The F Word

As you guys know, I have a book coming out in ONE WEEK.

If you pre-ordered the hardback copy from Amazon, chances are you already have it since, for some reason known only to Amazon, they started shipping them out early but WHATEVS.

It’s weird, having my book out there. Knowing it’s being read by family and friends and strangers and all of that. It’s also causing me to have an extreme existential crisis related to the language of the book because, as you all are aware, I like to say fuck. I like to say fuck a whole fucking lot.

The thing is, not everyone likes the word fuck, which is totally okay, but as such, they will probably not like my book because of my use of the word fuck and, because it’s a memoir and my story and my narrative and my view of the world, they probably won’t like me because of my use of the word fuck.

And it’s so bizarre because it certain contexts I’m perfectly okay using the word fuck unapologetically. Like, say, in this entire fucking post. But I don’t use it in the presence of my parents (okay, well, in the presence of my mom) and most of my extended family. And when I write, I have no problem using it in my fiction but somehow the idea of having a book out there with the word fuck appearing at all, let alone frequently, is giving me a severe existential crisis.

(And the family element really is a big part of it. Not just my family but BC’s family and friends of our family….)

I think it’s because of the memoir aspect of it. This is my story and my narrative and my view of the world. It is, well, me. And putting it out there like that is vulnerable and scary.

I was explaining it to a friend like this: I’m someone who has a lot of walls around them. A LOT OF WALLS. All but a few people really know who I am and most aren’t family. There’s nothing wrong with my family, I’ve just always felt like an odd duck. I don’t share a lot with them, with anyone besides my super inner circle, so most people have an idea of what I’m like without actually knowing what I’m really like.

Then I write this book — a book where I was encouraged and tried really hard to be my true authentic self. I like my true authentic self, fucks and all, but putting my true authentic self out there — especially putting it out there to the people who have a different idea of me in their head — is scary as hell. Because what if they don’t like my true authentic self?

It’s not that I’m embarrassed or feel bad about saying fuck so much in my book, it’s that I’m worried about what people will think of me. Which, I mean, I’m 35 years old. I should be over this sort of thing by now, right?

Love from the ashes,
Lady Lazarus

2 thoughts on “The F Word”

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