I’m still trying to take in the notion that James and I – basically two pretty much entirely unheard-of writers – made a public proposal a month ago to create something new in a completely unfashionable medium (audio sitcom), and asked people to stake money on it up front in the hope that we’d get it made and give them something great in return. And that people actually did.
And sure, many of them were friends and family, or people who knew us via Twitter.
But plenty of them weren’t. Plenty of them had never heard of us before seeing the words A Brief History of Time Travel.
And sure, many of them probably only had their interest piqued by the fact that we somehow got Robert Llewellyn to agree to be the narrator (a relatively small role, in which he’ll basically open and close each episode, but enough of a feather in our cap to give us the second wind of a mid-campaign publicity push). But he thought enough of what we laid out to want to agree to get involved in the first place, which has surely got to say something about it as well.
And some people said “We want to make sure this gets made”, and went far above and beyond anything we might have expected anyone to pledge, in order to do that.
At the time that I’m writing this post, the Kickstarter campaign hasn’t quite yet finished, but we’ve just managed to nudge above a landmark figure of £5,000 raised. That’s five thousand pounds that people thought was worth spending on seeing this happen, based on nothing more than our plot outlines, our descriptions of what we wanted to do with the series, and a silly five-minute promo sketch with a couple of half-decent jokes in it, recorded in my living room on my laptop with an embroidery hoop and a pair of tights used as a microphone shield.
Even if there are no more backers between my writing this and the campaign finishing, then almost 150 people have said “Yeah, we want to hear this. Impress us.” Every single one of those people – even the ones that have known us since we were children – have decided that they have some measure of faith in us as comedy writers.
It’s my thirtieth birthday today. I’ve got a pretty damned good reason to celebrate.