kickstarter party



With Valentine’s Day fast approaching, we thought you might want some Poe Party Valentines to express your literary love. Perfect to share with that guy or gal down the street who never appreciates all the poems you write about them and all the ravens you send their way.

Edgar Allan Poe’s Murder Mystery Dinner Party NOW ON KICKSTARTER!

It’s not often I get commissioned to create a more detailed rendition like this on an Etch A Sketch. This MST3K-themed Etch A Sketch was created for my roommate to present it at one of the Kickstarter viewing parties that took place last night. Regretfully I was out of town and therefore unable to attend, but from what I was told, Joel was most appreciative of the gifted final art! 🤗 The Etch A Sketch was custom framed in a beautiful black shadowbox. The original might have been gifted, but prints are available for purchase on etsy here!

About Giving Back

Five Years ago I stumbled upon a Web Series in which one Lizzie Bennet told us about her sisters, her mother and some guy named Darcy. Five years, a master thesis, numerous (mostly literary) web series and some hardship later, I am sitting in an office at my university. being paid for researching web series. Being paid for (hopefully someday) getting a Ph.D. in English Lit. Thanks to some small coincidence. Thanks to some web series.

Now walls in my office are dedicated to numerous web series and YouTube. Posters, signed autographs and photographs from VidCon EU. A student is asking me about my advice for her master thesis, because I am an expert in narrative vlogs. 

So. It’s time to give something back. Und while I get some new decoration for my office in return, I am so happy, that I am financially able to back Shipwrecked Comedy’s new project today. Web Series gave me so much, today I am finally able to give something back. 

“There is a great deal of unmapped country within us which would have to be taken into account in an explanation of our gusts and storms.” - George Eliot

George Eliot is here to remind you to keep spreading the word about Edgar Allan Poe’s Murder Mystery Dinner Party, and that the fanart contest ends tonight at midnight!

Edgar Allan Poe’s Murder Mystery Dinner Party NOW ON KICKSTARTER!


party worker

noun \ˈpär-tē\ \ˈwər-kər\

a laborer who concentrates their scope of work toward the advancement of a societal class, an organization or a club who share a common goal; considered an active defender of a people’s rights and an orator for the voiceless.

Learn more about Bambu’s Party Worker Kickstarter Project and how you can be a backer!

Bucky Barnes/Tony Stark College AU: The Stark family has just come out of an ugly divorce and Tony chooses to live with his music professor mother instead. Joining SHIELD University for his Masters program, he encounters his mom’s prized student during an accidental frat party and kickstarts the most exhilarating journey of his life. Tony always knew that he was gasoline but when he met the enigmatic and charmingly obnoxious Bucky Barnes, he knew that he had met his striking match. 

Features engineer Tony and musical prodigy Bucky. 

“Invention, it must be admitted, does not consist in creating out of void, but out of chaos.” - Mary Shelley

We are positively electrified to announce Melissa Hunter will be joining Edgar Allan Poe’s Murder Mystery Dinner Party as Mary Shelley!

You may recognize Melissa from her wildly popular series Adult Wednesday Addams, as well as her series Shitty Boyfriends and many other fabulous projects! 

Edgar Allan Poe’s Murder Mystery Dinner Party NOW ON KICKSTARTER!


etsyfindoftheday | halloween bonus finds | 9.30.15

featured: halloween party invitations, set of 8 by inhauspress

three quick halloween finds for you to kickstart your october … this party invite is so creative! love the product photography too, inhauspress. these bad boys are hand-pressed in SF, too <3

“Human history becomes more and more a race between education and catastrophe.” - H.G. Wells

There’s lots to celebrate! Valentine’s Day, over 600 backers, less than $2,500 away to our next reveal–so here, have a little HG in motion. And don’t forget to join us later today for our livestream!

Edgar Allan Poe’s Murder Mystery Dinner Party NOW ON KICKSTARTER!

A Short History of Almost Something

(Or, Why I Wept When I Met Amanda Palmer)

Here we go.

I am, and have always been, a Book Person. Stories, words, language – I understand these; they resonate with me. They are, by and large, my world.

What I am staunchly not, though, is a Music Person. I like music – my iTunes library is as extensive as any, and I always have some mix CD or another playing in my car – but it isn’t my “thing.” I don’t go to concerts, I don’t wear band t-shirts, I don’t use my iPod for months at a time, and I definitely don’t play an instrument. What it comes down to is that I just don’t feel music as I feel books: it doesn’t grab me in the same way. I am firmly planted in the Book Room, and the Music Room is on the other side of a glass wall. I can see it, and it looks lovely, but I don’t quite understand it, and anyway I’m content where I am. Some people pass between these rooms comfortably, but I don’t know where the door is, and I have to admit I haven’t really looked for it.

