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There is a slightly dangerous stage in the life of a new book when enthusiasm is doing most of the heavy lifting. The author has a brilliant idea, starts writing furiously, tells everyone a book is on the way and, 60,000 words later, begins thinking about covers, editors, formatting and publication. Somewhere around this point, usually after quite a lot of time and possibly quite a lot of money, somebody finally asks the awkward question: will people who do not already know and love me actually want to read this?
I would like authors to ask that much earlier.
That does not mean every book needs to become a bestseller. Some are written for family, legacy, personal fulfilment, professional credibility or a very small specialist audience, and those can be completely successful on their own terms. But if your goal is to sell your book to strangers, use it to grow a business, attract clients, build authority or develop a commercial writing career, your idea needs to survive something more demanding than your own excitement about it.
It needs an identifiable reader, a clear reason for that person to choose it and enough substance to deliver what the book appears to promise. That is essentially what we are testing when we talk about book viability.
First, Decide What “Successful” Means for Your Book
Before looking at markets, comparable titles or Amazon categories, decide what job this particular book is supposed to do. The answer changes almost every decision that follows.
A thriller writer may be aiming for a large retail readership and enough momentum to build a series. A leadership consultant may be perfectly delighted with 1,000 book sales if those books generate speaking engagements, workshops and consulting contracts. A psychologist or coach may want a credible book that extends their work, gives existing clients something useful to recommend and introduces their thinking to people who may eventually work with them. A memoirist may want commercial sales, while another may simply want to record an extraordinary family history for future generations.
None of those goals is inferior to another, but they require very different books.
For business owners in particular, raw book sales can be an extremely poor way of measuring success. A book that reaches 500 precisely chosen people and generates five major corporate clients may be far more commercially useful than a book that sells 5,000 copies to readers who never interact with the author’s wider work.
So before asking whether the book is viable, ask yourself a slightly more useful question: what is this book supposed to achieve?
Why Author Enthusiasm Isn’t Market Research
Most book ideas begin with the author, which is perfectly natural. You know something, experienced something, discovered something or cannot stop thinking about something. Perhaps people repeatedly ask you about it, or perhaps you have carried the story around for twenty years and finally feel ready to write it.
That tells us why you care.
It does not yet tell us why a stranger will.
One of the most useful things an editor can do at concept stage is temporarily remove the author from the equation and look at the proposed book from the other side of the transaction. Imagine someone browsing online or walking through a bookshop. Why do they stop at this book? What do they recognise in the title, premise or cover? What problem, curiosity, emotion or desire does it connect with? What are they expecting when they open it, and why would they choose it instead of the fifteen reasonably similar books sitting beside it?
If those questions are difficult to answer, I would not immediately declare the idea bad. Quite often, the book simply has not been developed far enough yet. The raw material is there; the proposition is not.
Discovering that at 5,000 words is useful. Discovering it after 85,000 words, a copyedit, a cover and 300 printed copies is more character-building than most authors require.
How to Research Book Viability in Your Genre
One of the simplest viability exercises is also one of the most useful: go and find your competition.
If possible, begin in an actual bookshop. Find the section where your proposed book would sit. If it is a leadership book, spend time in business and management. If it is memoir, study memoir. If it is psychological suspense, look at what psychological suspense currently looks and sounds like. If you are writing about grief, menopause, ADHD, parenting, trauma recovery, entrepreneurship or money, find the nearest equivalent shelf and have a proper look around.
Do not merely check whether somebody has already used your proposed title. Look at what the books are promising, which subjects recur, how specific the titles and subtitles are, what kind of authors appear in that section, how long the books seem to be, how they are packaged and whether there are obvious patterns in tone, structure or positioning.
Then do the same thing online. Search Amazon, Kobo, Apple Books, Goodreads, Google Books and ordinary Google results. Search not only the subject you think you are writing about, but the phrases a reader may actually use when looking for help or entertainment.
If your book is about workplace burnout, for example, do not stop at workplace burnout. Search burnout recovery, manager burnout, toxic workplace, leadership stress, work exhaustion, how to stop burning out at work and other language your reader might naturally use. You are trying to see the market from their side rather than yours.
Why Book Market Competition Is Reassuring
New authors sometimes tell me, with great excitement, that there is nothing else like their book.
I tend not to celebrate quite as quickly.
