A Possible Broken Mirror Book?

Rish here.  Today I came up with an idea for a story, or rather, a premise that a whole series of stories could possibly be written about.*  I immediately called Big up, intent on telling him my idea and asking him what he thought.  He did not answer.

So, I went to work.  At work, I thought a bit more about the premise, fleshed it out a little bit in my head, and during lunch, fired up my laptop to go to town on this thing.  I typed "In a small Idaho town, there is a hotel or bed and breakfast where, once a y--"

Then my laptop's battery went out and it shut down.  I was pretty sure it had a charge when I left, but ah well.  So I grabbed a piece of paper and jotted down the rest of my idea.  It seemed exciting to me, and I thought it would be fun not only to write a story based on this premise, but see if others would want to do it too.  Before I went back to work, I listed six or seven possible tales one could write based on this.

Immediately after work, I called Big whilst getting into my car to pitch the idea to him.  We could do a sort of Broken Mirror Story Event with this premise and let people send us stories, which we could publish as a book, or produce as an audiobook, or podcast as episodes in October or something.  While I was describing it to him, I began to fear that it was a bad idea, though, and that nothing would come of it, and I would end up feeling depressed that nobody but me cared, and realize the meaningless of life so fully that I could never enjoy anything again.

Big thought that maybe I should write it as my novel this summer, just take all six or seven story ideas and work them together in an abomination like Neil Gaiman's "The Graveyard Book."  I did not fancy that idea, and got the impression he too found my premise to be weak, and thought I maybe should never write again.

But then he brought up the idea of doing a Kickstarter campaign for the book, getting people onboard to support the project, and see who might be interested in helping us or collaborating with us.  He suggested Tom Tancredi, our biggest fan.  I suggested Marshal Latham, who recently did a successful Kickstarter for his own show.  Announcer Man suggested I stick my junk in a light socket.

The problem with me and ambition is, it doesn't stick around very long.  If I don't follow up on something immediately, my passion begins to cool and it is soon forgotten,  Kind of like this novel I'm supposed to be writing right now.  So I told Big what I wanted to do (present the sandbox I was inviting others to play in by writing an initial short story that explains the premise and "the rules," and come up with amusing incentives for people who back our campaign), and what I didn't want to do (figure out how a fudgin' Kickstarter works, try and badger people for money, contact and pester people about sending us their stories, and try and motivate B.D. Anklevich--akin to getting Fred J. Dukes off of a toilet in the morning).  I wanted to excitedly present my story idea, go off and write my own, then oversee the submissions that come in, maybe make a suggestion here or there so they all feel like they're in the same world.

We considered doing a Kickstarter years ago, and didn't do it.  We considered publishing a "Best of the Dunesteef" collection years ago, and didn't do it.  We recorded a final episode of the show where we air our grievances and cite our highlights, and never aired that show.  But my thought is, if we did either of the first two things, we'd find it all the easier to do it a second time, and maybe springboard off that success with a bigger, ambitiouser project.  Stranger things have happened.

This is something I still want to do.  Tomorrow, I may feel differently, but right now, I'm almost to the point where I'd like to start writing my story right now, to heck with the doubts and reservations.  I was going to post on Facebook and see if anyone else was interested . . . and I'd do it right now.  I told Big that I was like a husband who discovers in the night that he's eager to have sex.  He awakens his wife and lets her know that, with her or alone, he's gonna do some sexification.  Big did not find my metaphor quite as charming, I fear.

He also told me that, if I was so smart, what would we call this little project?

I told him not to worry, that that's what I do, it's what I live for, to help unfortunate merfolk, like yourself.  And that I'd have a kickass title in two shakes of a lamb's tail.

Shake.  Shake.

So, my project is called . . . "Dead and Breakfast."

I fortunately know a little magic.  It's a talent that I always have possessed.

So, now I'm going to get some actual work done.  Tomorrow, maybe this idea (and that title) won't sound quite so ingenious.  That happens a lot, from time to time, nearly constantly, on occasion.  But if you're reading this and you'd like to encourage me, or volunteer to do something from cover art to promotion to writing a story to donation support, well, let me know in the comments.  The life you save may be your own.

Rish Outfield, A Very Busy Woman and I Haven't Got All Day

*I did something similar a year or two ago, actually writing two of them, and then sharing them with, you guessed it, absolutely nobody.