1836: I Became a Literary Giant in Great Britain

"You seem very confident?" Dickens's face was full of doubt, and he subconsciously rubbed his chin.

Then, he looked earnestly at Michelle with his big blue eyes.

"Michelle, my friend. Although I am the editor of Bentley's Journal, it is precisely because we are friends that I must tell you that Richard and you've raised the estimate of 5,000 copies in sales. In our previous discussions, the ideal sales estimate was only 4,000 copies. And that was based on my and Crookshank's reputation."

"I know, Charles," Michelle nodded and smiled.

"That's why I said 10,000 copies is a conservative estimate."

Michel was not flustered; he was absolutely confident that the inaugural issue of Bentley's Journal would sell more than 10,000 copies.

It's worth noting that in its original history, the inaugural issue of *Bentley's Notebooks* sold nearly eight thousand copies. Now, with the added boost of this groundbreaking work, ten thousand copies is a conservative estimate.

Moreover, he also possessed some "tricks" that were out of step with the times.

Dickens: ?

Upon hearing the first part of the sentence, Dickens thought Michel finally understood how outrageous a sales figure of 10,000 copies was. He wondered if he could talk to Bentley later and help Michel cancel this absurd betting contract.

But upon hearing the second half of the sentence, Dickens almost laughed in exasperation at Michel's calm demeanor.

"Conservative? Good heavens, you call this conservative?"

He waved his hand dramatically, making a stunned expression.

"Do you know how many newspapers and magazines there are in London? They're practically trying to burn each other's editorial offices down in their scramble for readers. As a newly launched magazine, what makes us think we can sell ten thousand copies in our first month?"

"Because our story is good enough, because of your reputation, Charles, and because of some special methods," Michelle deliberately kept everyone in suspense.

Dickens' curiosity was immediately piqued.

"What methods? Tell me quickly."

"Publicity, Charles, it's publicity. There's an Eastern proverb that says, 'Even the best wine needs advertising.'"

"While the quality of a literary magazine is important, promotion is also extremely important."

Michel explained in a low voice, "We can't rely solely on Bentley's own channels. There are so many cheaper, wider-circulation penny newspapers in London, why don't we take advantage of them?"

"Use them?" Dickens frowned.

"Those newspapers are full of horrific murders and unfounded gossip; Mr. Richard probably wouldn't want our work to be associated with them."

"Of course, I'm not asking them to publish the full article." Michelle shook her head.

"We can pay to publish the most compelling passages from A Study in Scarlet in several of the largest-circulation penny newspapers."

"We just need to lay out the hook, and when the readers are drawn in by the plot and eager to know what happens next, we tell them at the end: to find out what happens next, please buy the latest issue of 'Bentley's Notebook'."

Dickens's breath hitched slightly, then he quickly considered the feasibility of the plan.

This approach is unheard of! But it's surprisingly feasible!

The key elements of a work are condensed into suspenseful scenes and promoted in different places, using inexpensive publications to attract readers to buy more expensive magazines.

This promotional strategy is like casting a giant net in the Thames, capturing all the ordinary citizens and readers who were originally uninterested in literary magazines!

"That's not all. We can also launch a prize-winning guessing game in the magazine. For example, 'Guess who the murderer is? The first reader to send in the correct answer will receive a ten-pound reward!'"

Michelle added.

"It is even possible to require that the letters sent must bear the special markings made by Bentley's Notebooks."

"In this way, only readers who have purchased 'The Bentley Notebooks' can participate."

Ten pounds! A prize-winning guessing game!

Dickens was utterly shocked by Michel's idea.

Ten pounds is no small sum; it's enough for an average working-class family to live on for several months.

This temptation is too great! Readers will definitely go crazy for it.

As a seasoned professional with many years of experience, he could almost foresee the readers' frenzy.

"Genius! Michelle, you're a genius!"

Dickens slapped his thigh, his excitement almost palpable.

"Use suspense to attract readers, then incentivize them with prize money—a two-pronged approach! That way, let alone 10,000 copies, we might actually create a miracle!"

He looked at Michelle with admiration in his eyes.

Since publishing his first book a few years ago, Dickens had enjoyed a smooth career, and few of his peers could inspire his genuine admiration.

He had initially thought Michelle was just a talented writer who could write good stories, but he never expected that his friend would also have such devilish talent in the business world.

Michelle's mind was practically filled with a whole new world!

The carriage soon arrived at 48 Rue de la Tour.

