Keeping it Real

So, there's this thing out there in the author world about 'over sharing' information about yourself. I've been heavily criticized for talking openly about my life, the things I do and the people in it. Basically, I over share. (According to some critical others.) But what they call over sharing and TMI, I call keeping it real.

I'm sorry, but the world has enough stuck up, holier-than-thou assholes in it. I am not going sit up on some NYT Bestselling throne looking down my nose at all the little peons come to worship at my feet, keeping the air of mystery, playing the entitled diva. Frankly, I'm not entitled to squat unless you, the readers, feel like giving it to me...and I am grateful enough as it is for your pocket change when you decide to buy my work. If you go beyond that, if you come to me with an email or follow me on Facebook or any of that stuff, I assume you are doing it because you want to get to know me a little better. You want to know something other than if I can write a good story.

So, I am happy to give you...me. My weight loss journey. My boob job. My struggles with my kid. My puddles of insecurity, my tears when I see someone trash talk me...the list goes on. And I'm not going to give you a shinier version of me. Just the me of me. Now, mind you, I will keep things to myself in certain ways. Like, my real name. Where I live. Some of ya'll are freaks (if you are offended by that reference, then...urm...you're probably a freak. Clearly even you think so!)and I am going to protect my kids and family.

There are those who say it's a matter of professionalism. It's unprofessional to talk about how, ever since you hit forty, you have the worst time trying not to fart in public. Oh c'mon. You're all women out there! (Men have never cared about when and where they fart, so...)You all have bodies! And frankly it always gives me tremendous comfort to know someone else goes through this and is willing to talk about it! What would be unprofessional is if I tried to put that tidbit into a conversation between one of my heroes and heroines. That is not romantic. (Although, it's funny shit so another writer who does comedic romance might get away with it). You come to my writing to suspend reality. You come to me to keep it real. If you don't like what I have to say, stop following me! Resign from the blogs and mailing lists and etc. Right? If you want mystery between us, by all means. I can do that. So long as you don't read my blogs or my Facebook posts. I call it the 'head in the sand' approach. I don't cope well with bad reviews, so therefore I avoid them like the plague. I stick my fingers in my ears, shut my eyes and yell "La! La! La!" Voila! As far as I am concerned, I never get a bad review. (Okay, well, I do come across them accidentally once in a while. In which case, I need a fifth of scotch to fix the problem. And don't get me started on reviews. Did you know there are people out there with NOTHING BETTER TO DO than to go on Amazon and trash talk other people's books in order to raise up the authors they like?? Can you believe that?? Oh, but we're not supposed to talk about that, too. And we're not supposed to answer back. I am not making that up. According to RWR magazine, that is known as 'shooting yourself in the foot' professionally.)

I understand. It serves no purpose to waste energy engaging an idiot in a battle of wits...especially when the poor dears are so unarmed. It's basically grade school all over again. Bullies. The popular girls make themselves feel better by whipping others to shreds. Oy. Grow up and get a life. But the fact is, it still wounds you if you are a sensitive human being. I am not going to pretend otherwise because, frankly, I am proud of being a sensitive human being. I am proud to over share. I love nothing more than when a reader writes to me and says how 'down to earth' I am. How real I am. How much they appreciate my touchable approach. I will be ashamed of myself the day I look down my nose at someone and deem myself too good to be honest with them.

If I want to be professional, I call my agent and cry hysterically with her or get mad and stomp my feet with her and then let HER call my editors or publishers or whoever has ticked me off and communicate my...erm...discontent with the current situation. Unprofessional would be to call them directly and curse them out like the New York gal I am with no regard for my future contracts. That, after all, is why she earns the big bucks. She is a tool. A buffer. An ambassador. A very talented one. A priceless one. What, are you shocked to hear I can behave like a child on occasion? You mean you don't? Not even deep down on the inside? If you are able to keep that under wraps, I envy you. Perhaps it is because I am bipolar, perhaps it's because I never learned how to suppress all of that emotion...perhaps I'm a child now and forever. Flaws. A ton of them. And I have them like crazy!!

Don't you?

Hugs and Kitties
Jacki