Why? Our technological prowess and scientific understanding of the universe is increasing exponentially. New manufacturing methods, including 3D printing, are dramatically reducing the cost of physical production. We grow more food and generate more power than ever before. Even spaceflight is undergoing a revolution in capability and cost, with systems like the SpaceX Falcon 9 and Falcon Heavy already 20X to 40X less expensive than the Space Shuttle.

According to a 2017 article in Scientific American, “Most scholars agree the percentage of people who die violent war-related deaths has plummeted through history; and that proportionally violent deaths decline as populations become increasingly large and organized.”

True, we are a species with violent tendencies, and we don’t always have others’ best interests at heart, but we can learn. We have been learning, changing, and growing. And our narratives can either support the advancement of humane and rational values or undermine them. We can tell stories of how to succeed, or of how our failures and ultimate doom are inevitable.

In January of 2018, I decided to make a noise in favor of hope. That’s the origin of DreamForge Magazine.

I sat down one day and started typing; I wrote a manifesto of sorts, a bit of a business plan, and handed it to my wife, Jane. Her eyes might have been a bit teary when she was done reading, either because she “got it,” or because I scared her to death by outlining the adventure we were about to undertake.

You see, we knew nothing about publishing. Our background is in computer game development, software development, web design, and marketing. For the last 20 years we’ve owned an agency now called Chroma Studios, located near Pittsburgh, Pennsylvania. If we had sense, we’d be getting ready to retire, not risking capital, resources, and time tilting at windmills.

My only practical defense was “Well, I didn’t spend money on a mid-life crisis; let’s do this.”

Next step, call Jane Lindskold—bestselling author, accomplished Fantasy and SF writer, PhD and former professor of English, the author of over twenty-five novels, including the Firekeeper Saga, the Breaking the Wall series, and the Artemis Awakening series, yes, THAT Jane Lindskold. (I say it like that because it embarrasses her when I do.) We’ve known Jane Lindskold since 1995, when we worked together with her and Roger Zelazny on the award-winning computer game Chronomaster. 

I just went ahead and asked, “You want to help me make a new science fiction and fantasy magazine?” I remember her immediate response as something like “Hmm… well, I guess that’s what friends are for.”

An hour later the emails started coming in from Jane L.  Ideas. Recommendations. Random thoughts. I turned to my wife, Jane N. and said, “I think we got her.”

Next on the list was Mark Zingarelli, another old family friend who happens to be an award-winning illustrator, cartoonist, journalist, author, educator, and lecturer whose work has appeared in many major magazines, including The New Yorker. “Hey, Mark, what do you think of this idea?”

And the circle started to expand. Everyone was very supportive. Amazingly so. Including our crew back at the day job. It takes a village to launch a magazine.

The only negative was that no one liked the name I had chosen: Absolute Infinity. There have been so many science fiction and fantasy magazines over the years that it’s hard to find a good moniker for the masthead. Then it hit me: DreamForge!

Dreamforge Intertainment was the computer game company where I met both Janes and we all worked together on Chronomaster. It was from Dreamforge that we knew illustrators, writers, and old teammates who could contribute directly or help us spread the word. Since the gaming company and its trademark had been defunct since 2001, we adopted the name.  DreamForge Press, LLC and DreamForge Magazine filed for corporate papers.

Then the real work began: a second, uncompensated job for Jane and I, not to mention the incredible contributions of our co-conspirators, friends, and family, who pitched in with little to sustain them beyond faith in our efforts and our crazy idea. That’s a lot of pressure once you get people’s hopes up.

We attended the Nebula Awards in Pittsburgh. Then we assembled a test magazine, a mockup, and took it to ConGregate 5 in North Carolina. We met people like Scott Edelman (who has written for both Marvel and DC comics and was the founding and sole editor of Science Fiction Age magazine), Pablo Defendini, publisher and designer at Fireside Magazine, Neil Clarke of Clarkesworld, the Hugo award-winning SF and Fantasy magazine, Scott H. Andrews of Beneath Ceaseless Skies, along with writers like David Weber, Paul Dellinger, Michael R. Underwood, and Barbara Barnett.

I could easily write a thousand words about our encounters with each one of these amazing people. All were supportive and extraordinarily generous with their time and expertise.

From Neil Clarke I heard “The next time I see you, I want to know what you learned and how much money you lost. Because you will lose money, but whether you learn and what you learn, that’s the important thing.”

