First up, I want to make something clear. When I talk about age demographics or finding your audience, one of the things that selfpub gets wrong is talking about attracting an audience. You’ve got it switched.

In reality, what your blurb and cover actually do is repel the audience that won’t like your book.

Think about when you, yourself, are browsing for a book. In most cases, you follow a certain process:

• Look in the genre you like
• Look in the subgenre you like
• Find a cover that looks interesting
• Read the blurb and – here’s the key thing – scan for things you don’t like.

We’ll put aside covers for now because that’s a whole different thing. We’re talking about how to market your book by flagging what readers are not going to like so they can flip to a different listing.

Why narrow down like this? Don’t you want as many people to buy as possible, and doesn’t it not really matter if they actually read it?

I mean, if you’re that kind of author, the one who prioritizes sales, then I suppose you should keep baiting. But I’m not that kind of author. I want readers to want to read my book and to like it, so I make sure that only the readers who will like it click the “buy now” button.

Personally, I do this in the very first line of my blurb. I do this by writing in a certain style – dense, sophisticated – and using specific keywords that tell people what my books are like. Things like “character-driven,” “literary fantasy,” and “doomed romance” or whatever the specific book discusses.

Why, though? Because these things appeal to a certain kind of reader in a certain stage of life.

Humans have different phases in life, which inform their reading preferences.

I’ll defer to Maryville University based on this guide, which I think is most suited to literature. We’ll also skip the child parts because I don’t think my personal target demographic is writing lit for very young children.

Adolescence (Identity vs. Role Confusion): This is where children start to differentiate into the adults they will eventually become, often aligning themselves more with group dynamics and personal interests than with the family unit. There will often be a struggle between depending on parents for emotional support and developing their own coping mechanisms.

Young Adulthood (Intimacy vs. Isolation): In the early 20s, people develop their tolerances and preferences for intimacy. (I take umbrage with the idea that people who don’t have close relationships or get married are inherently isolated, as I feel it’s too normative.) Anyway, here is where relationship dynamics – how one fits into smaller, interpersonal roles – start to solidify.

Middle Adulthood (Generative vs. Stagnation): Middle adults are invested in how they are contributing to society and what type of legacy they are leaving behind, be that children, a purposeful career, or creative freedom. If one doesn’t feel that their life is progressing forward, either by personal benchmarks or societal norms, then there is a sense of stagnation and ennui.

Late Adulthood (Integrity vs. Despair): Late adulthood is about summative meaning-making. If one feels they have had a fulfilled and meaningful life, then this stage focuses on reflection, passing on of valuable lessons, and confronting death. If one feels they have wasted their life or that they haven’t made a meaningful difference, then the preoccupation becomes with fighting death, managing despair, or trying to make some final impression on the world.

One can naturally see the themes that appeal to people in certain life stages, which aren’t necessarily grouped by concrete ages but about the experiences and resolution one has developed through previous stages.

Someone who is in the generative phase of life, like me, might not be as compelled by things rooted in the Intimacy vs. Isolation stage. I’ve resolved that stuff, and I don’t want to explore it further. Likewise, someone in the Intimacy vs. Isolation stage may find things for the generative stage boring, bland, and purposeless because their focus is oriented outward, toward cementing their social network and establishing their role in others’ lives.

I also think this developmental psychology approach explains why YA has been “aged up” for adults. Modern society has made us lonelier and decoupled many of us from the signifiers of the generative life stage.

We can’t have the preoccupation with family life if we think we can’t afford to raise children – or it might be too painful to read. Or we can’t resonate with the meaning-making element if we are facing existential despair about whether there will even be a future to look toward.

Regardless, some of us adults aren’t interested in YA and don’t want to read it. We also don’t want to read YA-adjacent books that claim to be for adults but still have that YA writing style. You know what I’m talking about: glossing over consequences, focusing solely on group dynamics, prioritizing emotions over reason, and whiplash plot points that weren’t demarcated ahead of time.

