Contemporary fiction or Romance?

Now that a few reviews have trickled in since the release of my second novel one of my artistic insecurities have has come to the surface once more. I'm having a hard time deciding whether I’m a contemporary fiction writer or a romance writer. One usually doesn't want to pigeonhole oneself, but having come from a screenwriting background the only way I learned to write fiction novels was to read other authors. My cousin, Monique Gilmore-Scott, had several romance novels out so I used her books as my blueprint.

It seems like there is little room for overlap in the African American lit category so the two genres are usually clearly defined by Terry McMillan, Walter Mosley, and Eric Jerome Dickey on the contempo side and Zane and Brenda Jackson on the romance side. Although Black male authors are apparent in the urban fiction category few dared to enter the realm of romance. Clearly, a void exists in romance genre in regards to male authors, so an opportunity to distinguish myself in a wide open niche seemed optimistic. So I constantly find myself in a state of flux between “telling like it is” and lavishly and lasciviously” telling it like it is”.

The reason I’m such a fan of Iceberg Slim’s writing is because of his ability to tell the story clearly, succinctly, and honestly, while still buttering it up with the flowery street vernacular of a pimp. Hopefully readers will be able to tell the difference between gratuitous sex and the gratuitous sex Dapper participates in as a reflection of his personal demons. In others words, its deeper than what appears on the surface. So what would you consider me, contemporary fiction or romance? 

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SAMPLE CHAPTER FROM DAPPER CARTER'S 5 FATALE`FLAWS

‘Hiiii. This is Rain. Leave a message at the tone. Thanks.’
“Hey baby its me again. As I'm sure you know. Just sitting here thinking about you. I can’t wait to see you. I love you.”
After all of that I never hooked up with Shy. I was feeling guilty and I had done nothing wrong. Guilt was this new emotion that I was experiencing for the first time. The Grinch was just as confused when he accepted Christmas into his heart. Needless to say, I didn’t like young girls in the first place opting for a model with a little mileage on it and had already been broken in.
There were advantages to dating young girls, none of which had anything to do with intellectual pursuits or common interests. They were too young to have anything in common with except for sex. But as I got older I needed a little bit more than sex. Not much more, but nevertheless, more. I liked being able to discuss politics or cinema over dinner then take you home and blow your doors off.
Most of the women I was meeting had been born the 80’s and I was already halfway into my hell-raising career by then. I needed more conversation, more connection, and more life experience. All reasons why I didn’t want to lose Rain.
Even though I was disgusted with her and had my suspicions about her friendship with Teddy, I was whipped and couldn’t fathom being with any other woman besides her. I was intent on not doing the same things I had always done so I wouldn’t get what I always got. Rain was good for me, and made me a better person and more responsible. This was the steadiest employment I had ever sustained in my life and I actually managed to pay a bill or two.
I waited patiently for the love of my life to return from her two-week excursion to the Bay Area. I worked even harder than usual at Fitness Depot to keep my mind busy, finishing in the top three company wide in sales for the month and earning a trip to Las Vegas. I was busting my ass because I had my eye on a two and a half carat princess cut engagement ring worth $6,000 that I could get for $4,500, which would put the one carat to shame that I bought Kennedy with her money. Not to mention, Sin City would be the perfect place to pop the question and pledge my undying devotion.
She finally returned and I was as happy as Whoopi Goldberg when Sug Avery came rolling over the hill in The Color Purple. I was spontaneous to a fault, deciding to leave work early and hustled to JFK Airport to surprise her. In spite of that, I got there a few minutes late because of a signal fire on the A line. I called her maniacally as soon as I got above ground to tell her to wait for me, but it was not to avail.
‘Hiiii. This is Rain. Leave a message at the tone. Thanks.’
No answer. I was beginning to think that she was not answer-ing the phone on purpose.
She was probably on the train already I rationalized. Sweat dripped from my forehead onto my iPhone and my deodorant was not living up to its billing either, causing sweat spots to appear under my armpits.
So I turned around and went to Plan B, which was to surprise her at her brownstone. I had one of those queasy feeling in my stomach that tells you something is wrong, but we always ignore. I dialed her phone repeatedly from the moment I stepped from the train all the way up the subway steps and down six long blocks.
Her light was on. I sprinted up the red clay steps and pounded on her door psychotically. She finally answered after I kicked the door with my size twelve’s.
“What’s the fucking problem?”
“I went to the airport to surprise you.”
“I took a cab.”
“Why didn’t you answer your phone?”
“Because my phone was in the bag and I didn’t hear it.”
“That’s a convenient excuse. You knew that I would be calling you the second that you got off of the plane.” I screamed at her.
“I needed some space. Can’t I have five minutes to myself? I speak to you every day when I’m here and twice as much when I’m gone.”
I still didn’t believe her so I put the screws to her.
“Were you with Teddy?”
“DAPPER, I CAN’T TAKE THIS ANYMORE! YOU’RE SMOTHERING ME!” she screamed and tried to slam the door in my face. That wasn’t going to happen as I defiantly barged in, not allowing her to simply dismiss me.
“What da bloodclot? You fuck put yankee haaands on me bumble clod,” she said in a thick Jamaican patois. Things had gotten deathly serious all of a sudden.
Her Jamaican heritage erupted like Mount Vesuvius and I was poor Pompeii. Normally when she got excited and went all Jamaican on me I would laugh. But this tirade was different than it was way too serious for me to take lightly.
She stepped back and slapped the shit out of me, halting my advance on the spot.
We both stood motionless, shocked, knowing the boundaries of our relationship had been breached in so many ways in the last few moments. You haven’t ever been in love until you’ve had a restraining order taken out against you was my theory and I was sticking to it. I was huffing hard, infuriated.
“Just tell me you’re seeing someone else and I’ll leave.”
“Fine. I’m seeing someone else, now leave.”