From Scott H. Andrews, “5,000 subscribers? Oh no, you’re going to be lucky to get 500.  You’re a new magazine without a history. No one knows you.”

Does that sound negative? It’s not. These editors were taking us seriously and helping us newbies about to embark upon one of the biggest adventures of our lives. They engaged with us about the rigors of editing, publishing, and budgeting. When my wife asked Scott H. Andrews why he was being so forthcoming and supportive (not something you typically see in the competitive business world of our day jobs), he pointed across the room to Neil Clarke and said “See that guy? He helped me get started. I’ll help you. You help the next ones. That’s how it works.”

At each convention, as our contacts with the science fiction and fantasy world deepened, this “Pay It Forward” attitude seemed ubiquitous.  No, publishers aren’t going to give you a book deal because you asked nicely, and the most well-meaning editor can’t take time to critique your story between panels, but perhaps nowhere else in our adult lives have we seen so much conscious and organized community good will. It was humbling.

One of our goals was to pay professional rates for fiction and pay on acceptance. So, we put some money together and put out a limited call for stories. We did so quietly, passing the word from friend to friend, writer to writer, without much fuss.

We didn’t know what to expect or how well we would do in the review and selection process, so we tried to keep it on the q.t.  Even when we published a call for stories on our website, we did so with a minimum of fanfare, learning the ropes one story at a time.

That didn’t last long. The word spread further and faster than we would ever have imagined. Soon, hundreds of stories started to come in from all over the world. Literally. Denmark and Finland, Morocco and South Africa, Italy and Greece, Russia, China, and India.

Our goal was to fill our first two issues and add a few online stories. Our budget would let us green light maybe 10 to 15% of what was coming in. We’ve all heard of the “slush pile,” that collection of manuscripts from new and inexperienced writers that may hold gems but is largely represented by unreadable drivel.

Guess what? We didn’t see it. Today’s writers represent their craft well.

The large majority of what we received was done with consideration, intelligence, and heart. We quickly went from “I hope we find a publishable story in here somewhere,” to “Wow, how are we going to choose?” The most common reason we didn’t pick a story was simply that someone else wrote something better, or at least something we found more to our liking or the purpose of the magazine.

One of our favorite stories in Issue #1 is entitled “The Old Man Who Hid Music” by Tom Sheehan. When I attempted to buy it, I received an unexpected email that made light of my contract and, to paraphrase, went something like “I’m 91 years old and I’m not going to read this thing or agree to whatever it says.”

I was taken aback. (FYI, our contracts are based on a model put forth by the Science Fiction Writers of America, so I don’t doubt their fairness to the authors.) Mr. Sheehan simply did not care for legalese. Now, Tom’s was a very well-written tale of the kind the average 91-year-old does not pull off the typewriter on an average Tuesday, so I reasoned I must be dealing with someone who is somebody and I was operating at a disadvantage. So, I did a search. 

My next email started something like “Would you be the accomplished and venerable Tom Sheehan of Saugus, MA, author of over 35 books and 33-time Pushcart nominee who only last summer published an anthology of western short stories in Catch a Wagon to the Stars?” 

Tom’s answer shot back “Why, yes I am the venerable and accomplished Tom Sheehan,” and finished with “I have a good feeling about you, Scot, and I wanted you to have this story.” We came to a deal soon after.

All of which leads me to ask, with the world growing richer, more empowered by science and the Enlightenment ideals of reason and freedom, and with people in it as caring, determined, and generous as those we had been meeting and who were supporting us – why do we tell ourselves it’s all going to heck in a handbasket?

In saying that, I advocate neither for rose-colored glasses nor for a Pollyannaish attitude that “everything will be all right.” But instead of taps, I want to hear the horns and trumpets of a rousing call to action. We are the engineers and the artists, the dreamers and the ultimate arbiters of meaning and destiny in the universe. Let’s get to it!

Hope, after all, is not an illusion; it’s simply a perspective backed by engagement with the world, whatever the condition of the world may be. Like the crew of the Enterprise in Star Trek, we don’t expect everyone to share our values, only that we will engage them with ours, and in the course of so doing, possibly, just possibly, win a better future.

A crazy idea? Perhaps. But to quote my new favorite starship captain, Christopher Pike of the Discovery “Wherever our mission takes us, we’ll try to have a little fun along the way too.”

And so, we invite you to come along with us. Be bold. Have hope. And enjoy the ride!

Your humble publisher and editor,

                                                      Scot