If nobody has published anything remotely similar, there are at least two possible explanations. You may have discovered an extraordinary gap in the market, or there may be no meaningful market for it at all. Both possibilities deserve investigation before we order the launch champagne.
Comparable books are useful because they show us that people already buy around your subject, genre or reader problem. For most projects, I would want to identify at least three to five reasonably recent books that serve a similar audience, address a related problem or offer a comparable reading experience.
The question is not whether your book is identical to them. It should not be. The more useful question is: if somebody bought and enjoyed these books, is there a believable reason they might also buy mine?
That is how a market begins to reveal itself.
Look Beyond the Main Topic
Two books can both be “about grief” while doing completely different jobs. One may be written by a psychologist explaining grief clinically, another may be a literary memoir, another may offer short daily reflections, another may address parents who have lost a child and another may combine neuroscience with practical exercises.
The topic is only one layer.
When I compare books, I want to know who the intended reader is, what promise is being made, what authority the author brings, what format or structure is used, how practical or narrative the book is and what distinctive angle has allowed it to claim its own space.
The same applies to fiction. Two domestic thrillers may share a broad genre but offer very different experiences. One might rely on an unreliable narrator, another on a marriage secret, another on an isolated location and another on a missing child. Readers often want familiarity and novelty at the same time: enough recognisable genre DNA to know what kind of experience they are buying, but enough freshness to prevent the whole thing feeling reheated.
Read Reader Reviews to Spot Market Gaps
This is one of my favourite bits of market research because readers will cheerfully tell you where existing books delighted or disappointed them.
The five-star reviews show you what people loved. The one-star reviews are occasionally useful, although some are mostly evidence that someone ordered a paperback in the rain. I often find the three-star reviews more revealing because that is where readers say things such as, good concept, but too repetitive, interesting science, but I wanted practical exercises, excellent for beginners, although there was little here for experienced managers, or I loved the first half, but the book seemed to lose direction later.
Those comments can expose unmet needs.
That does not mean you should reverse-engineer someone else’s work or write a book by committee. It means paying attention to what readers repeatedly say they want more of, less of, or differently.
If five successful books in your area all receive criticism for being too theoretical and your own strength is practical application, that may be interesting.
If readers repeatedly complain that books on your subject are dense and inaccessible and you are unusually good at explaining complicated ideas simply, there may be your angle.
If everybody praises the detailed case studies and your manuscript contains none, that may be worth noticing too.
Clarifying Your Reader Promise and Book Through-Line
Most authors believe their book is different, but sometimes the difference disappears rather quickly when we try to articulate it.
Consider three imaginary leadership books. How to Become a Better Leader is so broad that it is competing with half the airport business section. What New Managers Get Wrong in Their First 100 Days is stronger because I can immediately see the reader, the situation and the problem. The Quiet Exit: How Managers Can Spot Employee Withdrawal Before Good People Resign becomes even sharper because it identifies a specific pain point, an implied consequence, and a reason for the reader to act.
All three concern leadership.
They are not equally marketable ideas.
A meaningful distinction can come from a new framework, unusual professional experience, a tightly defined reader, access to unusual stories or research, a neglected application of existing knowledge, a particularly strong voice or a combination of ideas that has not previously been presented in quite that way.
What generally does not count as a compelling distinction is: “Mine contains my personal story.”
Your personal story may be important, but thousands of books contain personal stories. The useful question is what your story allows the reader to see, understand, feel, or do, that they could not get as easily elsewhere.
Defining Your Book Viability Proposition (“Why Yours?”)
For practical nonfiction, I like authors to be able to complete a simple sentence:
This book helps [specific reader] achieve or understand [specific outcome] through [specific approach].
You do not necessarily put that exact sentence on the cover. Its purpose is to make the author think.
If the answer is, “This book helps everybody step into their power, embrace transformation and become the best version of themselves,” I am likely to hand it back and suggest another round.
Who is everybody?
What does step into their power actually mean?
What changes for the reader?
How?
The more concrete the promise becomes, the easier it is to evaluate the book.
A useful promise also gives you something else you desperately need: a through-line.
A Through-line is What Stops a Manuscript Becoming a Filing Cabinet
A topic is not automatically a through-line.
Suppose your topic is resilience. That tells us what broad territory we are in, but very little about the actual book. A through-line might be: people do not build resilience by avoiding difficulty; they build it by becoming better at recovery.
