Will Smith doesn’t have to cuss in his raps to sell records. Well I do.
–Eminem, The Real Slim Shady
Lately, a lot of people have been telling me that they’re going to buy my book.
Imagining the impending release of Minion of Evil, a story of violent acts, swearing, awkward bathroom situations, over-sized condom humor, rough sex, and other utterly gross things, I can’t help but think, “OMG, my mother is going to read this.”
My mother has often stated that she does not appreciate bathroom humor.
But not only my mother, there’s also my favorite barista, a wonderful woman who is put off by mild swear words, coworkers, and other people that I have not let in on the secret of my filthy mind.
Even more than the worry about the reaction of all the filth in my books, I’m concerned that people won’t like it.
I’ve always gone for entertainment over good taste, and in my critique group, it seems like the further I push the envelope, the more people like my stories, like gawkers, drawn to a car accident. I have to wonder if I’m just so delicate in my sensibilities that I am overestimating the eww factor, or if I really have crossed some unforgivable line, from which I can never return.