Jeremy Zimmerman's Blog, page 2

Crowdfunding Numbers

I’ve been thinking a lot about my Kickstarters and Patreons. Especially for my personal work, as opposed to Mad Scientist Journal. But the same issues plague both.

In the past, Patreon has seemed ideal for smaller projects that had value for backers individually. This was especially true once I split MSJ into its own Patreon. For the magazine, which produces a lot of content, the monthly model seemed ideal. But for my own projects, which I’m not as prolific with thanks to my tendency to over-commit, I opted to re-frame the content as just shorter pieces, offered up as paid content. Books, instead, deserved their own Kickstarter.

Kickstarter has its foibles, but I felt like it provided a way to build awareness of our stuff. Patreon has mainly seemed like a good way to raise funds if people already know about you. It doesn’t hurt that three of our four Kickstarters were Staff Picks by Kickstarter.

But as I look at actual money raised, I’m less confident about my choices. So here’s some assorted numbers. These are kind of broad strokes, and I probably made some mistakes, but they at least get in the neighborhood.

For the Kensei sequel, The Love of Danger, I set a goal of $1,000. I wasn’t sure that would cover everything, but picking these numbers is a balance of “what we need” and “what we think we could raise.” And I felt confident about $1,000, and figured I could eat the rest. We did a bit better, raising $1,633. How did that compare to what we made?

Kickstarter’s Cut: $139

Backerkit’s Cut: $16

Just the Book: $188

Hand-Shipped Signed Books: $412

Stickers: $304

Patches: $157

Kensei 1: $50

Art: $413

Editing: $330

This comes out to a total of $1,999. A loss of $366. The swag (patches and and stickers) were designed and produced by Etsy vendors. Which means we supported artists at a reasonable rate. But it also means that it cost a bit more than something designed by some rando on Fiverr and printed by some large print shop. The art costs also covered the cover for a serial that was unlocked as a stretch goal. The editing was done by a third party because I wanted someone with a particular set of skills for this.

As for sales after the fact? The book netted about $35 in the last year. Kensei  netted about $40 over the same time period. Which isn’t shabby, especially since Kensei is lower priced and doesn’t get a great royalty cut on Amazon (because of pricing thresholds for Kindle books).

In contrast, I make about $55 per thing on Patreon after they take their cut from my $60 of pledges. If I do a four-part serial, I’ve got $220 in my pocket. Paying an illustrator for an ebook quality cover costs me $100. If I put out a short story I get $55. If i bundle it with some older stories and add a cover, I’m at a loss of $45. If I decided to publish the next Kensei sequel through this model, with each chapter being a paid item, I could even pull in about $2,200 for the full novel. Even paying for art and outside editing, that would still be over $1,000 profit. If I switched back to a monthly format and released weekly, I’d break even. And I wouldn’t have to print books and ruin the post office’s day.

But. BUT.

This results in the lowest level patrons paying $20 (spread out in 20 $1 chunks) for a book that would retail for $3 normally. There’s some argument to be made that some backers aren’t purely driven by the benefit they get. But from my Kickstarters, I’ve seen a trend toward getting their money’s worth. Having higher tiers can encourage benevolent backers to pick something more, but we’ve gotten better results when that higher tier is something people want.

There’s also the question of who is backing my Kickstarter. Of the 82 backers for the Kickstarter for The Love of Danger, 46 were people I knew to some degree. (Friends, family, people we’ve published through MSJ.) That’s about 56%. In terms of money, $1,290 of that came from that same group of people I knew: 80%.

Compared to my Patreon: 11 of my 12 backers on Patreon are people I know: 92%. $59 of my $60 of gross pledges come from those people: 98%. So most of those funds are basically me just hitting up people I know for money for my book.

While the 36 total strangers backers only pledged 20% of the total amount, it’s still 36 more readers that appeared out of nowhere to back this book. Kickstarter is built toward making it easy to find projects you’re interested in. People stalk that.

Patreon…? From talking to others who are successful there, they had an audience before they ever showed up there. I haven’t met anyone yet who tried to bootstrap themselves up through Patreon. I’m not saying it doesn’t happen. I just haven’t met them yet. I want to meet them. And eat their secrets.

So what works better? Lose money to build an audience? Or labor on in obscurity supported mostly by friends? I’m not doing this as a regular job, but it would be nice to not constantly lose money. But hell if I know what the best way to go forward is.

Originally published at Jeremy Zimmerman. You can comment here or there.

Crowdfunding Numbers

I’ve been thinking a lot about my Kickstarters and Patreons. Especially for my personal work, as opposed to Mad Scientist Journal. But the same issues plague both.

In the past, Patreon has seemed ideal for smaller projects that had value for backers individually. This was especially true once I split MSJ into its own Patreon. For the magazine, which produces a lot of content, the monthly model seemed ideal. But for my own projects, which I’m not as prolific with thanks to my tendency to over-commit, I opted to re-frame the content as just shorter pieces, offered up as paid content. Books, instead, deserved their own Kickstarter.

Kickstarter has its foibles, but I felt like it provided a way to build awareness of our stuff. Patreon has mainly seemed like a good way to raise funds if people already know about you. It doesn’t hurt that three of our four Kickstarters were Staff Picks by Kickstarter.

But as I look at actual money raised, I’m less confident about my choices. So here’s some assorted numbers. These are kind of broad strokes, and I probably made some mistakes, but they at least get in the neighborhood.

For the Kensei sequel, The Love of Danger, I set a goal of $1,000. I wasn’t sure that would cover everything, but picking these numbers is a balance of “what we need” and “what we think we could raise.” And I felt confident about $1,000, and figured I could eat the rest. We did a bit better, raising $1,633. How did that compare to what we made?

Kickstarter’s Cut: $139

Backerkit’s Cut: $16

Just the Book: $188

Hand-Shipped Signed Books: $412

Stickers: $304

Patches: $157

Kensei 1: $50

Art: $413

Editing: $330

This comes out to a total of $1,999. A loss of $366. The swag (patches and and stickers) were designed and produced by Etsy vendors. Which means we supported artists at a reasonable rate. But it also means that it cost a bit more than something designed by some rando on Fiverr and printed by some large print shop. The art costs also covered the cover for a serial that was unlocked as a stretch goal. The editing was done by a third party because I wanted someone with a particular set of skills for this.

As for sales after the fact? The book netted about $35 in the last year. Kensei  netted about $40 over the same time period. Which isn’t shabby, especially since Kensei is lower priced and doesn’t get a great royalty cut on Amazon (because of pricing thresholds for Kindle books).

In contrast, I make about $55 per thing on Patreon after they take their cut from my $60 of pledges. If I do a four-part serial, I’ve got $220 in my pocket. Paying an illustrator for an ebook quality cover costs me $100. If I put out a short story I get $55. If i bundle it with some older stories and add a cover, I’m at a loss of $45. If I decided to publish the next Kensei sequel through this model, with each chapter being a paid item, I could even pull in about $2,200 for the full novel. Even paying for art and outside editing, that would still be over $1,000 profit. If I switched back to a monthly format and released weekly, I’d break even. And I wouldn’t have to print books and ruin the post office’s day.

