V. H. King's Ink

Several years ago, I created a Patreon page to serialize a novel that I had mostly finished. I had enough finished chapters to give myself a buffer while hopefully building an audience interested in the story.  Although I ended up with a handful of patrons, I had very little in terms of engagement or interest. I had hoped to connect with readers, but I honestly didn’t know if anyone was reading my work.

Eventually, my health forced me to suspend my work on that project. I decided to shut down my Patreon—but I also set up a Ko-fi. I couldn’t promise updates with any frequency.  I didn’t have any idea if or when I would be able to continue my previous project. Because of said uncertainty, I decided not to advertise my Ko-fi much. I let my then-patrons know they could find me on Ko-fi, to minimal response. I linked my Ko-fi on the homepage of my site and I listed it in my social media bios, but otherwise I left it at that. 

For the past two years, my focus has been on healing. Brain surgery does a number on you, but so does life under capitalism. I’ve had to redefine how I approach my writing and my art. I know I’m called to share my work, but I also know I must do it in a way that honors my whole identity—not just my Blackness, not just being Queer, but the daily reality of my disabilities and how that impacts my capacity to read, write, draw. paint, and spend time online.

Releasing LitMiH has been the equivalent of a comprehensive and cumulative final exam. Everything I’ve learned about my purpose, my worth, and my passion is tested by how I choose to promote and market this collection. The most freeing thing so far has been remembering that this is a learning process. This doesn’t have to be perfect. I will do what aligns with my current capacity and knowledge—and right now, I find myself revisiting that Ko-fi account.

Although my page has been mostly dormant, I created it because Ko-fi had a lot of features rolled into one platform. More flexibility for those who wanted to support me with their donations, streamlined options for commissions, shops, and subscriptions in case I decided to set those up at some point, and a cost-effective way of managing hosting services while everything in my life was up in the air. 

Life is still full of unknowns, but I’ve been in a season of taking big steps. Releasing LitMiH was one of them, of course—but LitMiH isn’t cheap. Its print cost is nearly double that of my other titles, primarily because of the illustrations in the collection.  As a poetry and art collection, it doesn’t make much sense to publish without the art. E-books might be an option I entertain in the future—but again, because of the way the art pairs with the poems, I wanted this collection first released in print.

Mind you, I am not supported by a large publishing house or a swanky independent press. As far as finances go, it’s just me. When you see the sticker price for this collection, I want you to keep a few things in mind. First come print costs, and then the publisher’s cut—because when you use a publishing service as an author, you pay for that service. What comes back to me is a fraction of the sticker price, and even some of that gets eaten up in transaction fees.

Above all, I want to curate for myself a compassionate, accessible, creative life. No political administration, insurance company, or government agency is going to support me in that endeavor. As you might guess, they will actively make it increasingly more difficult for me to survive in the society they create.

A lot of posts have been going around the last month or so, about ways to resist and subvert the new administration that bears down on us like a guillotine. Talk of community and mobilizing and direct support. And if you happen to find yourself able to financially contribute to my survival, I promise you it does not go unnoticed. Yes, I’m talking about my Ko-fi here, but that’s not all.

If you can afford to pay full price for LitMiH, do it. Think of it as direct reparations, think of it as community care, think of it as mutual aid. When you buy a copy at full price, your dollars have a deep impact—and not just because you’re helping a BlackDisabledQueer survive another day.

One of the main reasons I discontinued my Patreon was that I don’t want a paywall to limit anyone’s access to my writing. As much as I can help it, I never want money to be a limiting factor if people want to read my work. Part of the proceeds from LitMiH’s orders go towards purchasing copies for people who can’t pay full price, or can’t pay for it at all. Ko-fi offers pay-what-you-can flexibility, along with one-time donations and monthly support options for those who want to continue contributing to making poetry and art accessible.

Balancing business logistics, medical expenses, and accessibility is equal parts a challenge and a joy. I’ve been wrestling with whether or not to set up a shop for months, because I don’t want to fall into the same traps I did before. I have to remind myself of all the ways I’ve grown since the last time I tried to do this; I also have to remind myself that I don’t have to have everything figured out all at once. I can allow myself space, time, room to learn and get my feet under me.

Opening up my shop in tandem with LitMiH’s release might create an influx of sales, but I would be doing myself and others a disservice by over-extending myself before I could even get things up and running. That doesn’t mean I’m abandoning the idea. I’m thinking through how to offer a thoughtful selection of items that I can realistically get to my audience. I’ve considered offering pre-orders and doing a release event at a few local bookstores. I’m still brainstorming a special edition package for those who want to help fund initial store inventory.

There are a lot of options out there. I’m taking my time in making my decisions—and I’m reminding myself that’s okay.  At some point, I’ll probably have more to say about my Ko-fi. It’ll get re-organized at some point, but don’t let that stop you. If you already know you want to directly support me and my work, go ahead and subscribe.

I can’t promise a schedule of posts or a particular type of content, but I can tell you this: your support helps me accomplish my life’s work. For those of you who give, thank you for believing in me.  For everyone who shares my writing and engages with me in a spirit of solidarity and encouragement, thank you for your community.