About four years ago, shortly after running our second local Tsunami GameDay event, I floated the term “TsunamiCon” onto the world stage via the auspices of our RPG podcast Metagamers Anonymous. It was kind of intended to get a rise out of my co-hosts, who were already reeling from the high-energy output necessary to make a GameDay happen… and my insistence on treating a day of tabletop gaming for 20 or 30 people like a major event. Everyone laughed nervously and rolled their eyes a bit, certain that ol’ Erik was just reaching well outside the bounds of reality.
Even if you’ve never run a major event, or even contemplated it, there are a few things which you can reasonably assume:
- It’s complicated. There are obviously a organizational details and planning exercises involved, and you have to know where to start.
- It’s questionable. Just because 30 people show up to a free GameDay, what makes you think you can get a couple hundred gamers to pay for the privilege? And doesn’t advertising cost money?
- And it’s expensive. Clearly, it takes a solid wad of cash to put something significant together.
The first point is inevitably true, and this is where my radio background has served me well. I’ve helped organize – and often spearheaded – numerous events over the years, from concerts to cooking shows to variety shows at the local park. I’ve also been firmly in the driver’s seat when it comes to marketing, so I’m no stranger to the art of promoting an event. And as for the cash… well, I wasn’t the first to use Kickstarter to fund a convention, but I definitely felt like a pioneer.
The real secret of my success is in that first paragraph, however. I figured it out a long time ago, when I was touring the Midwestern bar scene as part of a blues band. You see, real blues fans are kind of an exclusive crowd. Sometimes, you’d land somewhere and pack a tiny club with enthusiastic locals; at other times, you’d be lucky to have half a dozen folks in the audience. But both kinds of gigs had something in common… the audience was full of people who loved the blues. So whether you played for six or sixty, you got up there and jammed out like it was the freakin’ Hippodrome.
In short, any event worth doing is worth doing to the best of your ability. Last year our attendance ran at about 220 people, not counting volunteers, guests, and staff. Not particularly large by convention standards, though given that a gaming con is about hanging out all day long playing games, it sure feels busy. And I’ve had a chance to visit with other small convention organizers, and you guys’ll be happy to know that our numbers for the first two years compare very well indeed. But my point is this… even if you’re game con has only 200 people, it’s your job to treat it like there are 2000.
Details are important to me. Impressing people with a world-class experience is important to me. Not just because I want them to come back next year, but because I want the folks in our gaming community to feel like they’ve had a chance to do something awesome. To have an experience that’s both fulfilling and memorable. To be fair, we struggle to raise enough capital to have a convention at all… but I could easily sink another $10,000 into our con just to make it shine. Just to make the experience that much better for everyone involved.
So the secret is this… If you want to do something BIG, do it right. If you find yourself looking at the details and going, “that’s just too much work”… buckle up and do it anyway. Don’t cut corners, don’t over-promise and under-deliver, and don’t shy away from a cool idea just because it sounds complicated. Take risks, and understand that the reward is the undertaking itself. The rest will come in time.
Oh… and back my Kickstarter, would ya? Thanks.