Rainy Road Warrior Newsletter

October 30, 2022

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Moving Forward

I’ve decided that I’ll only be putting out this newsletter once a month going forward. Not enough is really happening (especially in winter) to justify doing two of these a month and, according to Substack, very few people that get this actually read it. But it’s kind of cathartic for me since I don’t have anyone to talk to about this kind of stuff. So, I’ll continue with it but it’ll just be pared down. Also, it helps me to practice writing, which is valuable in its own right.

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EoD Crowdfunder recap

The Epic of Darkness campaign ended “successfully” a few weeks ago. Why is that word in quotes? Because it’s a relative term.

Since the book was completed before the campaign even started, the $500 goal that I set for it was just to ensure that I could get some copies printed. That doesn’t come anywhere near making back the money it cost me to get it made — which would have been close to around $3000.

The real goal that I was shooting for was 100 backers with a $2500 total. I would have been really happy with that.

Not that I’m not happy now. But you know what I mean.

At any rate, the campaign was successful enough that I have some money for a small print run and to put towards the artwork for issue #2, which has already started.

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By The Numbers

There were some interesting results from this campaign. At least, I think they are interesting. The most perplexing thing to me is that there were 129 people following the campaign but only 14 who eventually pledged. It blows my mind that so many people were following the campaign but ultimately decided against supporting. The majority of them came on board after the campaign had launched so they knew exactly what was being offered.

I can understand following a campaign in the pre-launch phase then deciding against pledging once you see all the details but this was not that. And that was not this. And Bob’s your uncle. Or whatever.

The other thing that grinds my gears is that there were 8 canceled or defaulted pledges, totaling about $300. To me, that’s a lot of money so I was not happy about that.

Some other interesting facts:

• I offered 10 different reward tiers and 4 of those had zero backers.

• I offered 3 variant covers in packs or as add-ons but nobody pledged for any of them. Which means I can use them again as variant covers for issue #2. (Except for the “retro” cover, since that accompanying story is only in the first issue. I might save it to use as the cover for any second printing of issue #1.)

• There were way more digital reward backers than physical reward backers — more than twice as much. That really surprised me. So, for future campaigns, I will really need to focus on delivering some worthwhile digital rewards.

• The total funds I will be receiving in my bank account, after Kickstarter has taken out their fees, will be only $1000. Even if I sold every remaining copy of the book for full retail price, I would still be about $1500 in the red on this project.

Clearly, I need to figure out better strategies to reach people and convince them to support future campaigns/projects.

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A Real-life Ghost Story?

I mentioned in a previous newsletter that I experienced some real-life strange and spooky moments that I would share since it’s the horror season. I’ll save the second tale for another time since this first one is kind of long.

So, let’s get to it. And, yes, this is a 100% true story that happened to me, with zero embellishment.

“The Girl By The Lake”

When I was going to high school in Florida, I would often visit my grandparents in Georgia during vacations. One year, when I was around 15 years old, me and my younger sister spent our spring break with them. At that time, spring break in most (or all) counties in Georgia happened earlier than in Florida. So, when we visited our grandparents, kids in Georgia were already back in school. (This will be important to remember later.)

One of the things we often did when we visited our grandparents was to stay at a permanent campsite they had at Clark’s Hill Lake, which is now known as Strom Thurmond Reservoir. On the way there, we would pass a small sign noting that we had entered Amity County. We always used to joke about that because my sister’s name is Amy.

“Hey, we’re entering Amy County!”

“I didn’t know you had your own county, Amy?”

Silly jokes only kids would make. Or 50-year-old dads.

But, after this incident, it would no longer be something to laugh at but instead bring to my mind the Amityville Horror.

My grandparent’s campsite was part of a larger compound that was owned by the local church. It was an isolated area deep in the woods and could only be accessed by a long, winding, hilly dirt road several miles off a small town nearby. Once you got to the outer perimeter, there was a large gate that was always locked and only church members had a key.