After enjoying another delicious meal at Dickens' house, Michelle bid farewell to the still excited Dickens and politely declined his offer to give her a ride in his carriage.

These days, he's been stuck at home rushing to finish his writing, and he needs to go for a walk alone to sort out his thoughts.

Emerging from the warm, bright, thickly carpeted living room of Dickens' house and stepping back into the cold, damp fog of London felt like falling from heaven into the human world.

The bustling and cleanliness of the West End is a completely different world from the East End where he lives.

By the time he returned to Cohen Street, it was completely dark.

The apartment building corridor was dimly lit, with only a few rays of moonlight filtering in from somewhere, barely enough to see one's feet.

As Michelle reached the corner between the first and second floors, she suddenly heard a faint sob.

He stopped and, by the moonlight, saw a petite figure huddled on the stairs.

She is Emily, the youngest daughter of the Green family.

She looked to be no more than eleven or twelve years old, wearing an old dress that clearly didn't fit her, her golden hair was messy, and her little face was red from the cold.

"Emily?" Michelle called softly.

The little girl was startled. She looked up, her blue eyes like those of a frightened fawn, staring timidly at him.

Good evening, Mr. Michel.

As the only college student in the entire apartment building, Michelle had previously taught Emily to read, so the two had a fairly good relationship and would greet each other when they met.

He also felt sorry for this poor little girl who was frequently subjected to domestic violence.

"Why are you still out so late?"

"Daddy's drunk again," Emily answered timidly, her large blue eyes revealing fear.

Michelle fell silent, his face darkening. Hearing this, he instantly understood that Mr. Green must have been drinking again, and Emily was likely going to get another beating. No wonder she was hiding in the stairwell so late at night.

Gurgle.

Just then, Emily's stomach let out a loud growl.

Seeing the girl's cold and hungry appearance, Michel's heart softened. He knelt down, opened a paper package, inside were half a loaf of bread spread with butter and a small piece of roast meat.

He had packed it up casually when he left Dickens's house, intending to have it for breakfast the next day.

"Are you hungry? Here you go."

He crouched down and handed the paper package over.

The aroma of roasted meat and bread wafted over, and Emily quietly swallowed.

She hesitated, glancing at Michelle, then at the bread and roast meat, but ultimately succumbed to the temptation of hunger and carefully took them.

Seeing the bread spread with butter inside, their big eyes immediately lit up.

She picked up a piece, but instead of putting it in her mouth immediately, she looked up at Michel and whispered, "Thank you, Mr. Michel."

Michelle's heart was instantly touched by that soft, sweet thank you.

It's absolutely adorable.

He couldn't help but touch Emily's head; her hair was a little dry, but still clean.

Just then, a door on the second floor creaked open.

A plump woman poked her head out; it was Emily's mother, Mrs. Green.

When she saw the bread in Emily's hand, her eyes immediately lit up with greed.

"Emily! You thief! You're begging again! Come home with me!"

The woman snatched the paper bag from Emily's hand, didn't even glance at Michelle, and roughly dragged the little girl into the room by the arm.

"No, Mom, Mr. Michel gave it to me," Emily protested, her voice trembling with tears.

"Shut up! All you do is embarrass yourself in public!"

The woman's curses and Emily's sobs mingled together and disappeared behind the door.

He guessed that the food would most likely end up in Mrs. Green's stomach.

Damn it, that's my breakfast for tomorrow!

Michelle stood there, the touch of the girl's hair still lingering in her hand.

The glimmer of warmth he had just felt was instantly chilled by this cruel reality.

He sighed, dragged his tired body, and returned to his cramped attic room.

The recent high-intensity creative work, coupled with today's battle with Bentley, has left him feeling exhausted.

He doesn't want to do anything right now, he just wants to get a good night's sleep.

-----------------

Michelle was awakened by a sharp scream and a flurry of footsteps.

He didn't know how long he had slept, only that his whole body ached and his head was dizzy.

The noise downstairs grew louder, mixed with a woman's terrified cries and men's hushed conversations.

problem occurs.

Michelle jolted awake and sat up in bed.

He quickly dressed, pushed open the small door to the attic, and went outside.

As soon as I reached the third-floor hallway, I was hit by an indescribable stench.

The apartment, which was already poorly ventilated, was almost completely filled with this smell.

It had a deep, rotten smell that was nauseating.

As soon as Michelle came downstairs, she saw several residents gathered at the bottom of the stairs on the second floor.

Their faces seemed to carry a mixture of curiosity and... fear?