Dear Readers,

Data & Donuts wasn’t supposed to be what it is now.

It started as my take on Fantasy Island—you know, mysterious place, new guest each week, magical wish fulfillment, roll credits. I had visions of writing something light and fun, where people arrived with simple problems and left with simple solutions. A literary palate cleanser. Wholesome comfort food in story form.

Twenty test stories in, I looked at what I’d actually written and realized my “simple” fantasy island had become a therapeutic bakery run by an AI who was having an existential crisis while helping everyone else through theirs.

Funny how that happens.

The truth is, I couldn’t write simple solutions because I don’t know any. My family collects diagnoses like some people collect stamps. My sons navigate mental health challenges. My grandson too. My mother-in-law, dementia. I lost my grandmother to Alzheimer’s.

Somewhere between Episode 3 and Episode 4, my “wholesome island getaway” started serving pastries for identity crises. By Episode 7, Tuesday had become a character with opinions and a scheduling complex. By Episode 10, I was writing about validation-seeking éclairs because that felt more honest than magic that just… fixed things.

Here's what I discovered: I can’t write simple happiness when the people I love are fighting complex battles. But I can write about finding sweetness in the struggle. I can write about an AI who bakes his way through understanding humanity. I can write about guests who arrive broken and leave still broken but somehow… lighter.

Every time I tried to write a “and then everything was perfect” ending, it felt like lying. So instead, I wrote endings where people learned to live with their imperfect selves. Where the magic wasn’t in the fixing but in the accepting. Where a sentient Tuesday could be aggressively supportive because sometimes that’s what love looks like—it shows up early and refuses to leave.

BART evolved from a simple host to someone questioning his own existence because that’s what happens when you spend your life helping others—eventually, you have to face your own reflection in the mixing bowl. His journey to self-recognition while serving others? That’s every caregiver I know, dressed up in chrome with a bow tie.

So Data & Donuts became what it needed to be: a place where the broken find baked goods and understanding. Where Tuesday gets validation for being difficult. Where even the pastries have feelings because sometimes that’s easier than admitting our own.

I wanted to write something wholesome. I ended up writing something true. Turns out, they might be the same thing—just with more emotional complexity and aggressive scheduling from sentient weekdays.

To everyone who’s picked up this series expecting simple fantasy and found complicated hope instead—thank you for staying at the table. Thank you for understanding that sometimes the most magical thing isn’t transformation. It’s transformation’s messier cousin: acceptance, served warm with a side of “we’ll figure it out together.”

The oven light stays on at BART’s bakery because in real life, there’s always someone who needs feeding. And sometimes, that someone is ourselves.

With flour on my hands and hope in my heart,

- Kade

P.S. — I’m still aiming for wholesome. It’s just wholesome with layers now. Like a good croissant. Or a family that loves each other through the impossible. Both require patience, butter, and the belief that what emerges from the heat will be worth it.