Page 52 of The Hard Launch

He screencasts to the big monitor from his phone. It’s another LinkedIn video from our buddies over at Tooity. This time they’re looking somber.

“Hey gang,” one of them says.

“What up, Sunday Scaries crew,” the other one adds.

“We just want to do a little update here. It’s been a while since we were online. We missed you guys.”

“We’ve been busy. You know what we were busy with. A big-time partnership and trying to lock in our Series C. Founder life, you know?”

“And because we’re always sharing our many wins with you all, we want to be candid.”

“For real. Radically.”

“Our huge partnership blew up last week. And then our funding went along with it.”

“It’s true. The sad truth is, we’re going to be shutting Tooity down over the next month.”

They look in the camera for a beat, with very sad eyes.

Then, “But we know this is part of startup life. It’s the risk we’re all taking. And that’s why we’re really pumped to be launching our new podcast tomorrow morning.”

“It’s called The Shutdown, where we’ll be sharing the story of closing down our company, while also talking to other founders who’ve had the same experience. We hope you’ll subscribe.”

“First episode drops tomorrow. Our special guest will be a therapist who specializes in founder grief. You can find it wherever you get your podcasts.”

“Those guys are so fucked up. I sort of love them,” Trevor declares when it’s over.

“Are they seriously monetizing their failure?” Lacey asks.

“This is great for us,” Dave says, thinking of the market share. He and the rest of the people present turn to me. “Isn’t it?”

And the truth is, I don’t know.

It’s good to be in a less crowded space. One fewer competitor for prospects to compare us with. Plus all existing Tooity customers will now be looking for a home, and Lettercat— with our new platform ready to purchase —will certainly benefit from that.

But what I’ve learned about VCs and getting funding is, they’re fine with risk when it’s on an unknown. They’re happy to be called geniuses for a lucky bet, and it’s easy to write off failure as an unlucky one. And if there’s a trend, they’ll all follow it. That means one successful AI healthcare company guarantees funding for twenty-six other AI healthcare startups.

Conversely, it means that when one newsletter startup tanks, there’s a much rougher road ahead for any other newsletter-plus-so-much-more startup. Which is problematic for anyone currently looking to close another round.

Like maybe we just won a battle, but the war thing is not looking so great.

“Let’s just focus on getting the release out,” I say.

It’s pretty normal for Lacey and I to be the last people in the office these days, but it’s not normal for us to leave together and walk to Gochiso and pick up dinner like two hand-holding zombies in laptop backpacks. I show her around my apartment, and she says if my design aesthetic goal was “corporate housing,” I nailed it. Since we don’t have to worry about our food getting cold, there’s time for an in-depth tour of my bedroom. We eat sushi in our pajamas.

Am I happy?

I’d be happier if there weren’t so many things I was trying not to think about.

One, I haven’t heard from Edmund this weekend, not about the release or about the Tooity situation. There’s no chance he doesn’t know about it; he probably knew before the hosts of The Shutdown did.

Two, we still don’t have a green light on the release, and while I know we’ll push something tomorrow, the scope and the quality are not quite what I presented to the board. It’s slim and it’s decent. I’ve overpromised and underdelivered, which means I’m at their mercy. If they want to be pleased with me, it’ll be great. If they want to find a problem, they won’t have to look too long.

Three, it’s very likely Lacey’s going to give notice in a couple of weeks. If she goes, she’s going to throw herself into this new company with the same amount of passion she’s had for Lettercat. That means I won’t see much of her anymore.

Though maybe I’ll have a lot of free time between sessions with my founder grief counselor.

I don’t really sleep all night because I’m dreading tomorrow.