Offer a Name to the Story
A darkly playful invitation to place a name into the machinery of the story — where imagination lasts longer than spectacle ever could.
Every February, some zoos offer a darkly playful Valentine’s tradition: for a small donation, you can name a bug, rodent, or snack after an ex or enemy—and watch it get fed to something with teeth. This project borrows the idea, not the act. There is no livestream here. No viewing window. You don’t get to watch. I go one better—I write about it. What happens to the name you offer unfolds on the page, where imagination lingers longer than spectacle ever could.
You don’t get to watch what happens to the name you offer. That’s intentional. If you’re curious, if you’re uneasy, if part of you wants to know how it ends—that tension is the point. Horror doesn’t need an audience. It only needs a moment, a name, and the certainty that something will happen when no one is looking.
As part of supporting the continued creation of the First Responder series—specifically Hemoglobin Insecure and Book Four (Title TBD)—a limited number of readers are invited to offer a name to the story. If selected, I will shape the character myself: their dress, posture, habits, mannerisms, and the small human details that make them feel briefly real before the narrative does what it does best. You’re welcome to include hints or suggestions—a profession, a style of clothing, a nervous tell, a general vibe—but these are suggestions only. I retain full creative control, always.
Ten Total Slots
This offering is strictly limited to ten (10) characters total, across the First Responder series, beginning with Hemoglobin Insecure and continuing into Book Four (Title TBD). Once those ten slots are filled, the offering closes. Names may appear immediately, later, or at moments chosen for maximum narrative effect. Inclusion does not guarantee prominence, survival, dignity, or timing. Fate, not fairness, decides.
Participation in the Machinery
For a contribution of $69.00 U.S., you may submit a real or fictional name to a controlled pool. If selected, that name may surface as a victim, casualty, background loss, or otherwise unfortunate presence. These are not point-of-view characters, heroes, or recurring figures unless the story demands it. This is not a raffle and not a request service—it is participation in the machinery of the story.
No Viewing Window
Participants will not be able to observe events as they occur. There will be no clips, no play-by-play, no confirmation beyond the words on the page. The scene will exist only in the book, shaped by tone, restraint, and psychological weight. If your name appears, you’ll recognize it. If it hasn’t appeared yet, you’ll wonder when it might. That uncertainty is intentional.
Some names disappear quickly. Others wait. If yours hasn’t surfaced yet, that doesn’t mean it’s been spared—it means it’s being held. Stories have patience. I do too.
Publicly Acknowledged
Accepted character names will be acknowledged publicly as part of the process. This includes social media posts, a brief explanatory blurb within both Hemoglobin Insecure and Book Four (Title TBD), and a dedicated page on the author’s website at www.peggylanders.com. Contributors may request anonymity if preferred. Names may be altered slightly for fictional consistency, and all submissions are subject to approval for suitability and narrative fit.
Questions / Submissions
Questions, submissions, or requests for clarification may be directed to the author directly at:
Fiction, Symbolism, and Support
This project is meant to be darkly playful, unsettling in the way horror should be, and firmly rooted in fiction. No real person is being harmed, targeted, or reenacted. No animals or insects are involved in reality. All characters and events are fictional, and any resemblance to living or dead persons is entirely coincidental. Participation is voluntary, symbolic, and for entertainment and artistic support only.
You offered a name.
The story will decide the rest.
This is not a spectacle. It is a slow-burning place in the narrative reserved for those willing to step close to the page and leave something behind.