Scalpel, Please

“Scalpel, Please.”

First, let me just say that the title has absolutely nothing at all to do with the content of this blog, but it’s 3:35 a.m. EST, which means The Jeanie (who is in Auckland and eighteen hours ahead and is hopefully preparing for her date with a man I selected as a fantastic son-in-law and not just because he promised me a scalpel) isn’t present to stop me from doing dumb sh*t and none of our editors are awake to edit this for mistakes.  I could call them but I really don’t feel like getting unexpectedly karate chopped in the windpipe. 

I had planned to collaborate with The Jeanie so we could write an informative, beautifully edited blog post that reeked with professionalism, however despite the avalanche of sticky notes reminding me to remind The Jeanie to remind me that our blog was due today, I forgot until about 3:02 a.m. EST, which was ten minutes after I limp-stumbled my tired behind into the house from work.  I look and smell like I just finished a double-shift working construction”¦on the pyramids at Giza”¦in their hot season”¦with no air-conditioning or running water in sight.  I’m so da*n sore I’m moving like the Crypt Keeper crawling out of his casket.  Thus, I seriously considered calling in and saying our blog post couldn’t make it but how does one call into a blog?  Plus, that’d be crass, especially as the webmistress went out of her way to schedule us”¦all seventeen times.

Since our blog post cannot call in, I’m going to free-style.  It should be noted that I just scared the sh*t out of myself writing that line.  Like the former president of the United States, free-styling isn’t at the top of my skill set.  I would however like to point out that I can pronounce the word “nuclear.’  If the former prez is reading this, he’s probably smirking and mocking me with the fact that he had Air Force One”¦and a chef”¦and a speechwriter.  Note to self: become president of the United States”¦enact laws”¦crush my enemies.

Anyway…here is our blog post.

Sometimes the fact that The Jeanie and I are publishers obscures the fact that we are indeed authors.  We enjoy writing but we don’t enjoy the politics of it.  Believe us, there are times when we’d really like to grab a mic and a let the MFs, sons-of-b*tches, fall where they may.  But we don’t do that because yeah, it’s crass, unprofessional and carries social and professional consequences.  [read: right now we’re not rich enough to pull that off but one day we will be and we’ll purchase air time and newspaper space and tell a whole bunch of people to kiss our whole entire as*es]. 

We’ve been accused via third party (he said, she said, they said), blackballed for daring to speak our minds, and condemned when we chose to remain silent.  We’ve been massacred in reviews for a litany of things that have little to do with the actual story but more to do with the personal hang-ups of the individuals who read our stories.  I don’t know about The Jeanie but it always amuses me how readers get pis*ed off about a ménage scene or some cussing when we’ve used the word c*ck and pu*sy like ninety times.  [Don’t try to go all “church’ on us when you’re reading an erotic book”¦just don’t]. 

We write ballsy, smart heroines who do gangsta sh*t when it’s called for and feel no remorse about it.  Our heroines aren’t waiting around for the hero to come along and save them or to show them what their vagina is for.  [Yes, I just ended a sentence in a preposition, but it’s 4:20 a.m. and I really need tacos so leave me alone about it].  Just because our heroines aren’t delicate does not make them any less feminine or as some readers have accused “more man than the man.’  [Obviously, someone hasn’t read our men if they think that because every hero we create is a man we’d fight people for the chance to ride his face clean off.  Note to self: petition the Olympic committee to get face-riding as an Olympic sport].  Like many people, our heroines want to be respected, cherished and loved”¦for who they are rather than who someone else wants them to be.   

Now I’m on a role and I’m renaming the blog post, mid post.  The new name is “The F*ck You I Always Wanted to Say.”  [The Jeanie would’ve been all Jiminy Cricket here and said, “momma, no.” I would ignore that and ask her when I’m getting some grandchildren.  The editors would’ve had this entire blog post marked up and there would’ve been a comment blurb telling me the many reasons why I can’t rename something midway through but they’re all comfy in their warm beds snuggled up to their Mr. Them’s and my fingertips are still numb so there’s no one to stop me. HA-HA!!!!!!!]

We get so many complaints about our heroines but we ignore that because at the end of the day neither The Jeanie nor myself is interested in creating a heroine that we don’t like, especially as we already have to deal with people we don’t like in the real world.  We can get away with it in books however because we publish our own sh*t.  There isn’t a matrix that we must conform to or a board that we must please.  Yes, we want to give the reader a quality story that unlike this blog post, is well-edited, but we also want to give them an adventure. 

And speaking of adventures, adventures cost money”¦and so do our books.  [I’m now changing the name of this blog post to: “Sh*t Costs Money.”]

The second biggest complaint we have is that our books are pricey.  As a reader, you either want a good book or a cheap book.  Sure, sometimes you get both but the reality is that both Jeanie and I value our time and we give up stuff (good stuff like time with our honeys and sleep) in order to write.  Writing isn’t just about slapping words on paper and throwing it up on Amazon.  There are steps to it.  Those steps take time, effort and yes, money.  It always amazes us how many readers complain about the cost of books but rarely the cost of a designer handbag, hair weave, luxury vehicles, or their vices (the ones the ATF tends to keep an eye on).  Honestly, I don’t think it’s the fact that we charge more than what people think we should charge; I think it’s the fact that we’re female and of color and refuse to UNDERVALUE our work that causes individuals to get the stink face.  Get the stink face all you want to but the bottom line is that I don’t work for free.  I don’t know anyone out there who wants to work for free even if they could afford to work for free.  We put a lot of effort into our books and we’re not going to give it away to garner good reviews or friends.  And readers telling us that Author X does so and so doesn’t change a thing because I don’t give a f*ck how other authors price their books because a) it’s none of my business and b) rarely has a book been priced so high that it would discourage me from buying it.  The average book is about five bucks.  A large iced tea at most restaurants is $2.25 and it takes me all of two minutes to smash that.  I’m still buying tea and I’m still buying books.  You can bet your sweet a*s that if Billy London, Dréa Riley, Lena Matthews, Nikki Winter, Yvette Hines etc. have a new book release, I’m getting that and I don’t really give a sh*t if the book is $2.99 or $9.99 because every time I’ve read their stories I’ve had a good reading experience because they know it’s a craft and they put in the time and energy that makes the expense worth it. 

I’m not sure if this blog was supposed to be informative”¦or helpful”¦or even if it conforms to the rules but yeah, it’s now 4:51 a.m. and I’m tired”¦really, really, tired.  And it’s not just the lack of sleep; it’s so many things.  I’m tired in my writer’s soul.  It’s moments like these where as an author, I have to really consider if I want to continue doing this.  Sometimes you get tired of the fight”¦fighting the pirates who hide their sh*t behind firewalls, smokescreens, and gated estates”¦fighting the small minds who can’t envision a woman any other way than weak”¦fighting the individuals in your own circle who don’t acknowledge you as a “real” author simply because you don’t make a living at it.  Van Gogh never sold a single painting when he was alive, yet few would refuse to acknowledge him as an artist.  I am not impressed with his art but I am impressed with his tenacity.  He believed in his art”¦even when he stopped believing in so many other things including his ministry.  It’s times like these”¦the dark nights not of theological faith but of writing, that I hold onto Van Gogh’s tenacity”¦that I re-read those letters from readers telling us they enjoyed our stories and asking for more.  As authors The Jeanie and I create worlds where every story ends with a Happily Ever After, but outside of the story, we have to deal with the realities of the craft.  Sometimes they have a HEA; sometimes they don’t. 

“”Jeanie and Jayha