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Dapper Carter's 5 Fatale`Flaws now available!

It's official...my second child is finally available for purchase on Amazon.com for paperbacks and kindle and Barnes and Noble.com for nook books. All reviews are encouraged and definitely appreciated. That's how i move up the list on Amazon and become that best selling author that all of you want me to be.  Thank you in advance and enjoy the read. Its twice as long as the first and twice as funny. Trust me.

In Dapper Carter’s 8 Rules of Dating, we met Dapper Carter, the philandering fool, on his fall from grace following his abrupt divorce from Kennedy Craig. Dapper develops eight authentic rules that help him navigate through the rigors of the dating world and eventually lead him to the girl of his dreams, Rain Van Ness.

In the first book, he was trying to find love.  In the risqué Dapper Carter’s 5 Fatale` Flaws, he’s just looking for a good time, but ends up finding himself. Dapper’s alchemistic odyssey intertwines with a revolving door of femmes fatales`. Through a multitude of meaningless encounters, Dapper realizes that he is the only person holding himself back and is urged to take an introspective look to identify five reasons why he can’t seem to get out of his own way. Witness the rise and fall…and rise and fall… and rise of Dapper as he learns the five things every man should know about himself.

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No Net

For the first time in a long time I am experiencing feelings that usually were relegated to the relationships that I have been in and the newness thereof. The upset stomach, anxiety, can't sleep, can't stay focused very long, I have become good at coming up with challenges for myself once upon a time those frivolous anxieties that were borderline obsessive towards my relationships have transferred into my writing. The difference between Dapper Carter’s 5 Fatale` Flaws and 8 Rules of Dating is that the latter was an eight year process. I had rewritten, polished, cut, and accepted various opinions from several friends, family, and people in the entertainment industry that I trusted, so I knew I had a viable entity. But with the new one I didn't let anyone read it. I call it my "I can't hear anything but my music like Prince in Purple Rain" phase and part of me just wanted to let it hang out free and expose the nerve endings on the words and the feelings that I had written for all to see and scrutinize freely.

Call it vanity, calling it looking for a new challenge, call me arrogant or even stupid but I realize that the more people read my work then the more self-doubt will be creep into my already fragile artistic psyche. But I have an ego, which is a huge issue in the new book. I deal with ego, self-doubt, insecurity, and ways that we sabotage ourselves, holding ourselves back subconsciously as well as consciously at times, continuously allowing for mediocrity and to come up just short, not reaching our full potential.  But then I also thought, “what if they like it?”

Then one night I watch this guy walked across the Grand Canyon with no net and his mortality on the line and I thought to myself how silly it was for me to be worried about what people think about me and whether people accept my humble point of view in a fictitious story or not. But it wasn’t just fictitious. It was rooted in reality. The reality of the view I held of the world. I needed to let it go and be free to have its own legs and to stand alone realizing that it served its purpose simply by being created.

By letting it go I did accomplish one thing. I cured myself of the fear of the failure consciously and the fear of success subconsciously.

No net.No brakes. Full throttle.

I had come to the conclusion that hopefully people like it, and if they don’t, hopefully they really hate it. (not true)

Release date July 11,2013