But. BUT.

This results in the lowest level patrons paying $20 (spread out in 20 $1 chunks) for a book that would retail for $3 normally. There’s some argument to be made that some backers aren’t purely driven by the benefit they get. But from my Kickstarters, I’ve seen a trend toward getting their money’s worth. Having higher tiers can encourage benevolent backers to pick something more, but we’ve gotten better results when that higher tier is something people want.

There’s also the question of who is backing my Kickstarter. Of the 82 backers for the Kickstarter for The Love of Danger, 46 were people I knew to some degree. (Friends, family, people we’ve published through MSJ.) That’s about 56%. In terms of money, $1,290 of that came from that same group of people I knew: 80%.

Compared to my Patreon: 11 of my 12 backers on Patreon are people I know: 92%. $59 of my $60 of gross pledges come from those people: 98%. So most of those funds are basically me just hitting up people I know for money for my book.

While the 36 total strangers backers only pledged 20% of the total amount, it’s still 36 more readers that appeared out of nowhere to back this book. Kickstarter is built toward making it easy to find projects you’re interested in. People stalk that.

Patreon…? From talking to others who are successful there, they had an audience before they ever showed up there. I haven’t met anyone yet who tried to bootstrap themselves up through Patreon. I’m not saying it doesn’t happen. I just haven’t met them yet. I want to meet them. And eat their secrets.

So what works better? Lose money to build an audience? Or labor on in obscurity supported mostly by friends? I’m not doing this as a regular job, but it would be nice to not constantly lose money. But hell if I know what the best way to go forward is.

The Dog Who Loved Jack

Infrequently, I find myself in possession of fanfic that I’ve written. I don’t necessarily plan to have fanfic. I don’t have enough time. But sometimes, that’s where fiction ends up.

Several years ago, Trent Zelazny and Warren Lapine ran an Indiegogo campaign for a Roger Zelazny tribute anthology titled Shadows and Reflections. If they met their goal, they would accept submissions from the general public in addition to whatever authors they planned on tapping for this.

They didn’t meet their goal, but it was a flexible funding campaign so they got some of their goal. They decided they would open up to submissions from people who had backed the campaign.

As a long-time Zelazny fan, I backed the crap out of that anthology. And I desperately wanted to write for it. It’s a rare moment when you are invited to play with the toys of an author you greatly admire. So when they said they’d still take submissions from backers, I went for it. It couldn’t be set in Amber, but it could be any other world.

I poured my love into this story, which I titled “The Dog Who Loved Jack.” It’s written in the world of A Night in the Lonesome October, but I wove in Raymond Chandler’s Farewell, My Lovely. The opening scene from Nine Princes in Amber is basically lifted from the middle of Chandler’s book. It’s meant as an homage to both Zelazny and his inspirations.

The story didn’t get accepted. I was told it was well written but not a good fit for the anthology. And, like many partially funded Indiegogo campaigns, the final product has never manifested. (A year ago they said it should be out in a couple months.)

Either way, I’m stuck with a story I love and, because it uses someone else’s setting, I can’t sell it anywhere. I don’t even feel right putting it up for free on my Patreon. So I’m offering it for free here in the form of fan-fiction. I’ve written plenty of character diaries for Amber campaigns, so hopefully this won’t be any more unethical. I hope you enjoy it.

The Dog Who Loved Jack

 

When I woke, I felt groggy. Drugged. I opened my eyes and saw light coming from nearby, but when I tried to lift my head and look for the source of light, a wave of dizziness overwhelmed me. With a whimper, I put my head back down and tried to wait out the narcotic.

Even without looking, my other senses told me enough about where I was: the smell of bleach and other animals, barking of dogs nearby. I’d ended up at the pound, which is an improvement over the last time I’d run into this problem. Last time, it had been a vivisectionist. But that was fifty years ago, in another country. And besides, the vivisectionist is dead.

I guess now is the time to warn you that I’m also a dog. My name is Snuff.

As the drug worked its way out of my system, my memories grew clearer. I had gone with my master, Jack, to the home of a Psychic who was a player in the Game and a fellow Closer. I’d been asked to keep watch outside. At the point when I began to suspect I’d been waiting for too long, a van had driven up and a couple of men had come out.

I’d led them on a merry chase through nearby woods, but they finally cornered me and caught me in their net. Must have injected me with something to knock me out as well.

For those unaware, the Game is simple in concept: Once every several years, the full moon in October lands on October 31st, and the Elder Gods can come through to our world. The sort of thing Lovecraft wrote about before he was infested by an alien parasite. The Game is not a spectator sport.

Some try to stop the Elder Gods, and they are called Closers. Others try to help the Elder Gods–they are called Openers. So far, the Closers have always won. My master, Jack, is a Closer.

As I lay on the floor of my cage, I tried to think back to any clues I might have gotten to explain what happened. The most obvious answer was that an Opener had tried to remove Jack and the Psychic before the 31st. It was amateurish and caused more problems than it solved, but it’s not impossible. Both the Spy and the Pilot were Openers we knew about and new to the Game.

I grew tired of waiting in my cage, so I tried raising my head again. It wasn’t as bad, so I shifted to get my paws underneath me and stand. A row of bars lined the front of my kennel cage, big enough to get my snout through but not much more. I leaned forward and tried to get a glimpse of the latch. Looked simple enough.

If I was going to make a run for it, I didn’t want to do it while the room still spun around me. I sat down and looked through the bars as I waited for the drug to wear off more. In another room, I could hear a couple of men talking. The door between here and there stood a few inches ajar, and the sweet smell of fresh air came from that gap. The dogs continued barking around me, calling out to one another (or anyone else who would listen) in hopes of being released.

A plan formed in my head.

When I figured I felt as good as I would get, I reached through and unlatched my cage. I nudged the door open with my head, then glanced around at the neighboring cages. Starting with the closest, I began opening latches.

The dogs inside didn’t react right away, so I growled at them. “Hurry up!”

The liberated animals bolted from their cages, cheering with delight. Some licked my face in gratitude. A couple couldn’t wait to just start fighting. Or maybe they were returning to fighting. Dogs will be dogs, I guess. To the humans, their cheers of enthusiasm probably sounded no different than their earlier barking.

I’d gotten a dozen cages open before one of the dogs, a Pekinese, headed for the door and nosed his way through. The men outside called out in alarm, which increased in volume and intensity as more dogs found their way out. I hurried to open two more cages before I joined the migrating pack of animals that the men outside struggled to deal with. I kept to the middle, with a buffer of other dogs around me. I broke off to head for the door to outside at the first chance I saw. I grabbed the knob in my mouth and turned, slowly backing up until the latch was free of the strike plate. I had just gotten the door open when a hand grabbed me by the scruff.

