Hollywood or Hoax?
The Email That Almost Took My Novel to Netflix
There’s a particular dream that sits quietly in the back of every novelist’s mind.
It’s the fantasy that one day, an email will land in your inbox from a powerful agent or producer who says:
I read your book and I’m blown away. Let’s make it into a movie.
Last week, I received that email. And for a brief, dizzying moment, I believed my life was about to change.
The Email That Lit the Fuse
It was crafted beautifully, speaking of Netflix, HBO, Amazon. Of “sweeping, cinematic vision.” Of The Seven Seeds becoming a limited series or feature-film trilogy. It compared my story to The Man in the High Castle and The Last Kingdom.
They laid out an enticing vision:
A richly layered saga of alternate history and myth.
Visually stunning world-building.
Themes of redemption and sacrifice with international appeal.
They offered an industry-standard 10% agency commission. They suggested a quick 15–20 minute call to discuss how to pitch my story to streaming giants.
I read it once and thought, 'No way.'
Then I read it again. And again. And the dreamer in me whispered: Maybe…
Hooked by Hope
The next day, I got a text from the “agent,” eager to set up a call. I agreed. Only minutes later, another text arrived:
Sorry—just got pulled into a meeting with HBO. Can we reschedule?
HBO. The letters themselves glowed in my brain. What if it’s true?
A little voice kept nagging at me that it was, in fact, too good to be true. But hope can be louder than caution, especially when it echoes a secret wish you’ve carried for years.
And for those few electrifying days, my imagination ran wild. I pictured The Seven Seeds on a giant screen. I saw the marble corridors of a Rome that never fell, lit by neon and haunted by old gods. I imagined a modern-day Pope stepping through a hidden arch beneath the Vatican—and emerging into an empire still ruled by Jupiter and Mars.
In the quiet cinema of my mind, I kept casting scenes with actors like Mark Rylance, whose subtlety can speak volumes without a word; Anthony Hopkins, all commanding presence and the glint of secrets in his eyes; Ralph Fiennes, brooding and magnetic, carrying storms beneath a poised exterior; and Stanley Tucci, erudite and endlessly watchable, the kind of actor who can fold wit and warmth into a single glance.
I pictured them donning papal robes, delivering lines that once only lived in my head, now echoing in hushed cinematic cathedrals.
Suspicion Sets In
After a few days of fantasizing—and still no call—I finally reached out to a friend in the film and TV industry who is familiar with such matters.
His answer was immediate:
That single warning hit like a pebble in a still pond. Ripples of doubt spread through every bright corner of my imagination, warping the dream until its edges looked unnervingly sharp. If the promise was genuine, it would survive the glare of scrutiny; if it wasn’t, better to watch it crack under my own deliberate pressure than let it shatter me later.
When Dreams Become Bait
What I found was clear—and devastating.
The email domain was fake. Real agents at that company used an entirely different domain.
The phone number wasn’t listed anywhere as connected to the agency.
The real agent existed, but under entirely different contact information.
Scammers often lace their traps with real industry details—such as the commission rate—to make the fantasy seem authentic.
But the worst part wasn’t the risk of being scammed. It was how deeply I’d let myself believe. How willingly I’d been pulled in by the idea that my story could light up a screen. How my vulnerable ego and longing for validation had made me easy prey.
For a few brilliant days, I’d lived inside a shimmering possibility. Losing that hope felt like the cruelest cost of all.
The Call That Sealed It
Still, a tiny part of me clung to the possibility.
So I did what my producer friend advised: I called the real talent agency directly.
An assistant picked up the phone. I explained the situation. She sighed.
There it was—confirmed. A hoax. Someone out there was impersonating a real agent and dangling Hollywood dreams in front of me.
The Emotional Roller Coaster
I won’t pretend it didn’t sting.
For a couple of days, I was floating on a cloud of possibility. I pictured my story coming alive on screen. I imagined red carpets, streaming premieres, actors giving interviews about my characters.
Then reality swept in like a sudden gust, scattering the glittering visions I’d gathered.
But please don’t worry. My bubble may have popped, but my desire to keep writing, to keep dreaming, and to keep pressing on remains completely unshaken.
Because the love of storytelling runs deeper than any disappointment, the hope of seeing my words touch others, or even light up a screen one day, still fuels me. The thrill of creating new worlds, of exploring the “what ifs,” of giving life to characters who feel real—that’s what keeps me going.