Now every chapter has something to contribute to or challenge.
The same principle applies to memoir. Imagine an author writing about an abusive childhood, difficult relationships, business success, caregiving, divorce and eventual recovery. Those events may all belong to one life, but that does not automatically make them one book.
The author may eventually recognise a deeper line running through them: I spent forty years mistaking usefulness for love because, as a child, being useful was how I stayed safe.
Now the childhood, relationships, work and later choices can illuminate the same deeper pattern. The book has gained a lens through which events can be selected and interpreted.
Without that, memoir can very easily become chronological evidence that a great deal happened.
Evaluating Commercial Memoir Viability
Memoir is probably where I see the greatest confusion between needing to write something and having something ready for strangers to buy.
Writing about trauma can be deeply important. It may be therapeutic, clarifying, empowering or simply necessary. There are experiences people have carried silently for decades, and putting them into words can be significant in its own right.
But writing something because you need to get it out and publishing something because a reader will find value in experiencing it are not automatically the same process.
A first memoir draft can sometimes be a huge emotional splodge on the page: this happened, and then this happened, and then this awful thing happened, and then someone else did something dreadful, followed by another 40,000 words proving that life had not yet finished its work.
I say this gently, but if the main purpose is simply to get every event and emotion out of your system, you may initially need a private journal rather than a commercial memoir.
That does not make the story unimportant.
It means the writing may still be serving you, rather than a reader.
Memoir becomes a book when experience is selected, shaped and interpreted. You begin choosing scenes because they contribute to something larger, rather than because they happened. You start asking what the reader is gradually understanding, where the emotional tension lies, what has changed and why this particular life becomes interesting beyond the person who lived it.
The reader does not require a neat lesson after every trauma. A memoir does not have to become self-help. But there has to be something beyond a chronological record of suffering: insight, extraordinary voice, humour, recognition, access to an unfamiliar world, narrative tension, emotional transformation or a perspective that helps another human understand something differently.
Pain is real.
Pain alone is not automatically a book proposition.
Your Life Still Needs a Story
Compare two descriptions.
The first might be: This is my story of an abusive childhood, a difficult first marriage, divorce, conflict with my mother, starting businesses, several bereavements and eventually finding happiness.
There may be an excellent memoir hiding inside that. At present, however, it sounds rather like a filing cabinet.
Now consider: After spending most of her life rescuing other people, a woman begins to recognise that what she has always called strength is actually the survival strategy she learned in childhood — and dismantling it threatens almost every relationship she has built.
The same life events might appear in both books. The second version simply knows what it is looking at. That is the difference development can make.
Why Existing Clients Aren’t Always Book Readers
This is another assumption I would test quite ruthlessly.
You may have 10,000 LinkedIn followers, 3,000 newsletter subscribers or a healthy coaching practice and reasonably conclude that you already have a book audience. You may.
You may not.
If you are a leadership coach and the book addresses exactly the problem organisations already hire you to solve, your existing audience is highly relevant. If you are a corporate tax adviser whose clients follow you for financial guidance and you suddenly publish a spiritual memoir about the three months you spent walking across Peru, the overlap may be slightly less reliable.
People can like you without wanting this particular book. They may even buy one copy because they are supportive. That is not the same as demonstrating sustained reader demand.
Look instead at how your existing audience behaves. Which articles produce real discussion? Which newsletter subjects receive replies? Which workshop fills most quickly? What do clients repeatedly ask in consultation? Which free resource gets downloaded? What problem do people already pay you to solve?
If your proposed book sits directly inside that existing pattern of interest, you have something useful.
If it sits somewhere completely different, treat it as a new market rather than assuming your current audience will obediently follow you there.
How to Gather Real Market Feedback
“Would you buy my book?” is almost useless market research.
People are kind.
Clients are particularly kind when the person asking is standing directly in front of them looking hopeful.
A better way to test an idea is through behaviour.
Write several articles around the book’s central premise and see which ideas create discussion. Run a webinar on the problem. Offer a downloadable resource. Build a small waitlist. Speak about the subject on a podcast. Test two different descriptions of the book and notice which one produces actual questions, sign-ups or unsolicited messages saying, When is this coming out?
If you already work with the intended readers, ask them what they currently struggle with, what they have tried, what frustrates them about existing advice and what they wish somebody would explain properly.