So we need to find ways to hint about exactly what life stage we are appealing to, which may not necessarily align perfectly with certain age slots. Yes, someone in their 30s is probably going to be in the Generative stage, but they might not feel that way. And an older adult might want to reminisce on the earlier stages through literature targeted for a younger group.

I think this is likely best done through keywords that highlight the overarching themes of the book, not necessarily about comps. Enemies-to-lovers, for example, would appeal strongly to someone who is focused on relationship building. Themes about loyalty and sacrifice are innately attuned to someone who wants to consider their meaning in the world. And ideas about facing mortality would be suited toward someone confronting that in their own life.

Certain plots and pacing will appeal more to different cognitive stages.

Given that I tend to only spend time with adults, I was confronted with the reality that teens simply don’t think like adults when I was trying to help a teen barn volunteer understand our tasks.

I needed to haul some water buckets out for the miniature horses while we mucked their stalls. As the teen boy stood there beside his wheelbarrow, I grabbed a bucket and put it under the spigot to fill, then pushed my own wheelbarrow into the nearest stall.

My Adult Brain assumed that he would hear the rushing water, recognize that I would not want the bucket to spill everywhere, and would move to monitor the bucket. This is a standard practice in the barn; someone puts a bucket on, and whoever is nearby will shut it off when it gets full.

But said teenager did not connect the dots. He continued to stand beside his wheelbarrow, with the water bucket filling behind him, and had to be prompted to go check on it for me.

This isn’t his fault, and I’m not calling him stupid by any means. He’s a good kid: a little timid, but he’s building confidence, and he’s a hard worker now that he’s gotten the hang of things. He also loves the horses, which is of course a huge plus to me.

The problem is that teenagers have a completely different cognition style than adults. They have trouble with sequencing and prediction because the prefrontal cortex, which connects all these dots, is not fully online yet. While adults think with the prefrontal cortex, teens think with the amygdala, which is geared toward emotional reasoning. They feel first, think later, whereas adults think first and feel later.

Reading is, of course, a cognitive activity. The most beautiful book in the world cannot capture someone whose cognition patterns do not align with the intended audience.

My books are fully fixed in reason and long-term consequences. I literally have a full book just about consequences of a previous book. There are long chains of events that all connect back to a primary cause, which may not be as clear or as engaging to a teenager.

This is pretty clear in my blurbs, which is where you capture most of your audience. The writing is measured, careful, and a little dense. It uses keywords like “estranged grief,” which a teenager will be mystified by – not because they don’t understand it or can’t look it up, but because it doesn’t mean anything to them.

A book geared more toward a teen would need to use more emotional, vibrant, and intense language because that appeals to the amygdala more than the prefrontal cortext. Teens are sorting themselves into their identities and roles; they would want identities and roles first. Who is this person exactly? How do they identify? What groups do they fall into? What conflict does this cause?

An adult in my stage probably wouldn’t care that the protagonist is XYZ identity and hangs out with XYZ kind of people and is popular or unpopular. They’d care more about what the character does and what the conflict is and what the consequences are because that appeals more to the prefrontal cortex.

Aspirational content must also consider what a certain developmental group aspires to.

Some books are power fantasies, meant to allow catharsis through wish fulfillment. This is common in epic fantasy, which is actually quite different than my subgenre of literary fantasy.

While literary fantasy is about depicting people in all their ugliness, epic fantasy is about people at their very best and most powerful. Epic fantasy protags are larger-than-life, though they may have a growing-pains stage before they get there. Literary fantasy protags are someone you might know IRL, with all their nasty habits and disappointments and failures.

These appeal to completely different demographics, as I learned by wrongly marketing my books as “epic fantasy” before refining my keywords.

So what makes good aspirational fiction? You have to understand what your audience wants for themselves.

Take 50 Shades of Grey, which was insanely popular with bored housewives who wanted to dip their toes into BDSM smut without getting too raunchy. The power fantasy was being revered by an alpha CEO who would wreck you in every possible way while also paying you a good salary.