Scams and setbacks may bruise me for a moment, but they can’t extinguish the fire. I’ll keep putting words on the page. I’ll keep believing that somewhere out there, the right opportunity—and the right people—will cross paths with my work.
And I’ll keep daring to dream, because that’s what writers do.
Cinema of the Mind
So while I wait for Hollywood to discover me, I’d love for you to be the director, the cinematographer, and the audience all at once.
If The Seven Seeds never flashes across a silver screen or pops up in your Netflix queue, it can still unfold in the richest cinema there is—your own mind.
Come slip through the hidden arch beneath the Vatican with Pope Gregory. Stand beneath Roman temples that never fell. Wander an empire where the old gods still reign and compassion might yet rewrite history. It’s all there waiting, frame by frame, line by line.
Whether you’re turning pages, swiping a screen, or listening as the story plays out in your ears, you’ll be the first to witness this world come alive. And if the day comes when cameras finally roll, you’ll be able to lean back and say, “I was there before the lights ever hit the set.”
Thanks for sticking with me. The writing continues, the dreaming continues—and the reel is still spinning.
See you in the story.
A Homecoming for Percy Hope
Join Me in Hope, Alaska!
Sometimes life loops back in the most poetic ways.
Over a century ago, the gold rush lured thousands north to a little settlement on Turnagain Arm. That same rush became the spark for my trilogy, The Alaskan Adventures of Percy Hope—Hope City, Cape Nome, and Denali.
Now, I’m thrilled to share that on Saturday, August 9th, from 7-9 PM, I’ll be signing books in the very place where Percy’s journey began in Hope, Alaska.
There’s something magical about returning to the setting of my own fictional world. Hope City might have been built on dreams of gold, but it’s the spirit of the people—and the wilderness pressing close around them—that truly inspired Percy’s story.
Why Come?
→ The Setting
Creekbend Cafe is nestled beside Six-Mile Creek, offering good food, local brews, and music that drifts out to the surrounding mountains. It’s pure Alaska charm.
→ The Stories
I’ll be chatting about how these novels came to life—the research rabbit holes, the characters who refused to stay quiet, and the real history that shimmers beneath every page.
→ A Shared Adventure
Whether you’ve read Percy’s story cover to cover or you’re just curious about Alaska’s wild history, come say hello. Let’s swap stories where the gold rush once roared.
Details at a Glance
Book Signing — The Alaskan Adventures of Percy Hope Trilogy
Saturday, August 9, 2025
7–9 PM
Creekbend Cafe, Hope, Alaska
I’d love to see you there—to sign books, share a laugh, and stand together under the same peaks that watched Percy Hope set off on his unforgettable quest.
Until then, keep chasing your Alaskan adventures.
Warmly,
Neil Perry Gordon
Percy’s Journey Rolls On This Fall
This fall, Percy Hope returns in The Wizard of Hope, the fourth book in his Alaskan adventures.
It’s 1915. The wilderness is roaring with the promise—and peril—of progress as the Alaska Railroad carves its steel path through ice and forest. Percy, now a seasoned journalist with more scars than he’ll admit, arrives to cover the grand enterprise. But what starts as a story about men and rails quickly tangles into something darker.
A murder shatters the fragile peace of Tent City. A silver medallion glints with a raven’s mysterious etching. And rumors swirl that the very land keeps count of every spike driven into its frozen veins.
Summoned by a deceased Tyonek shaman, Percy finds himself caught between powerful rail barons, Alaska’s ruthless winter, and a spirit realm where the veil grows dangerously thin.
This next chapter might be Percy’s most treacherous journey yet—and I can’t wait to share it with you.
Stay tuned for details and more behind-the-scenes glimpses of The Wizard of Hope.
See you on the rails. . .
Broad Pass opened before us like the floor of a giant cathedral, flanked by pale mountain walls whose peaks were lost in ragged veils of cloud. The valley stretched wide and white, an endless sweep of wind-scoured snow broken only by boulders crusted in ice and the stunted skeletons of willow and alder half-buried in drifts.
The wind never let up. It screamed across the flats, lifting sheets of powder and hurling them into low whirlwinds that vanished as quickly as they appeared. Beneath my boots, the snow was packed so hard it rang like stone. In places, old snow had hardened into sharp, frozen ridges that snagged the runners of the sleds and threatened to tip us over.