“Hold on there, Fido,” he said. “You’re not going anywhere.”

I’m not a small dog, so he couldn’t pick me up easily with one hand. I kept ahold of the doorknob, hoping to keep him from dragging me away or closing the door. A couple dogs bolted through the half open door while I held on.

He cursed and swore at me as he pulled at my scruff, trying to dislodge me. My teeth ached, but I didn’t think this plan would work as well a second time. I kicked back with my hind legs. My paws struck his shins, but they didn’t have enough strength to dissuade him.

It became clear that this was a losing struggle, so I shifted tactics. I let go of the doorknob while turning backward and pushed myself toward the man holding me. My paws slipped on the linoleum of the floor, but I had enough mass and surprise to stagger him. His grip on my scruff loosened, and I pushed off of him to run forward again.

Then I was out the door and running as fast I could through the streets of Los Angeles. Now to find Jack.

#

The moon hung fat and gibbous in the sky as I made my way up to the door of our house. We still had a few days before the full moon, but this was bad timing. Graymalkin, Crazy Jill’s cat, dropped from the stoop and circled me.

“You’ve been gone a while, Snuff,” she said.

“It’s been that kind of day. Has Jack returned?”

She shook her head. “No, Jill’s been worried. I take it the Psychic didn’t work out?”

“I’m guessing not. I was caught outside by the dog catcher. I don’t know what happened.”

Gray twitched her tail and strolled back up to the house. “That’s what that smell is. It will be midnight soon. You can tell Jill everything then.”

I followed Gray up the steps to the house that our masters had rented for the duration for the Game.  There are a lot of rules in the Game. One is that everyone has a familiar. Another is that most familiars can only speak to their owners for an hour after midnight. It’s not like I’m a talking dog from a cartoon.

Gray’s master, Jill, had been an Opener before accidentally switching teams. That’s a story for another time. Suffice to say, she’d stuck with Jack in the years since and shared the house with him.

Jill tackled me with a hug when I came in the door. She wasn’t as aloof as her cat. I wasn’t either, so I licked her face. When she finally let go of me she stood, slid the chain on the door, and then headed into the kitchen. I trotted after her and tried not to get underfoot while she put out some food for me. In turn, I devoured the food as fast as I could before lumbering back out to the living room and collapsing on the rug. It was a long walk across Los Angeles, and I was happy to just lie in a heap and listen to the faint piping sounds from the basement.

The clock on the mantelpiece was close to midnight when a knock at our door caught our attention. Jill glanced at me and Gray as though we might have some insight behind our visitor. I dragged myself to my feet and walked over to position myself so that I could attack anything that came through the door.

She walked over to the door and called out, “Who is it?”

“This is, uh, the police,” said a deep and thick man’s voice. “There’s been an accident, and I need to talk to you.”

Jill drew out a wand and opened the door without lifting the chain. As soon as the latch cleared the strike plate, the man on the other side shoved the door in with enough force to pull the chain off its mounting on the wall and knock Jill off her feet.

I lunged through the open door at the man, teeth bared and aiming for his leg. I figured I could either take a chunk out of him or at least knock him down. But he didn’t budge when I hit him. I got my teeth into the fabric of his pants but didn’t get a solid grip before he reached down, grabbed my scruff, and lifted me like a rag doll. He looked at me in confusion before tossing me out into the front yard.

The landing was bad, but I scrambled to get my feet under me and savage his hamstrings. I may as well have been attacking a moose for all it mattered. He just lumbered into the house, dragging me behind him as I kept my teeth buried in the flesh behind his knee. I could barely see Gray clinging on to the back of his shirt, trying to climb up to his head to distract him.

Jill chanted a spell from inside the house.

“What? You going to pull a rabbit out of your hat?” the man joked.

“No,” Jill said. “Shoggoth.”

“Shu-what?” the man said before the piping monstrosity we keep in our basement burbled up and rolled over him in a tide of protoplasmic bubbles. I let go and scrambled back, not wanting to join him in his fate. The man screamed until he was dragged down into the basement. Then he was done making noise.

Jill closed the door, leaned her back against it, and sank to the floor. “Well, this should be an interesting chat tonight.”

#

The motor boat cut through the water, taking us out to the casino boat. It shone like a beacon in the dark of night, with the sound of music and laughter that carried out over the water. Crazy Jill had had to pay extra to bring a cat and dog with her to the casino, but she figured it was worth the effort.

I couldn’t talk to Jill myself, but Gray was able to translate for me as I had shared the tale of my adventure. She in turn shared that the Psychic’s house had been empty when she went looking for us. She’d tried to seek out the allies we had made, the Girl Detective and the Crime-Fighting Dilettante, but neither had been home. Ultimately she had learned that the Psychic and Jack had been taken to the gambling ship, and there we headed.

The other gamblers looked at us askance when we walked into the casino. At first I thought it was just because pets were unusual, until I noticed some of the other patrons. In addition to the usual assortment of gamblers, lushes, and prostitutes, I also saw other players in the Game, Openers and Closers alike. I spotted the Dilettante, the English Lord, the Girl Detective, the Pilot, and even the sultry Spy. For some of them, like the English Lord’s monkey, I could clearly see their familiars. With others, they were either small enough to hide or big enough that they must be off on errands.

There were others I hadn’t encountered. Los Angeles is a big city, and it’s harder to find all the players. When we were in Madrid back in ’25, no one had been able to find all of the players, so all of the calculations for the event were thrown off. No one found the ritual space, and the world was saved on accident.

This late in the Game, I couldn’t understand why they would all be socializing here.

Gray quickly shot off as soon as we were on board. Her job was to scout around, while I kept close to Jill to provide extra protection. She took a seat at one of the tables, and I sat at her side. From my point of view, I saw Naga, the Dilettante’s snake familiar, slither her way toward us.

“Sssnuff,” she hissed. “Was your missstresss invited as well?”

I narrowed my eyes in suspicion. “Invited? No. And she’s not my mistress. She just works with my master. I take it you were?”

“My massster wasss,” she said. “By the owner of the boat. He insssisssted it was worth my massster’s time. Now there are other playersss here that were also invited, and I do not know what to make of it.”

I looked up at Jill, who rested her hand on my head and rubbed idly at one of my ears. I had no way of communicating with her and wasn’t sure if the other players were communicating or playing their cards close to their chest. Metaphorically, I mean.

A few cries of alarm from casino patrons heralded Gray’s rapid return as they nearly tripped over her. She came to an abrupt skidding stop next to me, ears back and tail lashing back and forth.

“I found him,” she said. “He’s locked up below with the Psychic and a few other players.”

