#taylor conroy

At least the wind had stopped blowing. Ian had swept the snow off of the park bench he’d taken shelter on before sitting down on it, but he could still feel his jeans and the back of his coat getting soaked through. He’d pulled his legs up to his chest to conserve warmth, but at this point it was no longer doing any good.

Maybe his dad really did want him to freeze to death.

Today was Ian’s birthday, but that did not change in the slightest the fact that it was a bad fucking day.

It hadn’t even started out right. He’d woken up this morning (or rather, dragged himself out of bed, semi-conscious and uncertain if he’d gotten anything restful enough to be called “sleep”) feeling sick, but gotten ready for school anyways and jogged out the door barely on time. He hadn’t ridden his bike, because he could hear Dad talking to someone out in the garage from the hallway, and he really didn’t want to go in there and interrupt whatever was going on, so he grabbed his coat and his earbuds and resigned himself to being late.

One of his fucking ear buds broke on the walk there, so there was that. So much for carefully arranging the balance settings in stereo for the best amount of bass versus treble versus mids, because all he could fucking hear now was treble.

He walked in to find out he had enough tardies to equal an unexcused absence, and that admin would be sending his dad a letter and a request to schedule a parent-teacher meeting about attendance. Fan-fucking-tastic.

He missed a quiz first period, used fourth period to scribble down homework he’d completely forgotten, and spent lunch sleeping in the corner of the shop classroom. By the time he headed home to grab his bike for work, his head was throbbing and his sore throat and sniffles were definitely turning into a full-blown cold.

And then he was locked out. He called his dad twice, then texted him a few times after that, but no response. It wasn’t like he was expecting one anyways. He found his manager’s number on his phone and called out.

Then he wandered around for a bit, got kicked out of the corner store, and ended up on the park bench with his school backpack and a dying phone, freezing to death in slow motion. 

He felt like his organs were going to rattle apart with how violently he was shivering now. He should probably stand up a bit, move around, get his blood pumping and stomp his feet a little to ward the frostbite off his toes. He didn’t want to. Instead, he buried himself a little deeper into his coat, rested his forehead on his knees, and closed his eyes. 

He didn’t want to go home. He didn’t want to go to school tomorrow. He didn’t want to try to explain to his manager why he called out again, and he didn’t want to have to deal with his dad. He didn’t want to think anymore. He just wanted everything to stop.

Everything was bullshit and he was so, so tired.

His phone buzzed and he pulled it out to glance at the screen. 

TC: You still there? 

We’re right in front, by your house

Ian tapped back a quick “k” and uncurled himself, pushing to his feet and grabbing his bag. The movement and a gust of cold air made his stomach lurch and sent fresh stabs through his skull, but he closed his eyes for a second until it passed, then shouldered his bag and headed toward the front of the park.

Lauren Conroy drove a small silver SUV that was just old enough to look like a mom car. Ian saw the puff of exhaust from the tailpipe and the glow of the headlights cutting through the dimness the second he crested the hill, and something in him gave a little sigh, collapsing into tired relief.

He shuffled down toward them, shoes scuffing and sliding against the icy sidewalk, and then he was there, frigid fingers bumping clumsily against the handle of the back passenger side door, pulling it open, shoving his backpack and then himself inside. Lauren was in the driver’s seat and Taylor was in the back, pulling his backpack out of the way, stabbing the buttons that turned up the heat.

“Good god. Taylor, grab that blanket in the back and give it to him.”

Before he could react, Taylor was reaching past him and dragging the lengths of a soft, heavy comforter from behind the seats. Lauren twisted in her seat, dragging it around and over him as far as she could reach, and directing Taylor to do the same.

“How long have you been out there?” she asked, an edge in her voice.

Ian pulled the rest of the blanket over him so that it covered everything but his head. “Since four-ish.”

Lauren froze and stared back at him. “Since four?”

Ian nodded.

Lauren muttered something under her breath that he couldn’t hear. “Have you eaten?” she asked, louder.

“Not yet.” The words slurred a little, Ian’s lips and tongue stiff from the cold.

“Christ.” Lauren’s expression was lethal. She took the car out of park and pulled into the street, heading towards the edge of the neighborhood. “Taylor, my phone. Look up an Ihop or something. Someplace we can eat inside.”

“Got it.”

The car was so warm it almost hurt. The heater was blowing at full strength now, deafening, and the seat warmers were on full blast. Ian sank into the seat and pulled the blanket as tightly around him as he could, still shivering and sniffling so that his nose wouldn’t start running from the heat.

Lauren glanced back through the rearview mirror. “Are you sick?”

“Yeah. A little.”

“You look awful. Taylor, there’s some Tylenol in my purse, and there should be an extra water bottle back there still.”

“Yeah, got it.”

