Light of Day

Fan Expo will happen in Toronto on the dates of August 28 to 31.  I plan to be there.

That means renting a table and paying the fees, which is child's play.  Air to get there is more tricky, as is accommodation.  I don't know anyone in Toronto that's close, and even if I did the last thing I would want to do between barking my book at a table is going to be hanging with friends.  I'm going to want to find a hotel room and crash.

I need a back-up, so that I can leave the table from time to time, to pee and eat and things, so my daughter is coming.  That's two air fares.  We can share a room at least.  She is probably good with buying her own food, so I will only have to cover mine.

Then there is the inventory cost.  I don't know how many books I'll need.  As many as I can sell, obviously - and selling is the crucial factor.

The decision to go was only made yesterday at noon, so I've been thinking of things I need to do to reach the goal.

To begin with, obviously, finish the book.  It has been going well since the weekend, I finished the chapter that was giving me trouble and I'm into the next, which is really just a survey of bad gaming.  Then there's a bit to write about protecting yourself as a DM, and at last I'm out of the DM vs. Player portion.  I am looking forward to writing about asthetics and design.  That's going to feel great.

There is now, however, a hard deadline for the book - I figure, July 15th.  I'd like to manage it before that time, particularly as I seem to be unable to perfectly edit my own work (as much as I try, I always seem to gloss over in my head and miss that there's a word missing - I'm told writers should never edit their own work and I believe that).  The self-publisher Lulu has a service they provide that fixes that, but I have to investigate the time that takes.  In any event, I definitely need a book that can be sold by that date, perfection be damned.  Still, I like perfection, so I'll wear out light bulbs doing my best with that.

Number Two on the list is capitalization.  Most of it I can raise out of my own income, but that means sacrificing.  I know people will argue that I should kick-start it, but that annoys me; I don't open my email any more without some stranger I've never heard of asking me to support their venture to create something I don't care about and will never buy.  Donations of course are always helpful to anyone starting in business; I've relied in the past on free equipment, loans and all sorts of generousity.  When I ran a couple of zines back in the 90s (distribution over 2,000 copies), I found that the most common advice began with the four words, "You have to buy."  These notions were invariably the worst advice I received.  If you are so hard up that you have to buy something to solve your problem, you are in fact solving someone else's problem. You're making them wealthier and yourself poorer.

I like free money as much as the next person, and I might be able to get some.  There's credit, of course, which undoubtedly I will have to rely upon.  But it would be nice if I could do a little promotion ahead of time, a reading or something here in the city, to sell a few more copies than what I'll manage online. Yesterday, my friend who runs a game store now in Seattle (Tacoma?) has offered to move 12 copies for me.  I might be able to arrange a few more deals like that.

It occurs that the Gentle Reader might have in mind a stunt or two.  At the moment, my only thought is to write some small handbook on a desired subject, something that would run five or ten thousand words, which could be bought for the price of two cappuccinos.  If someone wants to jump up and tell me what the content of such a book ought to be, let me know.  I can make time, write it on the side and have it ready for sale in June.

I don't think that raising money at one time rather than another will necessarily be a factor, but given that it might, I am wondering about pre-sales.  That wouldn't happen until I was sure the book was set, and an exact publishing date too - but if I did need money in June rather than July, that might be a method of getting it.  Tell me, would it be worth pre-ordering if I were to put something on the cover like 'first edition,' which was then removed when the book went public?  Would that carry any special cachet?  Would you pay a buck extra for it.  Is there something else that might have more verve?

I doubt it's going to be an issue.

There are other things, too.  I make a profit off every book I sell through Lulu (I will have to look into Amazon's self-publishing practices, I've always been leary), but it is damn near as much for me to buy them as to sell them.  I will have to roust up a local publisher if I want fifty, a hundred books published up front for selling in Toronto.  I will need a computer, too, better than the lap-top I've got, so that I can sell e-book copies for those who want them.

I don't think I'm going to go costumed.  That has already been recommended, but I think I'll suspend the idea.  My daughter is keen for it; she's a firebrand and an attention-getter, I'm sure she's going to do fine. I'm also sure she'll harass me between now and August, so she might win that battle.

I am definitely going to need some practice speaking.  I've been living through text so long I've let a lot of my performance skill lax, as is evident in my apparently inability to speak the correct words when I'm describing map work on a you tube video.  I also haven't spent that much time standing up, not since my cooking days. This August I'll be just two weeks shy of 50, and I'm a terribly relaxed computer-chair potato.  I'll have to push myself some.

Those are the highlights.  There are always other details; I will need to attend some trade shows for tips, talk to a girl that used to work them like a carny from one end of the country to the other, get a backdrop made once I know the dimensions I'm allowed - with lots of color, I'm told - clear the time with work, etc., etc.

If anyone has any reasonable ideas for raising capital, shout them out.  Tell me what you'd like to see 7,500 words describing.  Give me some support.  I'm just around the corner from the light of day.