We got there in the afternoon and, after unloading our stuff into the camper, me and my sister explored the complex. Not only were there numerous other campers left parked in their respective sites but there was a central recreational area with a playground, basketball courts, long picnic tables under a large shelter, a bathroom/shower building and a boat launch.

We ran around freely until it got dark — bouncing on the large trampoline, swinging on the swingset, playing a game or H.O.R.S.E. — because there was no one else there.

Usually, when we went there, there were other campers. Even if you couldn’t see them, you could hear them because sounds would carry through the trees and over the surface of lake. But, this time, there was no one else around.

The next morning, we got up at the crack of dawn (literally) and walked down to the floating pier for some early-morning fishing. It was about one hundred yards or so down a slight slope from our camper. On the way there, I again noted how quiet it was. We were lucky to have the whole campground to ourselves. (I’ve since come to learn this about myself, that I don’t like crowds. I prefer isolation. Superman’s Fortress of Solitude would be a an ideal home for me. But, anyway, I digress!)

The floating pier had been built by some unknown, half-assed craftsman long ago. The platform itself was a small square collection of two-by-fours nailed together and propped on top of several, large foam bricks. Getting from the shore to the platform involved stepping onto thin sheets of plywood that dipped into the water under your weight and rocked side to side.

As a kid, the danger made it a glorious adventure! I imagined I was crossing the bridge to Terabithia.

Today, as a father, I would make my kids fish from the shoreline.

After a short time, my grandfather went back to the camper to cook up some breakfast. Then my sister left because I think she just wanted to go back to sleep. I decided to stay on the pier since I had a little bit of worm left on my hook.

But then a light rain started and I realized it was time to go. Right after I messed with the little fish hanging around the pier. I dangled the worm just at the surface and dragged it around the perimeter of the pier as the little minnows chased after it and nibbled on it. I thought it was funny. Not funny, ha-ha! More like, hey this is funny because I’m a kid and all kinds of dumb stuff is funny to me!

I dragged the worm around the pier until I was facing the plywood sheets leading back to the shoreline. Something caught my eye and momentarily stopped me.

I looked up and, standing at the shoreline, staring at me with a big smile, was a girl. And it was not my sister.

She was around my age, she had straight, red hair down to her shoulders, she was wearing a white v-neck t-shirt, blue jeans and white canvas shoes.

There was nothing peculiar about her other than she was standing there smiling at me.

I was taken aback for a second, quickly smiled back at her then continued my turn. As I was placing my fishing pole into our small boat that was tied to the opposite side of the pier, I realized something. The pier was not shaking. I expected the girl to walk onto the pier, causing it to rock but that never happened.

So I turned back to the shoreline and the girl was now gone. I could clearly see up the slope into the woods at least 50 yards in all directions but she was nowhere to be seen.

In that first moment, I was confused. I didn’t know what to think. My next thought was that maybe she had fallen into the water. But the surface was undisturbed. And I never heard a splash. But, as I walked onto the plywood back to the shoreline, I looked down into the water. It was only a foot deep, at most, and there was nothing there.

I stepped forward into the woods and scanned the area. Was this girl goofing around with me, hiding behind a tree? I called out, “Hello?” but no one answered. I stood there quietly and intently, listening and looking for clues. But there was nothing at all.

After a while, I started to walk up the path back to the camper. It was then that I noticed the sound of my own footsteps. Leaves crackling, pebbles crunching, twigs snapping. It was impossible to walk through the area without making some noise.

Yet, somehow, this mysterious girl had disappeared from sight almost instantaneously.

I told my sister about this and, for the rest of that weekend, we explored the entire campground looking for signs of her… or anyone else. There was nothing.

Was the girl a ghost? Could she have just arrived unnoticed with her family and trained in the ancient stealthy art of the ninja? I can’t say either way.

All I know is that I’ve honestly replayed what happened that morning ten-thousand times in my head and I really can’t come up with a solid explanation. I even searched for news about a girl drowning in the lake. Nothing.

So, yeah, that’s my story. Maybe not a true “ghost” story. But it is weird and I can’t explain it.

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~Michael T Gonzalez