Taylor handed over the water and Tylenol, and Ian took two of them, then enveloped himself in the blanket again. Lauren glanced back at him once, then again.

Then finally, “I can not believe he left you out there.”

Ian half-shrugged. “It’s fine. It’s happened before.”

Wrong thing to say. Lauren looked furious. “This has happened before?”

Ian dropped his gaze, not in the mood to meet her angry stare. “Yeah, once. Wasn’t this cold though.”

“Of course not, because you would have--” she cut herself off and huffed out a breath, tugging on her ponytail.

Would have frozen to death. Ian knew. They all knew.

Lauren didn’t say it, though. When he looked up, there was a misty sheen in her eyes and the muted anger on her face was mixed with regret. “Sorry, kiddo. I’m just--” she broke off again. “Let’s just go get some food in you.”

The car fell silent, and for a moment, the only sound was the gps’s electronic monotone spitting out directions.

Ian didn’t speak up again until the feeling came back into his fingers with a rush of tingling and pain. “Thanks for picking me up,” he said.

“It’s the least I could do, kiddo. The very, very least.”

No one said anything else until they arrived at the restaurant. Lauren sent them both inside to find a booth, saying she had to make a call, so they went ahead without her.

“What even happened?” Taylor asked over his menu, once they’d gotten in and sat down. “Was there a fight or something?”

Ian shrugged. “No. Don’t think so. Guess he was just done.”

“That’s…” Taylor shook his head, struggling for words. “That’s so crazy.”

“Yeah.” Ian didn’t really want to think about it anymore. “Does your mom care what we get?”

“No, get whatever you want.” Taylor watched him over the menu. “You know you can stay at our house if you want to, right?”

Something inside him twisted. “We already talked about that. You guys live too far away from my school.”

“My mom says she might be able to make the drive before work. Me and Fletcher are almost finished saving for a car, so she wouldn’t have to bring us and Jackie to school.”

Ian hesitated, looking at him. He wanted it. He wanted it so badly. Living someplace where he knew he wouldn’t get screamed at for no reason or locked out without warning, where he liked people he lived with and they didn’t wish he was dead--living someplace normal. It sounded good. Too good to be something within his reach. “I… my dad--”

“Hey, boys! We order yet?” Lauren’s voice, bright and cheery, interrupted him as she swept into view. Taylor scooted to the side and she dropped into the booth next to him, picking up the third menu. Her eyes were rimmed in red, but her smile was genuine and almost defiant.

“Not yet,” Taylor said.

“Well? Come on! Ian, order whatever you want, I’m paying. Are we getting milkshakes? I’m getting a milkshake.”

Ian did get a milkshake. And a breakfast skillet. And hashbrowns. And crepes slathered with fruit and whipped cream. And Lauren didn’t so much as raise an eyebrow, just slapped on an order of birthday pancakes and handed back her menu.

Taylor ordered just as much as he did, and Lauren sat back with her milkshake and strawberry French Toast, watching them converse with a satisfied look on her face.

After they’d finished devouring the last of the dessert pancakes, Lauren glanced at her phone. “Sorry to break up the party, but we have to get going if we’re gonna pick you up a toothbrush before we head home. I told your dad you were staying over.”

Ian narrowed his eyes, wary. “What did he say?”

“He said it was fine, of course. You’re staying for the rest of the week, at least.”

The rest of the week? “Wait, really? He was fine with that?”

“Oh, he was more than fine,” Lauren said, glibly. 

Ian stared at her, disbelieving. “He was more than fine?”

“I’m guessing he wants me to go easy once the court proceedings are underway.”

Wait. What? “What court proceedings?”

Lauren looked at Taylor. “You didn’t tell him?”

Taylor shrugged. “Didn’t get the chance.”

Ian frowned. “The chance to tell me what?”

Lauren reached into her purse and pulled out a stack of neatly stapled papers, set them on the table, and slid them over. “The reason we were in town.”

Ian picked them up and read the lettering at the top. He suddenly couldn’t breathe. “Petition for... guardianship?” he read aloud, voice tight. “What are-- are you serious?”

Lauren nodded solemnly. “We’ve talked about it enough. You’ve said plenty of times that you wanted to go ahead.”

“Is that why you called me yesterday?”

Lauren’s face softened. “Yeah. And you told me that it was just your--”

“--my dad,” Ian finished. “He’d never agree. How did you…?”

Lauren grinned slightly. “I talked to him last week. I was very convincing. And he knows we have a case. Seems like he doesn’t want trouble.”

Ian stared down at the papers again, clenching his teeth against the lump growing in his throat. “So that’s it? He’s giving me up?”

“That’s what he’s saying right now. But if he changes his mind and we have to fight for it, we will. If you still want it.” 