Jesus Saves. Everyone Else Takes Damage.

I am here to report on Friday night at the convention, which is still ongoing.  Before I start, I'd like to describe my frame of mind.  Yesterday, I played in two campaigns, mine and my daughter's, from 11 in the morning until past midnight.  Friday we were at the convention, and then afterwards out for dinner and drinks.  So I am somewhat run down this morning.

As you read what I have to say about the convention, I recognize that words cannot always convey with accuracy the emotion of the writer.  So I would like to say that you should be hearing, not a rant, as is my usual thing, but deep, abiding sadness.  It would be understandable of the gentle reader to try to interpret what I have to say in terms of anger, and I want to be persuasive here.  Friday was a heartbreaking thing.

I don't want to talk about editions, or games, from the perspective of what I would play or not play.  I wasn't very surprised by the usual things ... a degree of standoffishness, the difficulty in getting a stranger to talk, how hard it would have been to have any discourse with people while they were playing.  I've always found that to be true.  To break down those walls, I would have had to be there for the whole weekend, to build up a familiar appearance and then to make friends.  It isn't something that can be done in an evening.

Rather, I want to talk about how the convention has changed, since I find that very relevant, and is the source of my ache.  I don't wish to say that this particular convention reflects what other people have experienced elsewhere - only I was stunned by what I saw.  Before I can explain that, however, I must first give some background as to what things were like 22 years ago.

At that time, the city I still live in a source of about 650,000 people from which local players might attend.  The convention was held in a large downtown hotel tower, and was attended by about 2,500 players at any time.  You paid at the door and from that point forward you could expect to be harrassed by vendors, and to gather quickly the headache that comes from being in a crowded room.  I made reference in my post last thursday about people on microphones ... I remember that there was a constant annoyance of announcements and people searching for people.  Pretty much on the level of a present day Walmart.  And there were booths everywhere.

So now I live in a source of 1.2 million people, in what has long been one of the fastest growing - or THE fastest growing, city in Canada.  The convention has been moved to a fair sized hotel in the retail/industrial district associated with the edge-of-city airport, and was attended by - I'd guess - 225 people.  People might argue a larger number, but I could have easily counted up everyone in the three rooms where the event took place, and I'm subtracting the some 40 people who were there to sell or organize the event.

Of this number, about 150 or 175 were involved in the large 'strategy' room, some of which was set up with computers, most of which included people playing Warhammer.  Nothing new there.   The D&D Room, in the basement, contained at best (here I did count) twenty-nine people, over a two hour period.  I have a picture of the room at, according to my phone, 7:55 p.m.  Please forgive the fuzziness of the picture ... I am a crappy photographer and I was distraught.

So yes, scale was a disappointment.  Needless to say, no one needed to be on a microphone.  I found myself thinking about that old joke - how do you get forty Canadians out of a swimming pool?  Say "could everyone please get out of the swimming pool."  I wondered if I went to the center of the room and started to speak with authority, I could clear the room in orderly fashion with a story that the hotel needed to do a quick search for a lost snake.  But I didn't.

Three of our party arrived early, bought day passes for $25 that were supposed to allow them to participate (the website had advertised $10, but it turned out this only allowed people to 'survey', but not to be involved at all).  However, since all the games were regulated to death, and had to be signed up for a week in advance, it wasn't possible to play anyway.  The weekend pass was $45 ... and we saw no one at the event who did not have one - except us.  They might have been there, but we didn't see them - and there weren't a lot of people to sort through.  After we discovered we couldn't play any games, my amazing and brilliant wife took the organizers to task and had the cost of our passes dropped to the $10 cost advertised on the net.  She is fierce and I love her.

From what we could tell, the organizers were largely outsiders who didn't seem to know what was actually going on - aside from the rules about where to go and how much to pay.  This was the same for the various sellers of things ... offering a rather paltry collection of things that I can get mostly anywhere - for less of course.  We commented to each other that, given the very low number of shoppers (see picture, about 8:15 pm) that they'd do better getting a kiosk in a mall for the weekend.  They'd have had a better chance selling to teenage kids in the suburbs.

Except for the computer area, and the sales area, no girls.  I'm also not counting those selling things.  I mean, it's never been good, but 10% used to be usual.  I'd guess the number at less than 3% .. we could have squeezed them all into a volvo ... and then I could have gotten into the driver's seat and taken them somewhere fun.  The vast majority of the participants were over thirty, and at least two thirds over forty - and yet I didn't recognize a soul.  Not one soul.  The one fellow there who apparently I might have met - Paladin in Citadel - clearly didn't feel it was worth his time to actually look around for a large red-shirted guy with red hair.  I could not identify him from his picture.

We stayed three hours, thinking things might get better, that people might drift in ... no, actually.  Even the people at the front counter were bored.

Those are my general impressions.  I think I might write later about how 3.5 and 4.0 are killing this game (the three on-going D&D games were only that, as was everything scheduled according to those we spoke to).  But honestly, I'm just too depressed right now.