I reached up and nudged Jill’s elbow with my head, then headed off with Gray. Jill quickly fell into step behind us. We left the casino and headed down a hallway with Gray leading the way. A couple brutish men blocked the corridor.

“Sorry, lady, this area is for staff only,” one of them said.

Gray had continued unchecked by the men. They clearly didn’t care about feline intruders. The cat stopped and looked back at us, tail twitching impatiently.

“Who can I speak to about getting back there?”

“You’ll have to talk to the management.”

“Can you get him for me?”

“Sorry. You’ll have to ask one of the people in the casino for that.”

She nodded. “I was afraid of that. Snuff?”

The man looked confused by that last statement, up until the point where I sunk my teeth in his inner thigh and pushed him backward. The air was filled with screaming from both my man and the other. When I figured my target was helpless, I let go and let him curl up into a ball and sob as blood ran through the cloth of his pants.

The other man flailed and batted at the beetles that covered him and devoured his flesh. It was a spell of Jill’s I’d seen before. Hell of a way to go.

We increased our pace, following Gray down the steps into the bowels of the boat. I heard the footsteps of other people following us as we went. I wasn’t sure if they were more guards, or if some of the other players had followed after our hasty departure.

One of the crew stepped in our way with a gun in hand. Before either Jill or I could react, a roar of gunfire exploded behind us, and the man fell with his hand clutched to his chest. I glanced back to see the Dilettante, scarf wrapped across the lower part of his face to conceal his identity. Next to him stood the Girl Detective, her own canine familiar at her side. A few of the other players trailed behind them.

“Will you hurry?” Gray called back. I turned and continued to follow. The rest followed us.

From ahead, I heard a man’s voice say, “It’s nothing personal, fellas. I just don’t like a bunch of weirdos trying to bring about the end of the world. I’m willing to sacrifice this boat in order to make sure none of you do anything hinky. It’s a small price to pay to save the world.”

I ran through a hatch into a small and overly warm room. I didn’t stop to assess the situation. I saw my master chained to the pipes that ran along the walls. As soon as I saw the man who was talking, I pounced, tearing at his hamstring with my teeth.

“The bombs!” he yelled as he fell. “Set off the bombs!”

When he hit the ground screaming, I went for the throat and cut off further instructions from him.

Guns were being fired, but no one seemed to be aiming at me. Soon the room fell silent, the smell of cordite and blood filling the air. I went over to Jack and licked at his face in joy. Jill arrived and began unlocking the manacles that held him in place. When he was free, I looked and saw that other players had, indeed, joined us.

“He’s got the ship wired to explode,” Jack said to the other players while Jill freed the rest. “He wasn’t a player, but he wanted to stop the Game before it happened. I guess he thought this would be the easiest way to take out a large chunk without giving much warning. Do any of you know how to–”

His words were cut short by a muffled rumble that shook the deck. All of the players had converged in this room, glancing uneasily at one another, eyes wide with the fear of the own doom.

“Okay, so I guess they’re setting off the bombs now rather than trying to escape,” Jack said. “The owner of the casino had sent all of his boats to shore, except the one he planned on using to escape. Snuff, take Jill and go find–”

Jill cleared her throat, slipped her hand into Jack’s, and smiled sweetly. “I will knock you unconscious and have Snuff help me drag you to the boat if you try to be a martyr.”

They both looked at me, and I responded with my best innocent doggy smile. There was no way I would interfere. I valued my life and limbs too much.

“Fine,” Jack said. “Then we should hurry.”

Another explosion shook the ship.

The Girl Detective piped up. “What about all the other passengers?”

Jack began walking, and I followed close behind. He called back, “I’ve killed a lot of girls that look like you, child, in order to stop the Elder Gods from returning. I’m willing to kill a lot more.”

I glanced back and met the gaze of the Girl Detective’s dog. I’d not really interacted with him. He was just too puppyish for my tastes. And a collie. They tend to not be the brightest of dogs.

“Are you kidding me?” the dog asked. “Are you really willing to let all these people die?”

I tilted my head and arched an eyebrow. “What’s important to you? A few billion people or fifty dissolute gamblers?

The collie growled at me, and then grabbed his mistress’s sleeve in his teeth to pull her along.

By the time we reached the boat, people were fighting over spaces while the ship lurched drunkenly downward. Jack shoved past the mob at the railing and jumped over the railing, smooth and effortless. The glint of steel flashed in the moonlight as he sliced at a few people with his razor. They fell into the water, clutching their throats as blood poured between their fingers. The sharks would feed well tonight.

The others gave Jack space after that. His violence, combined with his aura of menace, was enough to discourage any attempts to stop him. He helped Jill and the other known Closers onto the boat. The Openers shoved their way on board, daring him to strike this close to Halloween.

The Pilot took control of the boat, and soon we were headed for shore. I leaned up against Jack as we bounced along the waves. He scratched my ears and said, “Who’s a good boy?”

Some dogs spend their whole life trying to figure out the answer to that question. But I’d been around long enough to know that he was talking about me.

Originally published at Jeremy Zimmerman. You can comment here or there.

The Dog Who Loved Jack

Infrequently, I find myself in possession of fanfic that I’ve written. I don’t necessarily plan to have fanfic. I don’t have enough time. But sometimes, that’s where fiction ends up.

Several years ago, Trent Zelazny and Warren Lapine ran an Indiegogo campaign for a Roger Zelazny tribute anthology titled Shadows and Reflections. If they met their goal, they would accept submissions from the general public in addition to whatever authors they planned on tapping for this.

They didn’t meet their goal, but it was a flexible funding campaign so they got some of their goal. They decided they would open up to submissions from people who had backed the campaign.

As a long-time Zelazny fan, I backed the crap out of that anthology. And I desperately wanted to write for it. It’s a rare moment when you are invited to play with the toys of an author you greatly admire. So when they said they’d still take submissions from backers, I went for it. It couldn’t be set in Amber, but it could be any other world.

I poured my love into this story, which I titled “The Dog Who Loved Jack.” It’s written in the world of A Night in the Lonesome October, but I wove in Raymond Chandler’s Farewell, My Lovely. The opening scene from Nine Princes in Amber is basically lifted from the middle of Chandler’s book. It’s meant as an homage to both Zelazny and his inspirations.

The story didn’t get accepted. I was told it was well written but not a good fit for the anthology. And, like many partially funded Indiegogo campaigns, the final product has never manifested. (A year ago they said it should be out in a couple months.)

Either way, I’m stuck with a story I love and, because it uses someone else’s setting, I can’t sell it anywhere. I don’t even feel right putting it up for free on my Patreon. So I’m offering it for free here in the form of fan-fiction. I’ve written plenty of character diaries for Amber campaigns, so hopefully this won’t be any more unethical. I hope you enjoy it.

The Dog Who Loved Jack

 

When I woke, I felt groggy. Drugged. I opened my eyes and saw light coming from nearby, but when I tried to lift my head and look for the source of light, a wave of dizziness overwhelmed me. With a whimper, I put my head back down and tried to wait out the narcotic.

