Rosemary Kirstein

I’ve just started up a Patreon account…  Let me tell you about it.

Since you’re here reading this, you already know me as the author of the Steerswoman series  (four books so far: The Steerswoman, The Outskirter’s Secret, The Lost Steersman, and The Language of Power).

And you probably already know that I’ve been stalled on Book 5 and Book 6 for, um, some time now.  (Let’s not go into why and how and what’s up, right now.)

But one result of a writer being stalled: no new books = no new income.  And royalties vary.  Now, I lead a simple, fairly frugal life… but with no new works published, and royalties from book sales varying widely, and the cost of everything in the universe going up — things can get tight.  A little extra income would make a big difference.

It’s a problem for lots of creative artists.   But here in the 21st century, there are also creative solutions!

How about a Kickstarter? many people have suggested.  Or Patreon?  Or Substack?  Or [insert name of your favorite subscription platform]?

Well… Kickstarter is sort of all-or-nothing. If you don’t hit your mark, you lose. It’s risky and daunting–  and in my case, guaranteed to cause the Muse to skitter off into hiding.

But subscriptions services — Patreon and Substack, and others — they’re a different animal.  And I do like the idea of putting something out into the world every month. A subscription service sounded like a good option: keep up the creative flow and have something to show for it–  while continuing to wrestle with Books 5 & 6.

I settled on Patreon; it’s well-known and reliable, and customizable.  But–  what to send to my subscribers?

Offering bits of the novel(s)-in-progress (which I know is what most people would like!) just seemed iffy to me.  I don’t write my fiction consecutively, and tossing random scenes into the ether struck me as unkind to both my subscribers and the work itself… Also: first drafts?  Not something I want the public to see.

Then I thought of my friend Jo Walton.  As well as novels and articles, she writes poems.   Her Patreon consists of just the poems that she comes up with.  That’s it.  That’s enough.  Something to share with her readers, and a little extra pocket change.

It seemed to me that that was something I could manage to do…

Still, I am an excruciatingly private person, and I wasn’t all that interested in poems for public consumption about my own life, or experiences —

That’s when it came to me: Well, heck — I could write poems about someone else’s life.

And I wrote the first line.  And the whole project just opened up to me.

So, that’s it.  Poems?  Mostly.  Some will be not-poems, but still related.   Let’s call them “entries.”

The project as a whole is designed to work piece-by-piece.  The effect is cumulative. You won’t know what’s happening at first. You won’t know who’s talking, or where they are.

That’s okay. It’ll all work out in the end.

There will be at least one entry per month.  Average, two per month.  There will be a couple of occasions when entries will show up faster than that.

Like all these crowd-sourced platforms, there are different levels of subscription, with perks for each one.  But I’d like to point out that Level One has a 7-day free trial... so, if you don’t like it, just cancel and step away; and I won’t mind one bit! Taste and preferences differ.  I get it that not everyone is going to be interested.

But, just so you know what you’d be signing up for… here’s the first entry (if you’re reading on a phone, turn it sideways to get landscape view instead of portrait, so the line breaks will work).

If you’re interested, after reading this– come on over.

#1: His Second Letter to His Brother

Did I tell you about the light? I think I did.
Like a solid thing, falling from a sky more white
than blue, even on cloudless days.
And the ocean itself — blue there, yes, but dark,
a fractal deepness, with that wild scatter of sparks
as the sky’s wide white glints off clipped waves.

I mentioned that, I’m sure. The light.

But I didn’t say, did I? — How it stunned me. How
I dropped my duffel, walked straight to the door and out
to the street, off the side, to the rocks, to the water’s edge there.
No land in sight. Land somewhere, but not in sight.
Just the sky, open; the sea, moving; and that light.
And me: stopped like a stone in the cold and luminous air.

I said something — just on a breath. It might have been: Wow.

When I turned, Wolffe was there (picture him — can you see?),
with the cracked spires and shards slanting up jaggedly
behind him, into the world’s open space, full of still and moving light .
The street door was still open. Inside, people moving about,
except the Sarge and her detail waiting to haul my gear out
to wherever it was that Wolffe wanted me settled that night.

And him with a quizzical look on his face, wondering what’s got into me.

This is beautiful, I said. And he understood.
I admit it surprised me; I didn’t think that he would.
Yeah, he said — but you’ve seen this. I mean, you remember it, right?
And I did; and I do. But I don’t — not like this.
Not the air, not the light, not the waves’ stuttering hiss.
What I really remember is being The Guy.

The one they called in to do what no one else could.

Shipped in, rushed in, briefed, updated, and dropped
into the heat of the problem, not daring to stop.
Wild with half a year’s workload, and scarcely a month to get through.
Whole days, and most nights, hardly time to breathe,
and bristling when someone interrupted me —
no, you do that, you know that you do.

And people expect the same of me. Why would they not?

You didn’t have a moment. I do. I think this is how
I can give you the moments that you weren’t allowed.
This is how you would be, if you could.
Can you take what memory you have of the light,
and fold into it what I’m telling you now? I might
believe, almost, that it would be as good.

What I said to Wolffe was: But it’s different. I live here now.

***

Say Hi to everyone for me. Give them my love, if they’ll have it.

—–

© R.Kirstein 2024

(Did I Tell You About the Light on Patreon)