I recently wrote a novel with my c0-author Jason Davis called Hair Club Burning. It is a mystery, a May-December (the woman is December) love story, a caper tale, and, most importantly, a microcosm of race, a dream, a flight of fancy of how black and white can live together, making each other stronger and whole.
Throughout the book, themes of love and lust, friendship and trust, acceptance and fear, betrayal and crime intertwine. White crime is hidden in the back rooms and shell companies – Panama Papers anyone? – and black crime runs red in the streets. My grudging conclusion was that the OGs (Old Gangsters) were indeed living a more authentic life. That authentic life was also going to kill them. The whites just danced with the notion of Club Fed.
What I was not prepared for, as an author, was the strange reaction to the three sex scenes between the young black protagonist and older white woman. I had to walk away from a lifetime friendship because of my old, once-beloved friend’s reaction to the interracial sex. (She’s a Texan but still, there is NO excuse.) Reviewers expressed an uncomfortable feeling in their reactions to this love affair and a call-in to a radio station actually asked me, “What does your husband think of you writing this book?”
Let me be clear: I will write about any subject I wish for as long as I am alive and able to write. The word FICTION applies to the work of women and my mind is allowed to wander anywhere in the Universe it pleases. I will write as a man; I will write as a woman. I will shape-shift and taunt and make as many think, as many feel uncomfortable, as long as I can. I will also pass along Joy and new ideas and thoughts on ecstatic ways to live. I am a free bitch baby (thanks, Lady GaGa) and I will write as one.
I’m a woman, a lady sometimes, and I write dirty.
To order our “dirty” book, click on DIRTY.