This is probably the reason for my disappointingly late arrival to the Amanda Palmer party. I had known of her, in a general sense, for ages: I had a vague awareness of the Dresden Dolls, mostly because of my Music Person boyfriend, and an acute awareness of Neil Gaiman, mostly because of Neil Gaiman. My dad had even been on a film crew at Amanda’s Kickstarter donor party in 2012. (I can only assume that I was living under some kind of rock at the time, because that fact somehow failed to register with me until it was MUCH too late for me to tag along.) Somehow, though, her music remained foreign to me.

I almost fell in when, writing a college paper about Alan Moore’s Watchmen, I found a YouTube video of Amanda performing “Pirate Jenny,” from The Threepenny Opera. (It was relevant to the paper, honest.) I loved it – she was theatrical and dramatic and emotive – but it triggered an interest in Brecht, rather than one in Palmer. I read The Threepenny Opera; found the soundtrack; compared translations. Book Person to the core – that’s me!

In the end, it was another book that did it. Last June, I treated myself to a Neil Gaiman signing: The Ocean at the End of the Lane had just been released, and the NYC tour date fell on the night before my birthday. It was a spectacular gift. Neil discussed his favorite cheese, and he drew a balloon in my copy of Ocean when it was my turn to get signed. The icing on this lovely birthday cupcake was the free copy of Evelyn Evelyn that each audience member received at intermission: Amanda had donated them, and they sat stacked in towers at the rear of the auditorium. I took one, pleased and intrigued – it was a nice surprise – and a few days later, I played the CD in my car.

Holy shit.

What had I been doing with my life? Where had I been? Where had THIS been? It was weird and funny and sad and wonderful, and I wanted more – so I went to the library and got Who Killed Amanda Palmer? and Theatre is Evil, and then I set about raiding the boyfriend’s CD collection for the Dresden Dolls discography. I played each album on repeat in the car – at the time, I had no shortage of driving to do – and marveled at what I had been missing.

 This was music as I had never experienced it before: raw and resonant and personal in ways that I had never known it could be. The door – or at least a window – into the Music Room had suddenly been thrown open: here was music that sounded the way I felt. Here was a voice that communicated all of the pain and frustration and confusion that I had been carrying with me for years, paired with a fierce and determined positivity, which my own attitude about life, the universe, and everything seemed to echo. Sometimes the lyrics made me cry. Sometimes the music did that all by itself. Both of these things still happen, though I have played those songs over and over and over again. I feel the music and the music feels me: the novelty of this has not yet worn off.

In November, a friend and I saw Amanda and Neil live, on their “An Evening with…” tour. It was my third time seeing Neil (fourth, if you count the time I held a door for him on 18th street), but my first seeing Amanda – and it was, of course, incredible on all counts. Watching her perform was an intense experience: she is so genuine and so powerful in her emotions that it was impossible not to feel them myself. When Kat Robichaud joined her for “Delilah,” I was in tears almost immediately, and I still can’t quite name the emotion that triggered them. Part sorrow and part gratitude; part heartache and part relief.

It is unfamiliar and cathartic, to be comforted by my own pain, but this is what Amanda Palmer has given me – this and so much more that I struggle to articulate.

In May, I attended the Book Expo of America, a Mecca for Book People of all kinds. It was my third year there, and I stuck to the strategy I’d developed in previous years – which is to say that I didn’t even glance at the schedules for book drops or author signings. This is partly because I like a bit of mystery, but mostly because I want to avoid the disappointment of wanting something and not getting it – so I would enter the floor completely clueless each day and enjoy the stream of discoveries. It suited me.

Day one of the 2014 Expo passed without incident: scurried around, gathered books, hauled them home; all par for the course. Halfway through day two, though, as I wound through the maze of the convention floor, I spotted something unexpected at the Hachette booth.

That something was Amanda Palmer. She was signing preview samplers of her upcoming book, about which I had known nothing until that moment, because I hadn’t read those pesky schedules.

My heart stopped.

Let me take a moment here to say that I am not one to get starstruck. Living where I do – just outside of Manhattan – immunizes a person to celebrity sightings: Bill Murray, for example, is a local. I went to middle school with Hayden Panettiere. Chris Rock has a house here; Rosie O’Donnell used to. Saturday Night Live has filmed at my high school; more recently, Orange is the New Black shot some scenes near my former job. It’s just a part of life in Rockland. (And hey, Amanda, neat coincidence: Kurt Weill once lived here, too!) So meeting Neil didn’t shake me up – it was exciting, yes, but not a heart-stopper. Amanda, however, was different.

I barely made it onto her signing line: it was cut off with only two people behind me. I swallowed one of my just-in-case anxiety pills as I waited, hoping it would at least quell the shaking in my hands – I don’t handle surprises well! – but it was a bit late for that. When my turn came, I babbled something incoherent, thanked Amanda for being the best surprise I had ever gotten, and bolted. I flew out of the nearest door, hid beneath an escalator, and called the boyfriend. When he answered, I couldn’t even manage a hello.

