I do promise to put up a real post in a little while, but this was just too much fun not to tell you about. I got to be the producer last night of a really cool concept in social media called Spreecast. It’s just your basic video chat but a) it records everything (even the stuff you really wish hadn’t just flown out of your mouth on the internet…”can my mom see this?”) and b) this one actually works, as opposed to some forums that shall remain nameless.
But the fun part was this was a wrap-up party for a really serious event. A group of authors, headed up by the selfless and courageous erotica writer Eden Baylee, set about raising $10,000 for another author whose son has leukemia. The shitty kind. Not like any leukemia isn’t a big old pain in the ass, but this one I think he said has like, three YEARS of chemo because it’s a really, really ugly one. The kid has had to drop out of school and everything. Grrrrrrrr@CANCER! I spit on you! Pthuh! Pthuh!
Sorry. Did I mention the thing I produced didn’t end until really, really late last night and that the idiot dog still got me up at her unusually stupid hour to go to the bathroom?
Wait, I did say party. Yes, this thing last night on Spreecast wasn’t a telethon or pledge drive or anything like that. It was Eden’s way of saying, “Hey, you people are made of awesome and kittens for donating your money, and all of you who donated signed books or publishing packages or publicity packages or beat-up used cars for the auction, you rock especially hard. Let’s just hang out and drink and take our clothes off!” (I made up some of that…there were no used cars.)
But there was drinking, there was the ceremonial flashing of the tattoo (wait, that was me), and somehow the phrases “assless chaps” and “gaggle of prostitutes” were thrown about like they were part of the industry lingo for authors. A whole lot of people spent two hours laughing their assless chaps off.
When it was finally time to wrap it up after two hours of partying, the door opened on some awesome sentiments from people in the community who’ve never met Maxwell Cynn or his son. But as soon as they learned that one of their own in “the biz” was facing a galactically unfair heartbreaking process, they flocked to the rescue to help in the only way they knew how. They left the party with words of support and encouragement and the world is a better place because those people are breathing in it.
The event was just over two hours long, so I don’t think you’re going to sit and watch the whole thing, but here it is in all its glory. Heck, make a pitcher of margaritas and pretend you were there. Don’t forget to read the chat, that’s where all the really good jokes were.