Even without looking, my other senses told me enough about where I was: the smell of bleach and other animals, barking of dogs nearby. I’d ended up at the pound, which is an improvement over the last time I’d run into this problem. Last time, it had been a vivisectionist. But that was fifty years ago, in another country. And besides, the vivisectionist is dead.

I guess now is the time to warn you that I’m also a dog. My name is Snuff.

As the drug worked its way out of my system, my memories grew clearer. I had gone with my master, Jack, to the home of a Psychic who was a player in the Game and a fellow Closer. I’d been asked to keep watch outside. At the point when I began to suspect I’d been waiting for too long, a van had driven up and a couple of men had come out.

I’d led them on a merry chase through nearby woods, but they finally cornered me and caught me in their net. Must have injected me with something to knock me out as well.

For those unaware, the Game is simple in concept: Once every several years, the full moon in October lands on October 31st, and the Elder Gods can come through to our world. The sort of thing Lovecraft wrote about before he was infested by an alien parasite. The Game is not a spectator sport.

Some try to stop the Elder Gods, and they are called Closers. Others try to help the Elder Gods–they are called Openers. So far, the Closers have always won. My master, Jack, is a Closer.

As I lay on the floor of my cage, I tried to think back to any clues I might have gotten to explain what happened. The most obvious answer was that an Opener had tried to remove Jack and the Psychic before the 31st. It was amateurish and caused more problems than it solved, but it’s not impossible. Both the Spy and the Pilot were Openers we knew about and new to the Game.

I grew tired of waiting in my cage, so I tried raising my head again. It wasn’t as bad, so I shifted to get my paws underneath me and stand. A row of bars lined the front of my kennel cage, big enough to get my snout through but not much more. I leaned forward and tried to get a glimpse of the latch. Looked simple enough.

If I was going to make a run for it, I didn’t want to do it while the room still spun around me. I sat down and looked through the bars as I waited for the drug to wear off more. In another room, I could hear a couple of men talking. The door between here and there stood a few inches ajar, and the sweet smell of fresh air came from that gap. The dogs continued barking around me, calling out to one another (or anyone else who would listen) in hopes of being released.

A plan formed in my head.

When I figured I felt as good as I would get, I reached through and unlatched my cage. I nudged the door open with my head, then glanced around at the neighboring cages. Starting with the closest, I began opening latches.

The dogs inside didn’t react right away, so I growled at them. “Hurry up!”

The liberated animals bolted from their cages, cheering with delight. Some licked my face in gratitude. A couple couldn’t wait to just start fighting. Or maybe they were returning to fighting. Dogs will be dogs, I guess. To the humans, their cheers of enthusiasm probably sounded no different than their earlier barking.

I’d gotten a dozen cages open before one of the dogs, a Pekinese, headed for the door and nosed his way through. The men outside called out in alarm, which increased in volume and intensity as more dogs found their way out. I hurried to open two more cages before I joined the migrating pack of animals that the men outside struggled to deal with. I kept to the middle, with a buffer of other dogs around me. I broke off to head for the door to outside at the first chance I saw. I grabbed the knob in my mouth and turned, slowly backing up until the latch was free of the strike plate. I had just gotten the door open when a hand grabbed me by the scruff.

“Hold on there, Fido,” he said. “You’re not going anywhere.”

I’m not a small dog, so he couldn’t pick me up easily with one hand. I kept ahold of the doorknob, hoping to keep him from dragging me away or closing the door. A couple dogs bolted through the half open door while I held on.

He cursed and swore at me as he pulled at my scruff, trying to dislodge me. My teeth ached, but I didn’t think this plan would work as well a second time. I kicked back with my hind legs. My paws struck his shins, but they didn’t have enough strength to dissuade him.

It became clear that this was a losing struggle, so I shifted tactics. I let go of the doorknob while turning backward and pushed myself toward the man holding me. My paws slipped on the linoleum of the floor, but I had enough mass and surprise to stagger him. His grip on my scruff loosened, and I pushed off of him to run forward again.

Then I was out the door and running as fast I could through the streets of Los Angeles. Now to find Jack.

#

The moon hung fat and gibbous in the sky as I made my way up to the door of our house. We still had a few days before the full moon, but this was bad timing. Graymalkin, Crazy Jill’s cat, dropped from the stoop and circled me.

“You’ve been gone a while, Snuff,” she said.

“It’s been that kind of day. Has Jack returned?”

She shook her head. “No, Jill’s been worried. I take it the Psychic didn’t work out?”

“I’m guessing not. I was caught outside by the dog catcher. I don’t know what happened.”

Gray twitched her tail and strolled back up to the house. “That’s what that smell is. It will be midnight soon. You can tell Jill everything then.”

I followed Gray up the steps to the house that our masters had rented for the duration for the Game.  There are a lot of rules in the Game. One is that everyone has a familiar. Another is that most familiars can only speak to their owners for an hour after midnight. It’s not like I’m a talking dog from a cartoon.

Gray’s master, Jill, had been an Opener before accidentally switching teams. That’s a story for another time. Suffice to say, she’d stuck with Jack in the years since and shared the house with him.

Jill tackled me with a hug when I came in the door. She wasn’t as aloof as her cat. I wasn’t either, so I licked her face. When she finally let go of me she stood, slid the chain on the door, and then headed into the kitchen. I trotted after her and tried not to get underfoot while she put out some food for me. In turn, I devoured the food as fast as I could before lumbering back out to the living room and collapsing on the rug. It was a long walk across Los Angeles, and I was happy to just lie in a heap and listen to the faint piping sounds from the basement.

The clock on the mantelpiece was close to midnight when a knock at our door caught our attention. Jill glanced at me and Gray as though we might have some insight behind our visitor. I dragged myself to my feet and walked over to position myself so that I could attack anything that came through the door.

She walked over to the door and called out, “Who is it?”

“This is, uh, the police,” said a deep and thick man’s voice. “There’s been an accident, and I need to talk to you.”

Jill drew out a wand and opened the door without lifting the chain. As soon as the latch cleared the strike plate, the man on the other side shoved the door in with enough force to pull the chain off its mounting on the wall and knock Jill off her feet.

I lunged through the open door at the man, teeth bared and aiming for his leg. I figured I could either take a chunk out of him or at least knock him down. But he didn’t budge when I hit him. I got my teeth into the fabric of his pants but didn’t get a solid grip before he reached down, grabbed my scruff, and lifted me like a rag doll. He looked at me in confusion before tossing me out into the front yard.

The landing was bad, but I scrambled to get my feet under me and savage his hamstrings. I may as well have been attacking a moose for all it mattered. He just lumbered into the house, dragging me behind him as I kept my teeth buried in the flesh behind his knee. I could barely see Gray clinging on to the back of his shirt, trying to climb up to his head to distract him.