Or, in a more recent phenomenon, Heated Rivalry, which naturally emerges from the slash fiction that has dominated fandom for decades. Straight women (who may or may not call themselves fujoshis but absolutely fit the bill) are obsessed with gay men because it represents a type of equal relationship that is sadly aspirational in a patriarchal society.

Fujoshis may enjoy the smut but are more fascinated by the idea of being a true equal who isn’t saddled with all the emotional labor or housework. Being able to dominate without feeling weird about it is another interesting aspect of the fujoshi dynamic.

These considerations are firmly in that middle adulthood Generative stage, where aspiration may be focused on autonomy within a settled family structure. Late adulthood, which considers integrity and mortality, might have aspirations of immortality or of revision, depending on their anxieties.

Again, putting these up front and center ensures that you select out readers who won’t be interested in these aspirations. And if you don’t write aspirational literature, ensure that is clear as well.

Parenthood, a key concern of the Generative stage, is a very polarizing topic in literature.

Childbearing and childrearing is perhaps the most discussed topic in the entire world. Rightly so, given that it involves generating a brand new human, then keeping that new human alive through sheer force of will even when said human seems to be determined to off itself through arcane means. And then, somehow, turning that new human into a thoughtful, polite, well-adjustive, and productive member of society.

Sounds exhausting even to think about, says the childfree woman. Couldn’t do it, so kudos to those who do.

Parenthood deserves representation in literature, of course, but it is only going to appeal to a certain demographic. Simply look at the highly polarizing reception to All Fours, a book about a middle-age straight mother’s sexual reawakening. Mothers loved this book; they raved about it for ages.

Non-mothers and younger readers … were less than pleased. They called it stupid and tacky. Neither group is wrong, but they are reading from different perspectives.

If something is the preoccupying force in your life, and someone addresses it in a way that acknowledges the painful, underdiscussed aspects, of course it will be fascinating. But, as I said up there, childrearing is the most-discussed topic in the world, and those of us who have opted out don’t want to hear about it anymore. The dominant cultural conversation alienates us, then shames us for being alienated by it and insists we have to opt in anyway.

Contrary to what you might expect, though, more than just childfree-by-choice people will put the book aside. Childless people, those who want children but can’t have them, are exhausted by discussions of something so tantalizingly out of reach. Parents may be looking for escapism and an opportunity to explore something other than the all-consuming role of Mom or Dad.

Do not do an Uno Reverse and have a surprise pregnancy. No one likes that. Parental status should be pointed out upfront so your readers can self-select out.

None of this is to say that some readers outside of your developmental demographic won’t read your books, but they are likely to be less satisfied than someone who is within your target group. I suspect that some of the negative reviews I get are from people who aren’t within the demographic I’m aiming toward: mid 30s to 40s adults.

These adults will appreciate immersive worldbuilding because they can sort information and integrate it more easily than a younger adult. They will also be able to pick up on the subtle cues of emotion and don’t need it flagged because their brains don’t route information through the amygdala like a younger person’s does. And, of course, the themes of meaning-making, generative identities, and consequences are more real and immediate for this group.

Your readers are out there, but they’re selecting out books based on cover (is it bright or gritty?), keywords (are they emotional or rational?), and protagonists (are they flawed or aspirational?). If your readers can’t select out, they are less likely to buy your book in the first place because they don’t want to waste money. If they can select out, then they’ll do gracefully without leaving a negative review.

Of course, this also depends on your marketing approach and goals as an author, as I mentioned at the beginning. Those who want lots of sales to feel influential may want to do a bait-and-switch: not that I support that, but I can understand the urge. Those who want less sales but a more devoted readership will want to filter out their non-ideal readers as soon as possible so that no one feels tricked.

I know my strategy, though I’m always refining it, tweaking and identifying the exact keywords that will make someone click off. After all, I don’t need to appeal to everyone – just those who will most appreciate my work.