Do not merely ask whether they like your idea. Ask what they would expect the book to give them.
That distinction can save you months.
Analyzing the Ecosystem of Successful Authors
When people analyse successful books, they often stare at the book itself and miss the system around it.
Look at authors in your genre or area who have sold well and ask how readers found them.
- Did they publish useful material for years beforehand?
- Did they build a newsletter?
- Did they speak professionally?
- Did they create a named framework?
- Did they have a podcast, community, or course?
- Did they publish ten novels before one broke through?
- Did they build relationships with bookshops or libraries?
- Did they become known for a specific topic long before the book arrived?
- Did they use the book to feed workshops, consulting, or speaking?
This is especially useful for business and expert nonfiction. Very successful books often do not exist as isolated products. They sit inside a larger ecosystem of ideas, content, professional reputation and ways for readers to continue interacting with the author.
Do not copy the surface mechanics blindly. A famous entrepreneur with two million followers has a rather different launch problem from a first-time coach in a small town.
Look for the principle underneath.
Fiction Has a Different Kind of Reader Promise
A novel does not need to solve a practical problem, but it absolutely makes promises.
- A romance promises a particular emotional experience.
- A thriller promises tension and escalating danger.
- A cosy mystery promises a puzzle within a recognisable tonal world.
- Fantasy promises immersion, world, adventure and whatever genre conventions its subcategory brings with it.
- Historical fiction promises, among other things, convincing entry into another time.
Your concept therefore needs enough familiarity for the right reader to recognise their kind of book, and enough freshness to make them choose this one.
This is where genre research becomes useful rather than restrictive. Knowing what readers generally expect does not mean you must write formulaically. It means that when you break an expectation, you understand which promise you are breaking and why.
There is an important difference between doing something deliberately surprising and simply not knowing how your genre works.
A Viable Idea Can Still Produce a Poor First Draft
This is one of the most important distinctions in this whole discussion.
Idea viability asks whether there is a believable reader, a strong proposition, enough content, a clear angle and a route to market.
Manuscript viability asks whether the current draft actually delivers it. You can have an excellent book idea and a chaotic manuscript. That is normal.
Imagine the concept is: a practical guide for first-time managers who want to lead well without copying the dreadful bosses they previously worked for.
There is a clear reader, recognisable problem and useful promise.
Now imagine the draft spends 25,000 words on the author’s childhood, repeats five leadership principles across eleven chapters, contains almost no practical tools and only really discovers its strongest argument on page 190.
The idea may still be excellent. The manuscript needs development.
This is precisely why I am reluctant to dismiss a promising book because Draft One resembles a small literary accident scene. First drafts often contain the eventual book in a rather inconvenient arrangement.
The Reverse Problem Also Exists
A manuscript can be beautifully written and still have a weak commercial proposition.
It can contain excellent sentences, moving stories, and near-perfect grammar, while leaving me unable to explain who will buy it or why. That cannot always be solved by polishing harder. You cannot copyedit your way out of a positioning problem.
If the issue is that the book has no clear audience, no useful distinction, an unfocused promise or insufficient substance for a full-length book, then paying someone to make every sentence immaculate may simply give you a beautifully edited commercial problem.
This is why viability work ideally happens before expensive late-stage editing, proofreading, design and production. Move the walls before you choose the curtains.
The Audience Needs to be Specific, But Not Microscopic
Authors tend to make one of two opposite mistakes.
The first is identifying the target reader as “everyone”. This is impressively ambitious and commercially fairly unhelpful.
The second is defining the reader so narrowly that perhaps nineteen people qualify, six of whom attended the author’s wedding.
The goal is a sufficiently clear reader that you understand their problem, expectations, language, and likely places of discovery, while still retaining enough potential buyers to justify the project.
“Women aged 25–65” tells us almost nothing.
“Women returning to senior professional roles after several years of full-time caregiving who are struggling with changed confidence, identity and workplace expectations” gives us considerably more to work with.
You can picture that reader, find communities where she gathers, design examples for her, and speak in language she recognises.
Specificity often makes a book more marketable, not less.
Can You Actually Reach the Reader?
An idea can have a theoretical market and still be commercially awkward if there is no sensible way to reach that market.
