Summer in Orcus

by T. Kingfisher

The best thing about my patrons was that they wanted everyone to read it. They didn’t want a story just for them, they wanted to donate money to give a book to the world. And since the year that I am writing to you from was—well, let’s say it was a very bad year for the world—because it was a serial, I could put out extra chapters on the worst days so that my readers could get a few minutes away from the news. It’s not often that you get a chance to help people with fiction in real-time. Even if it’s just five minutes of respite, even if it’s just a weird little story about hoopoes and wolves. So many of us right then felt like we were bailing the tide, like the world was breaking beyond any of our ability to fix. (I hope that when some of you read this, we are in a far happier future.) That my patrons had helped me be at a place, right at that moment, where I could do even this little tiny thing…that was a gift that can’t be measured in dollar figures. For them, and for you, I’m grateful.