Jill chanted a spell from inside the house.

“What? You going to pull a rabbit out of your hat?” the man joked.

“No,” Jill said. “Shoggoth.”

“Shu-what?” the man said before the piping monstrosity we keep in our basement burbled up and rolled over him in a tide of protoplasmic bubbles. I let go and scrambled back, not wanting to join him in his fate. The man screamed until he was dragged down into the basement. Then he was done making noise.

Jill closed the door, leaned her back against it, and sank to the floor. “Well, this should be an interesting chat tonight.”

#

The motor boat cut through the water, taking us out to the casino boat. It shone like a beacon in the dark of night, with the sound of music and laughter that carried out over the water. Crazy Jill had had to pay extra to bring a cat and dog with her to the casino, but she figured it was worth the effort.

I couldn’t talk to Jill myself, but Gray was able to translate for me as I had shared the tale of my adventure. She in turn shared that the Psychic’s house had been empty when she went looking for us. She’d tried to seek out the allies we had made, the Girl Detective and the Crime-Fighting Dilettante, but neither had been home. Ultimately she had learned that the Psychic and Jack had been taken to the gambling ship, and there we headed.

The other gamblers looked at us askance when we walked into the casino. At first I thought it was just because pets were unusual, until I noticed some of the other patrons. In addition to the usual assortment of gamblers, lushes, and prostitutes, I also saw other players in the Game, Openers and Closers alike. I spotted the Dilettante, the English Lord, the Girl Detective, the Pilot, and even the sultry Spy. For some of them, like the English Lord’s monkey, I could clearly see their familiars. With others, they were either small enough to hide or big enough that they must be off on errands.

There were others I hadn’t encountered. Los Angeles is a big city, and it’s harder to find all the players. When we were in Madrid back in ’25, no one had been able to find all of the players, so all of the calculations for the event were thrown off. No one found the ritual space, and the world was saved on accident.

This late in the Game, I couldn’t understand why they would all be socializing here.

Gray quickly shot off as soon as we were on board. Her job was to scout around, while I kept close to Jill to provide extra protection. She took a seat at one of the tables, and I sat at her side. From my point of view, I saw Naga, the Dilettante’s snake familiar, slither her way toward us.

“Sssnuff,” she hissed. “Was your missstresss invited as well?”

I narrowed my eyes in suspicion. “Invited? No. And she’s not my mistress. She just works with my master. I take it you were?”

“My massster wasss,” she said. “By the owner of the boat. He insssisssted it was worth my massster’s time. Now there are other playersss here that were also invited, and I do not know what to make of it.”

I looked up at Jill, who rested her hand on my head and rubbed idly at one of my ears. I had no way of communicating with her and wasn’t sure if the other players were communicating or playing their cards close to their chest. Metaphorically, I mean.

A few cries of alarm from casino patrons heralded Gray’s rapid return as they nearly tripped over her. She came to an abrupt skidding stop next to me, ears back and tail lashing back and forth.

“I found him,” she said. “He’s locked up below with the Psychic and a few other players.”

I reached up and nudged Jill’s elbow with my head, then headed off with Gray. Jill quickly fell into step behind us. We left the casino and headed down a hallway with Gray leading the way. A couple brutish men blocked the corridor.

“Sorry, lady, this area is for staff only,” one of them said.

Gray had continued unchecked by the men. They clearly didn’t care about feline intruders. The cat stopped and looked back at us, tail twitching impatiently.

“Who can I speak to about getting back there?”

“You’ll have to talk to the management.”

“Can you get him for me?”

“Sorry. You’ll have to ask one of the people in the casino for that.”

She nodded. “I was afraid of that. Snuff?”

The man looked confused by that last statement, up until the point where I sunk my teeth in his inner thigh and pushed him backward. The air was filled with screaming from both my man and the other. When I figured my target was helpless, I let go and let him curl up into a ball and sob as blood ran through the cloth of his pants.

The other man flailed and batted at the beetles that covered him and devoured his flesh. It was a spell of Jill’s I’d seen before. Hell of a way to go.

We increased our pace, following Gray down the steps into the bowels of the boat. I heard the footsteps of other people following us as we went. I wasn’t sure if they were more guards, or if some of the other players had followed after our hasty departure.

One of the crew stepped in our way with a gun in hand. Before either Jill or I could react, a roar of gunfire exploded behind us, and the man fell with his hand clutched to his chest. I glanced back to see the Dilettante, scarf wrapped across the lower part of his face to conceal his identity. Next to him stood the Girl Detective, her own canine familiar at her side. A few of the other players trailed behind them.

“Will you hurry?” Gray called back. I turned and continued to follow. The rest followed us.

From ahead, I heard a man’s voice say, “It’s nothing personal, fellas. I just don’t like a bunch of weirdos trying to bring about the end of the world. I’m willing to sacrifice this boat in order to make sure none of you do anything hinky. It’s a small price to pay to save the world.”

I ran through a hatch into a small and overly warm room. I didn’t stop to assess the situation. I saw my master chained to the pipes that ran along the walls. As soon as I saw the man who was talking, I pounced, tearing at his hamstring with my teeth.

“The bombs!” he yelled as he fell. “Set off the bombs!”

When he hit the ground screaming, I went for the throat and cut off further instructions from him.

Guns were being fired, but no one seemed to be aiming at me. Soon the room fell silent, the smell of cordite and blood filling the air. I went over to Jack and licked at his face in joy. Jill arrived and began unlocking the manacles that held him in place. When he was free, I looked and saw that other players had, indeed, joined us.

“He’s got the ship wired to explode,” Jack said to the other players while Jill freed the rest. “He wasn’t a player, but he wanted to stop the Game before it happened. I guess he thought this would be the easiest way to take out a large chunk without giving much warning. Do any of you know how to–”

His words were cut short by a muffled rumble that shook the deck. All of the players had converged in this room, glancing uneasily at one another, eyes wide with the fear of the own doom.

“Okay, so I guess they’re setting off the bombs now rather than trying to escape,” Jack said. “The owner of the casino had sent all of his boats to shore, except the one he planned on using to escape. Snuff, take Jill and go find–”

Jill cleared her throat, slipped her hand into Jack’s, and smiled sweetly. “I will knock you unconscious and have Snuff help me drag you to the boat if you try to be a martyr.”

They both looked at me, and I responded with my best innocent doggy smile. There was no way I would interfere. I valued my life and limbs too much.

“Fine,” Jack said. “Then we should hurry.”

Another explosion shook the ship.

The Girl Detective piped up. “What about all the other passengers?”

Jack began walking, and I followed close behind. He called back, “I’ve killed a lot of girls that look like you, child, in order to stop the Elder Gods from returning. I’m willing to kill a lot more.”

I glanced back and met the gaze of the Girl Detective’s dog. I’d not really interacted with him. He was just too puppyish for my tastes. And a collie. They tend to not be the brightest of dogs.