It was all suddenly too much. Ian’s vision blurred and his breath shuddered, and he pressed the heels of his palms into his eyes to block the tears that had sprung from nowhere, but then he was gasping and he felt arms around him, holding him tight and warm.

“Do you still want it?” He heard Lauren ask him, voice quiet and full of emotion he couldn’t quantify.

He felt everything inside of him unravel as he nodded, letting her hug him and leaning into the embrace. “Yes,” he said. His voice sounded choked, but he didn’t care. “I want to.”

Her arms tightened around him, every so slightly. “I guess that’s it then. Happy birthday, Ian.”

But Change Heroes does more than raise money to build schools, and it does more than hit up your friends. It helps you communicate in a highly effective way, with a method based on the work of Robert Cialdini, the author of “Influence: Science and Practice.”

First, the startup’s crowdfunding platform helps you make and send 10-second videos to every friend on your list. While the novelty of video may eventually fade, very few projects do it now, and cinematic outreach has a better chance of affecting the emotions of potential backers than boilerplate copy. The videos are personalized, so there's no hint of automation hovering over them, unlike email. For about 30 friends, Change Heroes says you’ll spend about three hours making the videos, each one a personal invitation to back your cause.

That may seem like a lot of time, but having a committed group of backers from day one is worth the effort. It lends your campaign the early momentum it'll need to inspire backers you don’t know personally, and to attract media attention. Projects whose funds languish in the double digits days after launch are first pitied, then ignored.

We’ve discussed the medium. Now let’s talk message. In this talk, Conroy dissects how he learned to communicate in ways that motivate backers, providing this text message as an example:

The words in black type are mine. Many, but not all, of the ideas come from Cialdini. Let’s go through them one by one, starting at 10 o’clock:

Liking: This may seem obvious, but people respond better to those they like. So instead of nagging potential backers or telling them what you need, reach out to people who like you, and then emphasize your connection. Remind them why they liked you in the first place, and explain how this project is, essentially, your baby: an outgrowth of your life and thought. Personalize the communication. At the very beginning of a campaign, this will probably involve writing unique, individual messages to people whose support you want. The more you give to them, they more they will want to give to you.

Social proof/Group mentality: Me, you and everyone we know (including Miranda July) look to others for cues on how to behave. Group action confers importance. We depend on the behavior of others to guide our own, allowing peer pressure to steer our actions both consciously and unconsciously, for good and evil. That was the idea behind the 1927 song “Fifty Million Frenchmen Can’t Be Wrong,” as well as countless advertising campaigns that use trendsetting celebrities to prove a product’s desirability. What’s important to note, though, is that the more your backers identify with the social group cited, the more powerful its influence. Friends and family work better than Frenchmen, for your purposes. Mais oui!

Commitment: Change Heroes uses powerful implicit assumptions to drive home the idea that “we are going to do something together.” They're not asking if you want to. They're assuming you do, and that makes you want to. Presented with an inevitability, more people join than resist, especially when it’s for a good cause.

Tangible Outcome: One of the problems with charity in particular, and marketing in general, is people don’t fully understand what they are being asked to do, or why it matters. Often, the goals presented are too abstract. In fact, a lot of money that goes to charity ends up being spent on advertising and overhead, rather than good works. But concrete goals can be powerful motivators. In Change Heroes' case, they promise to build a school and educate 1,000 kids with your money. A physical object, a larger objective and a precise headcount. Some crowdfunded projects help you sleep, others aid creative work. Make sure you talk about the concrete thing, the people it helps, and the purpose it serves. 

Micro-Giving: Donations are like chores. If you break them down into small pieces, they’re more understandable and doable. Ask someone to give $300 and they may think they can’t afford it. Ask them to give $3.33 per day, as Change Heroes does, and the cost may seem within range. 

Reciprocation: This is one of the most powerful of Cialdini’s ideas. You’ll have to read his book to get a fuller picture. The gist is that humans like to settle their debts and fulfill their obligations. No one wants to be the jerk who tells his friends to screw off, or leaves his family to fend for themselves. He owes them something. Change Heroes’ take on this idea is interesting, because most North Americans don’t owe African children anything, not in the strict sense. But on a moral level, it’s easy to argue that every child should have the opportunity to go to school, and in that light, Change Heroes calls them “deserving.” Those kids deserve something, and we are the ones who can give it to them. How you make use of this idea, of course, will depend on the goals and ideals your project serves. 

Recognition: While a lot of marketing is focused on gadgets and features, many of the benefits that users derive from their purchases and donations are social. It is the glow of being involved with something worthwhile, doing good, living a life with purpose and serving a larger cause. Whether that cause is art, justice or third-world education, often the best way to give your backers the full benefit of their donation is to give them a place in a Hall of Fame, or otherwise thank them publicly. Change Heroes did it in their first text message, and they continue to do it on their website.