Category: Not My Type

My TL;DR Post about Why I Finally Published “Not My Type” in eBook Form (Please Read It, the post and the book :)

When I first made the decision to publish my work, I decided to set some ground rules.

  1. Never have a white cover
  2. Stop if I lose money
  3. Be open to suggestions and edits, but never lose the integrity of the work
  4. Support independent bookstores and libraries

Since day one, it has pained me that my books are available on Amazon (the last time I will mention the name in this post). I do understand the ease of one-click shopping, as well as the premise — more an assumption — that there is a deal to be had, but many folks do not understand just how damaging living solely in a virtual world can be.
However, that is a conversation for another day. For those of us stuck in the past, all this technology can seem like the enemy. But what I have come to realize is that much like my ground rule of maintaining my works’ integrity, I too can edit my mentality while keeping my integrity intact.
I opted not to publish eBook editions of my writing because I wanted people to shop at their local brick and mortar stores. I wanted to reach the reader who stumbles into the stacks only to emerge hours later with a pile of books in hand. Most importantly, I wanted my books to sell because someone loved them, not because some algorithm told them to like it — or hate it.
It is true, I have worked in an indie bookstore for nineteen years. I am biased. Also true, as misanthropic as I my dark soul may be, nothing beats a human connection. After all, no medium of art would exist without it.
So, when I started hearing from readers who were disappointed that my writing was not accessible to them, I got to thinking I should do something about that. Some people just prefer reading electronically, but others need to. My bias led me to ignore some of the benefits that come from technological advances.
Individuals with vision problems, dyslexia, or physical impairments can benefit from the ability to change fonts, lighting, and the fact that a tablet can be lighter and easier to hold. Someone with limited or no transportation can buy or borrow books from the comfort of his, her, or their own home. And the naturalist in me has always struggled with the dilemma of damaging Mother Nature to produce paper. This has weighed on me so heavily that I only buy notebooks from companies like Decomposition and Karst Stone Paper. Dare I say, I have even gone as far into the modern world as purchasing a Supernote tablet. Don’t worry, it sits right next to my typewriter, I haven’t gone too far over the edge.
After much deliberation, carefully considering some newly realized “pros” instead of focusing on the “cons,” and coming to the understanding that in all aspects of life, those who don’t adapt, die, I finally decided to publish an eBook. Not My Type will be available as an eBook through select distributors, such as Kobo, Hoopla, and Overdrive. At the moment, and since I had the option this time, I decided not to make them available through Kindle nor Apple. For those questioning if I have really adapted, here are my reasons.
I still want people to support their communities and not line the pockets of billionaires. Many people do not have a grasp on the behind-the-scenes world of bookselling. So often, we decide to look at the surface and ignore what lies beneath, often to our detriment. The truth is, and this goes for all small businesses, there isn’t much money to be made as the products trickle down the line. Authors sacrifice profit just to have their work in print. Bookselling is a labor of love. And unless you can churn out a book a minute, get discovered by just the right person, or become a viral TikTok star, becoming a household name is just a pipe dream.
I can’t speak for all authors, but I write because I need to and because if any single line I ever construct can make a difference, then I have done my part in making the world less obnoxious. eBooks are not really for me at the moment, but neither is splitting infinitives and that seems to be pretty popular. I know I cannot stop anyone from enjoying the convenience of same-day shipping (if you don’t live in the boonies like me), but hopefully we can all make the effort to support our communities and neighbors, perhaps not in lieu of, but in addition to our digital dealings.

The brave new world may be connected by fiberoptic cables, but life is connected through flesh, blood, breath, and heartstrings.

Sneak Peak of “Revolutionary”

No one ever means to fall in love; it just happens. Cliché, I know. In all my years roaming the earth, I was always under the assumption that it would never happen to me. But in all those years, I have learned never to assume.
I was born in New Town, Pennsylvania in 1757. I was born a free black man, which didn’t mean much in the mid-eighteenth century. If anything, I had to be more careful. Sometimes, I thought that white men only gave privileges so that they could take them away one day. I guess that’s true of anyone in power.
I was luckier that most though. My mother died in childbirth, and I was taken in by a peaceful Quaker family. This would not have been the case for most black men, but my mother was white and as long as I kept my mouth shut and worked hard, folks would look past my less-than-white skin. By look past, I mean it was as if I didn’t exist at all.
I came of age during a time when revolution was stirring and a new nation was blooming. I longed to be a part of the action, but my adoptive family frowned on violence. They weren’t loyalists, but many of the Quaker families in the area were. They didn’t believe in British rule; they just didn’t want to rock the boat.
Shortly after my eighteenth birthday, news reached us that the war had begun. British troops had attacked colonists in Massachusetts. More importantly, the colonists fought back that day. Tensions were high, and despite my Quaker upbringing and my family’s objections, I wanted to be a part of the revolution. I was one of those foolish enough to believe that freedom from the British would mean freedom for all.
That summer, I joined the associators when they regrouped. It felt good to be involved in the cause, however, I was merely enlisted as the help. All anyone seemed to do was talk while I was busy serving these talking men. I couldn’t have been farther away from the action. This didn’t stop my family from wanting nothing to do with me.
A year went by, and then excitement came to New Town. General Washington made his headquarters in town after a battle at Trenton. Riding on the coattails of victory and finally seeing my opportunity to join the war on the frontlines, I officially enlisted and traveled with Washington’s men to Morristown for the winter.
My three years in the continental army were both exhilarating and disappointing. I had many close calls and almost lost my life to smallpox. I returned home to New Town a changed and defeated man. The excitement I once craved left a bitter taste in my soul. I had seen death and brought death to many, and there was nothing exciting about either.
I got a job on a farm outside town and decided that my Quaker upbringing hadn’t been all that bad. It wasn’t peace with the world that I needed, but rather peace with myself. As it turns out, personal wars can be endless and all-consuming too.

Read the full story in Not My Type, which goes on sale June 9th!