“Are you kidding me?” the dog asked. “Are you really willing to let all these people die?”

I tilted my head and arched an eyebrow. “What’s important to you? A few billion people or fifty dissolute gamblers?

The collie growled at me, and then grabbed his mistress’s sleeve in his teeth to pull her along.

By the time we reached the boat, people were fighting over spaces while the ship lurched drunkenly downward. Jack shoved past the mob at the railing and jumped over the railing, smooth and effortless. The glint of steel flashed in the moonlight as he sliced at a few people with his razor. They fell into the water, clutching their throats as blood poured between their fingers. The sharks would feed well tonight.

The others gave Jack space after that. His violence, combined with his aura of menace, was enough to discourage any attempts to stop him. He helped Jill and the other known Closers onto the boat. The Openers shoved their way on board, daring him to strike this close to Halloween.

The Pilot took control of the boat, and soon we were headed for shore. I leaned up against Jack as we bounced along the waves. He scratched my ears and said, “Who’s a good boy?”

Some dogs spend their whole life trying to figure out the answer to that question. But I’d been around long enough to know that he was talking about me.

Kensei Tales: Offensive Driving is Now Available!

The first Kensei serial has been collected into a single ebook. You can buy it at any of these fine locations:

Amazon
Smashwords
Barnes & Noble
iBooks
Kobo
Patreon

 

Originally published at Jeremy Zimmerman. You can comment here or there.

Kensei Tales: Offensive Driving is Now Available!

The first Kensei serial has been collected into a single ebook. You can buy it at any of these fine locations:

Amazon
Smashwords
Barnes & Noble
iBooks
Kobo
Patreon

 

Norwescon 2016 Schedule

I will be at Norwescon next weekend, March 24-27. I have a reading, several panels, an autograph session, and a table in Author’s Alley. I hope to see you!

Thu 6:00 PM-6:30 PM – Cascade 1

Reading: Jeremy Zimmerman

Jeremy Zimmerman (M)

Come enjoy a reading from Kensei Tales: Offensive Driving. This is part of a serialized story. Rated PG.

Thu 8:00 PM-9:00 PM – Cascade 9

Crowdfunding Fiction

Nicole Dieker (M), Jeremy Zimmerman, Gregory A. Wilson

Kickstarter. Patreon. Donation Buttons. How can writers and publishers use crowdfunding platforms to make more and better art? What are some of the challenges and risks involved? How do you create a reward system that makes it worth it for readers and consumers to fund your project? Our panel of pros discuss their own experiences, offer advice, and break down the pros and cons of various crowdfunding methods.

Fri 10:00 AM-11:00 AM – Cascade 10

Science & Religion in Space

Jeremy Zimmerman (M), William Hartmann, Arinn Dembo, Elizabeth Guizzetti

Often thought to be competing dogmas, some of the most compelling stories involve not the conflict between science and religion but the integration of those themes. Listen to our panelists as they discuss the story elements of having science and religion occupying the same… well… space.

Fri 7:00 PM-8:00 PM – Cascade 9

Body Horror

Arinn Dembo (M), Jeremy Zimmerman, Jason Bourget, Lisa Bolekaja, Kate Jonez

Farewell to the flesh with a one hour discussion on body horror, where our expert panelists will dissect what makes this meaty topic so visceral for some audiences. From mythology, through Frankenstein and Cronenberg, up to VanderMeer and beyond.

Sat 2:00 PM-3:00 PM – Grand 2

Autograph Session 1

Amber Bariaktari , Caroline M. Yoachim, Dave Bara, Dean Wells, Erik Scott de Bie, G. Willow Wilson, James C. Glass, Jennifer Brozek, John (J.A.) Pitts, Kristi Charish, Django Wexler, Frog Jones, Rhiannon Held, Sonia Orin Lyris, S. A. Bolich, Morgue Anne, Robert J. Sawyer, Spencer Ellsworth, Steven Barnes, Tori Centanni, Cat Rambo, Don Maitz, GregRobin Smith, Jeremy Zimmerman, Laura Anne Gilman

Our Attending Professionals are available to sign autographs. PLEASE NOTE: So that as many fans as possible can participate, we will be enforcing a three-items-at-a-time (or single-sketch) autograph limit.

Sat 3:00 PM-4:00 PM – Cascade 9

The Art of Critique

Marta Murvosh (M), Caroline M. Yoachim, Leslie Howle, Suzanne Brahm, Jeremy Zimmerman

As a beta reader, how do you provide the best feedback? And as a writer, how do you use critique to improve your work? This panel will discuss the art of giving helpful critique, as well as what writers can do with the critiques they’re given, and how to sort useful feedback from less helpful notes.

Sun 10:00 AM-11:00 AM – Cascade 13

Horror As a Mirror

Jeremy Zimmerman (M), Jude-Marie Green, K. M. Alexander, Kate Jonez

What does the horror genre tell us about the culture in which it was written? What does today’s horror tell us about modern society? And as creators, how can you craft stories that have greater impact by reflecting things that resonate more deeply with your audience?

Sun 3:00 PM-4:00 PM – Cascade 10

Star Wars: A (New) New Hope

Donna Prior (M), Rafeal Richardson, Dee Wright, Jeremy Zimmerman, David Fooden

The Force Awakens came out last December, and fan passions are running deep. Was it a brilliant update that brought the saga to a new generation? Or a lens-flared fiasco of Jar-Jarian proportions? Either way, Disney is going all-in on all things Star Wars, so there’s much, much more on the way.

Originally published at Jeremy Zimmerman. You can comment here or there.

Norwescon 2016 Schedule

I will be at Norwescon next weekend, March 24-27. I have a reading, several panels, an autograph session, and a table in Author’s Alley. I hope to see you!

Thu 6:00 PM-6:30 PM – Cascade 1

Reading: Jeremy Zimmerman

Jeremy Zimmerman (M)

Come enjoy a reading from Kensei Tales: Offensive Driving. This is part of a serialized story. Rated PG.

Thu 8:00 PM-9:00 PM – Cascade 9

Crowdfunding Fiction

Nicole Dieker (M), Jeremy Zimmerman, Gregory A. Wilson

Kickstarter. Patreon. Donation Buttons. How can writers and publishers use crowdfunding platforms to make more and better art? What are some of the challenges and risks involved? How do you create a reward system that makes it worth it for readers and consumers to fund your project? Our panel of pros discuss their own experiences, offer advice, and break down the pros and cons of various crowdfunding methods.

Fri 10:00 AM-11:00 AM – Cascade 10

Science & Religion in Space

Jeremy Zimmerman (M), William Hartmann, Arinn Dembo, Elizabeth Guizzetti

Often thought to be competing dogmas, some of the most compelling stories involve not the conflict between science and religion but the integration of those themes. Listen to our panelists as they discuss the story elements of having science and religion occupying the same… well… space.

