The Kickstarter Diaries 11: Night and Day

The latest episode in my tragicomic behind-the-scenes account of living through a crowdfunding campaign.

This is the first Kickstarter I have done while living outside the United States, and time is making a fool of me.

I like to be up and moving early, especially if there is work to be done or anxiety to be gnawed on, but that circadian rhythm is totally thrown off by the fact that my body is now waaay ahead of everyone living in the U.S., which includes most of my longtime and steadfast Kickstarter supporters. Five hours ahead of the East Coast, eight hours ahead of the West, about a week ahead of Hawaii—they are literally going to bed just as I am getting up.

This, I have discovered, causes two problems, or rather I cause myself two problems because of this.

I jump out of bed (well, I heave myself up off the couch cushions on the floor, which are serving as a bed until my furniture finally catches up with me) and I’m already composing the day’s Kickstarter Diaries (KD, to those in the know) entry, eager to send it out to everyone on my mailing list, whether they want it or not—but, as I say, most of my mailing list has just gone to sleep.

So when I shoot the KD off, begin Phase Two of my efforts to catch people’s attention, and start emailing individuals (falling time and again into the trap of thinking that the second someone hears from me, they’ll reach for their phone and pledge), there’s a ghastly silence from the planet.

I keep telling myself that 85% of the people I’m reaching out to are still snoring, but even so, it’s disturbing to do all that activity and have zero response. It must be like being in one of those sound-deadening rooms that have no echo: to quote the philosopher Pink Floyd, you shout, but no-one seems to hear.

By far the worse problem I cause myself, though, is to go to bed (i.e. floor) knowing that in the great but currently self-destructing US of A, it’s only early evening in the east, early afternoon in the west. Everyone is awake and may at any moment decide to pledge to my campaign. Maybe they even have routines: come home from work; eat dinner; pledge to Tim’s Kickstarter.

Which means, of course—and here again I need to give the heads-up warning about addictive behaviour—when I fall down onto the couch cushions, I take my laptop with me, and park it within easy reach. Just in case.

And so I develop my own self-destructive routine: wake up in the night; reach for the laptop; check the total; despair; calculate how many dollars/pounds per day need to come in for me to reach my goal;  try to fall back to sleep; calculate how many dollars/pounds per day have come in so far; calculate the difference; check the calendar; try to fall back to sleep; try to think of amiable millionaires that might support me; reach for the laptop again. Rinse and repeat every 90 minutes.

This campaign, I reduced the number of days from 30 to 29—not because I’m trying to raise less money, but because I’m trying to lower the number of nights I fall, over and over, into the trap I set for myself.

You can end this cycle of unhealthy behavior by pledging HERE