A book written for veterinary nurses has an advantage you might initially overlook: veterinary nurses are findable. They belong to professional bodies, attend industry events, read specialist publications, participate in online communities, and work inside identifiable organisations.
A book for “people who vaguely feel that something in their lives might be missing” gives the marketing person somewhat less to work with.
Think about channels early.
- Where does your reader already gather?
- What do they search for?
- Which newsletters, podcasts, organisations, influencers, professional groups, shops, events or online communities already have their attention?
A reachable niche can be far more commercially useful than a theoretical audience of millions.
Is There Genuinely Enough Here for a Whole Book?
Some ideas are very good for a long article. Some are keynote talks. Some are short guides, workbooks, courses or podcast series.
Then someone decides every serious idea must become 65,000 words and begins inflating it.
This is how we get books that explain an excellent 4,000-word idea for 220 pages.
A viable full-length nonfiction book needs enough depth, development, evidence, examples, narrative, or application to sustain the reader. Each chapter should move the central idea somewhere new rather than returning to exactly the same point wearing a fresh collection of adjectives.
The opposite can happen too. Some authors have six books inside one manuscript. Memoir, history, philosophy, research, spirituality and workbook exercises have all moved in together and are currently arguing over the bathroom.
Part of viability is knowing the natural size and shape of the idea.
Is There Enough Tension to Keep Somebody Reading?
Tension is not confined to thrillers. Readers keep going because something remains unresolved.
- In crime, they want to know who did it.
- In memoir, they want to know how this person survived, changed or understood what happened.
- In business nonfiction, they want to know why the familiar approach keeps failing and what works better.
- In self-help, they want to know whether the proposed solution can actually improve their situation.
- In narrative history, they want to understand how events reached a particular outcome.
A good book creates forward motion. Information alone is rarely enough. Wikipedia contains an astonishing amount of information and has yet to become famous for keeping people awake until 2 a.m. to discover what happens next.
Your Authority is Part of the Proposition Too
For nonfiction, readers are also asking why they should listen to you.
That does not automatically mean formal qualifications. Authority can come from professional experience, lived experience, original research, unusual access, years inside a particular industry, extensive interviews, a tested framework or a rare combination of expertise.
The level of evidence required changes with the claim. A memoirist is the authority on her own lived experience. Someone publishing medical advice requires considerably more. A leadership consultant with twenty years of direct organisational work may bring substantial practical authority even without an academic career. A man who once had a difficult Tuesday at work is perhaps not yet ready to publish The Definitive Science of Corporate Trauma.
Credibility and scope need to be reasonably well matched.
A Practical Harvard Ink Viability Checklist
Before paying for major editing, design, or publication, I would want authors to work through these questions. You do not need a perfect answer to every one, but clusters of uncertainty tell you where the development work is.
The purpose of this checklist is not to kill enthusiasm. It is to work out where enthusiasm needs help.
| Question | Healthy sign | Needs work | Red flag |
| Can I explain the book clearly in one or two sentences? | A stranger quickly understands the proposition | Explanation is still vague | It requires ten minutes and three side stories |
| Do I know the primary reader? | Specific enough to picture and reach | Audience still broad | “Everyone” |
| Do I know what the reader gets from it? | Clear experience, outcome or insight | Promise needs sharpening | “They will be inspired” is the entire proposition |
| Can I identify several useful comparable books? | Active market with recognisable readers | Few obvious comps | “Nothing remotely like this has ever existed” |
| Can I explain how mine differs? | Clear angle, framework, voice or audience | Difference is small | “Mine has my personal story” |
| Does the book have a through-line? | Chapters build towards one coherent whole | Some drift | Chapters could be shuffled randomly |
| Does every major section serve the core book? | Material earns its place | Several interesting detours | Content stays because the author likes it |
| Is there enough content for a full book? | Ideas deepen and progress | Some repetition | One article has been inflated to 60,000 words |
| Do I have suitable authority for the claims? | Experience/evidence fits the subject | More research may be needed | Claims greatly exceed expertise |
| Can I realistically reach the reader? | Clear communities and channels | Route still uncertain | Marketing plan consists of uploading to Amazon |
| Have actual target readers reacted to the concept? | Behaviour suggests genuine interest | Testing is limited | Only friends and family have seen it |
| Does my existing audience overlap with the book audience? | Existing demand directly connects | Some overlap | Assuming clients will buy anything I write |
| Does the draft actually deliver the advertised promise? | Manuscript and proposition align | Structural work required | The best idea appears halfway through |
| Would somebody pay for this rather than simply Google it? | Depth, voice, authority or experience adds real value | Differentiation still weak | Mostly summarises widely available information |
Several “needs work” answers usually indicate development opportunities. A cluster of red flags around reader, promise, differentiation and reachability suggests the underlying concept probably needs more work before you spend heavily on polishing it.
