To Merch or Not To Merch: When Your Characters Create Their Own Swag
It started with Theodore Maxim.
In The Shepherd Descends, Maxim is the Wildcards' communications specialist who livestreams humanity's first interstellar mission to the public. He's all about transparency, sharing every moment with the solar system. And in one scene, as they're preparing for this historic journey, he hastily creates merchandise—a "First Contact Tour 2087" t-shirt.
I wrote that line, sat back, and thought: Damn. I want that shirt.
Not in a "wouldn't it be nice" way, but in a "I need this to exist in the real world" way. So I did what any reasonable person would do—I designed it and had one printed for myself.
The Descent into Merch Madness
The design process was more fun than I expected. What would Maxim's hastily-created shirt look like? It couldn't be too polished—he's on a ship hurtling toward an alien encounter, not sitting in a design studio. But it also had to be cool enough that his audience across the solar system would actually want one.
I went with something that felt authentic to the story: clean typography listing it like a real tour shirt—
First Contact 2087
March 2087
Vesta | L5 Station | Phobos
Alien Ship - FINAL SHOW
It's perfect. The three launch points are like venue stops on a tour, and then the destination is the "FINAL SHOW"—because what could be more final than meeting an alien intelligence? It captures Maxim's dark humor and the insane audacity of treating humanity's most important moment like a rock tour.
When my test shirt arrived and I put it on, something weird happened. I felt like I was wearing a piece of my own fictional universe. Not official merchandise from a published book—this was deeper. This was an artifact from a world that only existed in my manuscript and my imagination.
The Tacky Question
But then came the doubt spiral.
Am I George Lucas selling action figures before the movie's even out? Is it tacky to offer merchandise for a book that isn't even published yet? Will people think I'm more interested in selling t-shirts than telling stories?
The traditional publishing world would certainly frown. You're supposed to wait until you have a "platform," until the book is out, until you've "earned" the right to merchandise. There's an unspoken hierarchy—first you succeed, then you sell shirts.
But I keep coming back to Maxim. He didn't wait for official approval. He saw a moment—humanity racing toward first contact—and thought people would want to commemorate it. He created something for the people following the journey in real-time, not for some future audience after everything was settled and safe.
The Uncertain Decision
So I made the uncertain decision to offer them through my website. Even typing that sentence makes me second-guess myself. Part of me cringes—it feels presumptuous, premature, possibly pretentious.
But another part of me thinks: why not? If someone reads my blog posts about The Shepherd Descends, connects with the story of three competing factions learning to cooperate, and thinks "I'd wear that shirt"—why shouldn't they be able to?
It's not like I'm pushing them. They're just... there. On the website. If you want one.
The Meta-Merch Paradox
What's really messing with my head is the meta nature of it all. This is merchandise that exists within my story, created by a character who believes in radical transparency and sharing the journey as it happens. By making these shirts real, am I:
Honoring Maxim's philosophy of openness and inclusion?
Engaging in exactly the kind of commercialization the Wildcards were rebelling against?
Overthinking a simple t-shirt?
Probably all three.
The Community Aspect
Here's what tipped me toward "yes"—merchandise isn't just about money (and honestly, print-on-demand margins are laughable). It's about community. It's about that "if you know, you know" moment.
When someone sees your shirt, most people will just see a cool tour design. But a few—the ones who've been following the blog, who know about the Wildcards racing toward first contact, who understand why Maxim would make this joke in the face of the infinite—they'll know. That moment of recognition, that silent nod between people who share a story, that's worth more than any profit margin.
And you get to say, "It's from this incredible story about humanity's first contact with aliens, where three rival factions have to learn to work together, and there's this character who livestreams the whole thing..."
You become part of spreading the story. The shirt becomes a conversation starter, a signal to others who might be interested in this kind of narrative.
Still Second-Guessing
Am I completely comfortable with this decision? No.
Do I check the website analytics to see if anyone's even looked at the merchandise page? Yes.
Do I imagine established authors rolling their eyes at my presumption? Absolutely.
But I also think about Maxim, floating in the Icarus, broadcasting everything—the triumphs, the failures, the uncertain moments—to anyone who wants to witness the journey. He didn't wait for permission. He didn't worry about looking foolish. He just thought people might want to be part of something historic, even if that participation was just wearing a shirt.
The Verdict (For Now)
So the shirts are there. On the website. Not promoted, not pushed, just... available. Like a small act of faith that somewhere out there, someone else might read about humanity's desperate race to first contact and think, "I want to wear that story."
Maybe it's tacky. Maybe it's premature. Maybe it's exactly the kind of thing that makes traditional publishers cringe.
Or maybe it's just Maxim's philosophy bleeding through from fiction into reality—share the journey, include everyone who wants to be included, and don't wait for official approval to commemorate something meaningful.
I'm still not sure. But I'm wearing my "First Contact Tour 2087" shirt as I type this, and it makes me smile every time I catch my reflection.
Sometimes that's enough.
Yes, the "First Contact Tour 2087" shirts are real and available on the website. No, I'm not entirely comfortable with that fact. Yes, I'm keeping them up anyway. Theodore Maxim would approve.
