Nur wer schreibt, der bleibt! I will be the next Jo Nesbö. But for now I have to learn a bit. The funny way. This is what Randy Ingermanson says.
“And what’s the best-selling novel series of the last twenty years?” Baby Bear asked.
Mrs. Hubbard scowled. “It was those dreadful books about that Harvey Potter child. Witches and wizards and all sorts of wickedness.”
“A very stupid book,” growled Little Pig. “I stopped reading after the first page, when I saw how that woman maligned those respectable Dursleys.”
“And who was the target audience for the Harry Potter series?” asked Baby Bear.
Nobody said anything.
Goldilocks timidly raised her hand. “Wasn’t it … eleven-year-old boys?”
Baby Bear began jumping up and down, clapping his fat little paws. “Yes! Boys, aged eleven. The smallest niche market you can imagine. Everybody knows that boys don’t read. Everybody knows that eleven-year-old boys absolutely, positively won’t read anything. Especially a book written by a woman. And yet …”
Why was the book that succesful? Because the eleven year old boy told the eleven year old girl. The eleven year old girl told...