That is useful information.
Test the Concept Before You Write the Whole Thing
If you are still near the beginning, create a one-page viability sheet.
Include a working title and subtitle, your primary reader, the central promise, the through-line, three to five comparable books, the gap you think exists and a rough chapter structure. Add a short explanation of why you are the right person to write it and how you expect potential readers to discover you.
Then show it to several people who genuinely resemble the intended audience.
Do not ask whether they like it.
Ask what they think the book is going to give them. Ask what they would expect to find inside. Ask which chapter sounds most useful or interesting. Ask whether they already own books on the subject and what frustrated them about those.
If people consistently misunderstand the proposition, do not stand beside your concept explaining what you really meant. You will not be available in every bookshop to do that. Fix the concept.
Poor Sales Do Not Automatically Prove the Idea Was Bad
A good book can sell badly.
The cover may be wrong. The title may be forgettable. The description may be weak. The author may have launched to an audience consisting largely of their mother and three former colleagues. The categories may be poor, the price may be badly judged or the marketing strategy may have consisted of putting the book on Amazon and checking the dashboard several times a day with increasing hostility.
This is why viability is broader than “did it sell?” A strong product can fail because nobody saw it. A weak product can occasionally sell because somebody had a huge platform.
You need to examine both the book and the route to the reader.
And No, Virality is Not the Same Thing Either
A topic receiving two million TikTok views does not automatically deserve a 70,000-word book.
Some ideas work brilliantly for thirty seconds because thirty seconds is approximately how much idea there is. Attention is not the same as buying intent, and buying a book asks far more of someone than liking a video while waiting for the kettle.
A viable book requires sustained curiosity.
Sometimes the Answer is “Good Idea, Wrong Book”
This can be one of the best results of viability work.
A broad book about wellness for entrepreneurs becomes a focused guide to recovering from founder burnout. A sprawling autobiography becomes a memoir about one extraordinary relationship. A 100,000-word leadership manifesto becomes a concise practical book supporting workshops and consulting. A manuscript with no obvious commercial market becomes a beautifully produced private family edition.
The project has not failed. It has found its correct shape. Sometimes the best book is hiding inside the current one.
At Harvard Ink, I would much rather help an author test and sharpen an idea before they spend a year writing the wrong version of it. That may mean a conversation at concept stage, market and comparable-title research, target-reader work, a professional outline, a viability assessment or a developmental analysis of an existing manuscript.
Sometimes the answer is encouragingly simple: yes, there is a strong book here; now we need to develop it properly. Sometimes the concept is good but far too broad. Sometimes the wrong reader has been identified. Sometimes the actual book is hiding in Chapter Seven, waving frantically while everybody concentrates on Chapters One to Six. Sometimes the memoir needs to become far more selective, and occasionally the best advice is to keep writing privately for a while before worrying about publication.
That is not always the answer an author hopes to hear from a publishing company.
But it can save a staggering amount of money.
Based in South Africa and working internationally, Harvard Ink helps authors develop, write, edit, design and publish books for international English-language readers. Because we deliberately stay small, we can look at the book itself before deciding which services somebody supposedly needs.
Editing an unviable concept beautifully does not make it viable. It simply gives the problem excellent punctuation.
Before asking how to publish your book, ask the harder question: why would somebody who does not know you choose to spend money and several hours of their life reading it?
If you have an idea, outline or first draft and have reached the stage where you can no longer tell whether it is brilliant, terrible or simply something you have stared at for far too long, that is precisely the stage where an outside professional view can be useful.
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Thank you for reading Part 7 of our series – The Indie Author’s Publishing Survival Guide. To read our other posts on self-publishing for authors and writers, they’re right here:
Read Part VI of the series here.
Originally published on LinkedIn September 25 2026. https://www.linkedin.com/pulse/indie-authors-publishing-survival-guide-book-viability-sell-ohowe/
