What's the secret ingredient needed for your novel to be remembered? Apart from having good writing

>>24522083 (OP)
>What's the secret ingredient needed for your novel to be remembered?
Pikachu / Sonic the Hedgehog hybrid pornography.

>>24522083 (OP)
What causes this? Even Walter Scott (an idol in his lifetime) is forgotten now, yet we still read Austen, Fielding, Swift, Sterne, Richardson, Defoe.

>>24522222
Walter Scott is still ready as much as those writers. Which is to say only like 5 People per year outside of a classroom

>>24522226
This guy has 66 Goodreads ratings (ratings not reviews). That's a very different thing.

>>24522222
Walter Scott is not Hall Caine-tier forgotten, kek.

are his books any good, though?

>>24522462
I asked this same question over a year ago and nobody had read him

>>24522222
quints
But Ivanhoe is still widely read

>>24522468
well, i went and checked him out on project gutenberg. here's the start of "the eternal city"
>He was hardly fit to figure in the great review of life. A boy of ten or twelve, in tattered clothes, with an accordion in a case swung over one shoulder like a sack, and under the other arm a wooden cage containing a grey squirrel. It was a December night in London, and the Southern lad had nothing to shelter his little body from the Northern cold but his short velveteen jacket, red waistcoat, and knickerbockers. He was going home after a long day in Chelsea, and, conscious of something fantastic in his appearance, and of doubtful legality in his calling, he was dipping into side streets in order to escape the laughter of the London boys and the attentions of policemen.
>Coming to the Italian quarter in Soho, he stopped at the door of a shop to see the time. It was eight o'clock. There was an hour to wait before he would be allowed to go indoors. The shop was a baker's, and the window was full of cakes and confectionery. From an iron grid on the pavement there came the warm breath of the oven underground, the red glow of the fire, and the scythe-like swish of the long shovels. The boy blocked the squirrel under his armpit, dived into his pocket, and brought out some copper coins and counted them. There was ninepence. Ninepence was the sum he had to take home every night, and there was not a halfpenny to spare. He knew that perfectly before he began to count, but his appetite had tempted him to try again if his arithmetic was not at fault.
not bad. i'd say reminiscent of dickens. i might come back to it.

>>24522083 (OP)
Killing yourself (or being martyred) in a particularly conspicuous or gruesome way. We know this