“AMANDA PALMER IS HERE! AMANDA. FUCKING. PALMER. IS HERE.” He laughed and laughed, and told me to go back in. I did, and she was, remarkably, still there. I held back at first, not wanting to interrupt, but when it seemed like the moment was ripe, I did something incredibly out-of character. I tapped her on the shoulder and said excuse me.

“I’m sorry I ran away,” I said to her, still shaking. “I just…had to panic a little.” I don’t remember what she said – it’s a little bit hazy; those just-in-case pills of mine have that effect – but I couldn’t possibly forget what she did: she gave me a hug, because I asked for one.

It sounds like a small thing, but nothing could have been bigger. The asking alone was massive, for me – and yet I somehow felt that it would be okay. More than okay. Appropriate. Encouraged, even.

Amanda is, after all, the patron saint of asking – and to receive her blessing, I had make myself vulnerable and ask for it. It does make a certain sense.

The hug was fierce and strong: she held me as if we were long-lost friends unexpectedly reunited, and the intensity of it surprised and overwhelmed me. I broke down then: the tears I thought I’d evaded came pouring out. In no time at all, I was absolutely sobbing, and Amanda just smiled, not bothered at all. She held my face in both hands, wiping the tears off my cheeks with her thumbs, and kissed my forehead. There it was: the blessing of Saint Amanda. An affirmation that I hadn’t even known I needed.

She had a luncheon to run off to, but the moment would have come to an end in any case. She gave me a daisy from the bunch she carried, though, and I threaded it into my braid, a souvenir of the unexpected benediction. My day as good as ended there – I sat against a wall until I was well-and-truly finished weeping, and I left the convention center soon after. I was emotionally exhausted – in the best way – and the day, I was certain, had nothing grander to offer me.

I went home and made a Twitter account, just so I could send Amanda my thanks – and then Tumblr and Instagram accounts followed, mostly because I’m possessive of my online handle. (I have joked that AFP is my social media godmother. It’s not exactly untrue.) I sent that tweet – but 140 characters can’t get you very far, especially when some of them are taken up by the photo of yourself with a daisy on your head, and I’ve been thinking about it ever since. I’m sure I’m neither the first nor the last to have had such a connection with Amanda, but she is the first to have catalyzed such a connection with me – and I would like to think that she felt that moment to be meaningful, as I did, if fleeting. I would like to think that she understood my tears, even though I am, to her, one among many.

My Short History is not very short after all. Verbosity is, I suppose, a hallmark of the Book Person, and it is a blessing and a curse. Perhaps a Music Person would do it better – but there’s only one I would trust to get it right, and I’ll bet you can guess who it is.

So, dear amandapalmer:

Thank you for letting me cry. Next time our paths cross, I’ll try to keep it dry – but no promises.

Thank you for the music.

Thank you for the words.

Thank you for the hug and the kiss and the daisy.

Thank you for asking, and thank you for teaching me to ask.

Thank you for being real.

Thank you for bringing some fire back to a girl who thought she had lost her spark.

Thank you for so much more than I can express in a blog post.

Thank you for everything.

An unfortunately low-quality cell phone picture of Our Lady of Asking, in the flesh, armed with holy relics: the Ukulele of Defiant Optimism, and the Daisies of Compassion.


How is a raven like a writing desk? 

Poe wrote on both!

In honor of Shipwrecked Comedy’s current campaign for Edgar Allen Poe’s Murder Mystery Dinner Party, I decided to decorate my writing desk like Poe’s for the evening! 

Productive? Maybe not. But did it save me from doing physics for an hour? Definitely. 

If you’re a fan of literature, comedy, intrigue and murder, support the Poe Party Kickstarter!

“There is nothing noble in being superior to your fellow man; true nobility is being superior to your former self.” - Ernest Hemingway

Edgar Allan Poe’s Murder Mystery Dinner Party is now HALFWAY FUNDED on Kickstarter in less than one week! We are so flabbergasted and delighted, and to show our thanks, we wanted to share this Hemingway motion poster with you. 

Keep sharing! Keep tweeting! Keep pledging! We’re halfway there, and there’s so much more to come.

Edgar Allan Poe’s Murder Mystery Dinner Party - NOW ON KICKSTARTER!

A little kingdom I possess, where thoughts and feelings dwell; And very hard the task I find of governing it well.” - Louisa May Alcott

We are so thrilled to welcome Tara Perry to Edgar Allan Poe’s Murder Mystery Dinner Party as Louisa May Alcott! While not drumming on Nick Jr’s The Fresh Beat Band, you can see her performing improv alongside the likes of Felicia Day in their group Hammer Improv.

Edgar Allan Poe’s Murder Mystery Dinner Party NOW FULLY FUNDED ON KICKSTARTER!