Fri 7:00 PM-8:00 PM – Cascade 9

Body Horror

Arinn Dembo (M), Jeremy Zimmerman, Jason Bourget, Lisa Bolekaja, Kate Jonez

Farewell to the flesh with a one hour discussion on body horror, where our expert panelists will dissect what makes this meaty topic so visceral for some audiences. From mythology, through Frankenstein and Cronenberg, up to VanderMeer and beyond.

Sat 2:00 PM-3:00 PM – Grand 2

Autograph Session 1

Amber Bariaktari , Caroline M. Yoachim, Dave Bara, Dean Wells, Erik Scott de Bie, G. Willow Wilson, James C. Glass, Jennifer Brozek, John (J.A.) Pitts, Kristi Charish, Django Wexler, Frog Jones, Rhiannon Held, Sonia Orin Lyris, S. A. Bolich, Morgue Anne, Robert J. Sawyer, Spencer Ellsworth, Steven Barnes, Tori Centanni, Cat Rambo, Don Maitz, GregRobin Smith, Jeremy Zimmerman, Laura Anne Gilman

Our Attending Professionals are available to sign autographs. PLEASE NOTE: So that as many fans as possible can participate, we will be enforcing a three-items-at-a-time (or single-sketch) autograph limit.

Sat 3:00 PM-4:00 PM – Cascade 9

The Art of Critique

Marta Murvosh (M), Caroline M. Yoachim, Leslie Howle, Suzanne Brahm, Jeremy Zimmerman

As a beta reader, how do you provide the best feedback? And as a writer, how do you use critique to improve your work? This panel will discuss the art of giving helpful critique, as well as what writers can do with the critiques they’re given, and how to sort useful feedback from less helpful notes.

Sun 10:00 AM-11:00 AM – Cascade 13

Horror As a Mirror

Jeremy Zimmerman (M), Jude-Marie Green, K. M. Alexander, Kate Jonez

What does the horror genre tell us about the culture in which it was written? What does today’s horror tell us about modern society? And as creators, how can you craft stories that have greater impact by reflecting things that resonate more deeply with your audience?

Sun 3:00 PM-4:00 PM – Cascade 10

Star Wars: A (New) New Hope

Donna Prior (M), Rafeal Richardson, Dee Wright, Jeremy Zimmerman, David Fooden

The Force Awakens came out last December, and fan passions are running deep. Was it a brilliant update that brought the saga to a new generation? Or a lens-flared fiasco of Jar-Jarian proportions? Either way, Disney is going all-in on all things Star Wars, so there’s much, much more on the way.

Art vs. Business! Fight!

I’ve tried to set this blog up so that it automatically posts to Twitter. We’ll see how that goes.

Anyway, last night I went with the girlfriend to the Cyndi Lauper concert. It was one of several outdoor concerts our local zoo puts on. My girlfriend is a big fan, especially of her older stuff, and I have a few of Lauper’s songs that I like a lot. I’m not a huge music geek. I love music, but most of what I love is based more off of nostalgia than technical skill or innovation or whatever. “Girls Just Want to Have Fun” and “She Bop” take me back to the mid-80s, watching wrestling with my grandfather. “Time After Time” reminds me of high school and college when I heard the song for the first time in the soundtrack for Strictly Ballroom. (And, really, that movie is directly responsible for one of my tattoos. Just saying.)

What we didn’t realize prior to buying the tickets was that Cyndi Lauper had just released an album called Memphis Blues in which she sings blues songs. Specifically, she sings blues songs with her thick Bronx accent. It has apparently been at the top of the blues charts for a while. This concert was part of her tour to promote this blues album.

…

So the opening act was an old blues singer who was part of the blues band that she was touring with. And then when she came on stage she spent almost an hour and a half singing blues songs.

When she did the Obligatory Encore, she sang four or five of her older songs and ended on another blues number. Through most of the show the crowd was pretty mellow, just hanging out on the lawn and listening. A few people, who I suspect were chemically altered, were grooving around like they were at Woodstock again. Or still. But otherwise, really sedate. When Lauper busted out the old songs, everyone sprung to their feet and the entire field was filled with people dancing.

From a consumer point of view, I was pretty frustrated. In fact, it was only faint hope that she’d sing older stuff that I stuck it out. To poach a quote from Jerry “Tycho” Holkins, “It is like getting a ordering a pizza and getting a free walrus. Even if the walrus were excellent, I mean truly exemplary, I’m really not in the market for it and it’s not why I ordered the pizza.”

I’m not a fan of blues. I wouldn’t say I hate it, but I never find myself seeking out blues. I definitely plan to pay money for a Cyndi Lauper concert to listen to a solid block of classic blues songs while sitting uncomfortably on the lawn. The girlfriend didn’t either. If I were to base an opinion off of the actions of the crowd, most of the people there weren’t hoping for a blues concert. They were politely respectful of the blues stuff, but it wasn’t until she set the WABAC machine for 1983 that people got excited to be there.

Other performers I’ve seen pimping new albums would weave the new stuff with the old stuff in order to connect with their old fans and present their newer stuff. It seems like a tried and true model, so I’m a little surprised that she didn’t approach it that way. She could have opened up with one or two classics and then segued into blues while riding on the energy she built up. But she didn’t.

From an artistic point of view, I’m more inclined to adapt one of my favorite Neil Gaiman quotes to say: Cyndi Lauper is not my bitch. Continuing to find inspiration as an artist is an evolving process, and sometimes authors follow a different path than their fans were prefer. Or sometimes they get known for one big thing that haunts them for their career. (“By Grabthor’s Hammer, what a savings…”)

It was pretty clear that Lauper was excited about the new project she had been involved with, getting to work with blues legends and create music she found inspirational. I imagine it was probably very frustrating for her to pour her heart out on stage with the blues songs and only have fans appreciate stuff she did over 25 years ago.

You see other artists go through that too. Martin seems to have hit it really big with his A Game of Thrones series, and has been vocally frustrated when people complain about him working on stuff that isn’t AGoT series. I can think of one urban fantasy author who finds herself chained to a couple ongoing series. It’s fun now, but the fun won’t last. I really can’t imagine how Sue Grafton was able to keep writing Kinsey Milhone novels without going insane.

There’s a lesson here for me as a writer. Where do you find the border between “what makes you money?” and “what makes you happy?” I should be so lucky to have the kind of success that makes me have to worry about that. But I could very easily be on the receiving end of the frustration from “fans” who aren’t interested in following me where my heart leads me.

Hrm.

Originally published at Jeremy Zimmerman. You can comment here or there.

Kensei Sequel Now on Kickstarter!

I hope you’ll take a moment to check it out! From now until September 4th, I will be crowdfunding The Love of Danger, the sequel to my book Kensei.

Originally published at Jeremy Zimmerman. You can comment here or there.