cover that looked like it was designed by a toddler with MS Paint. Others paid ₱80,000 and received no book at all. One writer said the company ghosted her after she asked for proofreading. Another shared that the “international marketing team” blocked her on Messenger after she requested an update. Safe to say I closed my wallet tighter than a pasalubong box wrapped in packaging tape.

Like any emotionally damaged writer seeking catharsis, I made coffee and wrote a long blog post about everything — the history, the red flags, my near-victim experience, and a list of phrases like “Beware of publishers who promise Netflix deals before even reading Chapter 1.” At first, only my cousins liked the post out of familial obligation. Then it blew up. Writers from all over the country shared it, adding comments like “Omg same sis,” “Bro they told me the exact same script,” and “Help, I paid them last week.”

By the end of the week, I had unintentionally built a mini support group of writers traumatized by the same overly-friendly “consultants.” One guy even joked that at this point, the Philippines should add “publishing scams” to its list of cultural heritage sites. Honestly? He wasn’t wrong. If José E. Marco could fool an entire nation with fake historical laws, and if textbook scammers could siphon millions decades later, then maybe modern scammers running “publishing companies” are just following a very unfortunate national tradition.

Looking back, I’m grateful my paranoia kicked in before they could swipe my life savings. But more than anything, I realized this: writers are dreamers — and dreamers are delicious targets. If sharing my story helps prevent even one writer from falling for the same trap, then maybe my embarrassing adventure wasn’t a total waste of time. And if it doesn’t… well, at least it makes one heck of a blog post.