It seems that creative people are crazy…

And it’s even worse if they are left-handed and have issues with concentration. If these are facts, then add me to the list. I used to believe that people that acknowledged their insanity were in fact less off their rocker than those who pretended to have it all together. In all honesty, living in this insane world and leaving it unscathed, unscarred and untampered with is virtually impossible. Those of us who write, are the ones who embrace our emotional burns, our mental scars and our psychological tampering of our cerebral packages. We acknowledge it through self-medicating via pouring out bits of ourselves onto a page, and then having the absolute nerve, audacity, stupidity and love to share it with the world.

The world is my audience. And in that world, are readers… people who peruse a book store—that’s right, brick and mortar. They leisurely stroll from aisle to aisle, looking for what catches their eye. A cup of coffee in one hand and a sultry romance in the other, they make their way to one of the little book store nooks and have a sneak peek at a tawdry or racy scene embedded smack dab in Chapter 12, then decide if they are going to place some money in the cashier’s hand for an even exchange. Or, that reader may find themselves comfy and cozy in their pajamas, their laptop across their knees and a glass of wine at their side as they lounge about in bed perusing their favorite online book club recommendations, Amazon reviews and the top 20 best sellers of their favorite genres. They may be a rebel and choose the book that no one seems to notice, hidden and buried beneath literally thousands upon thousands of novellas, full length novels, and what not. And somehow in all of this, my books are still found by new readers. Those readers on their lunch breaks shuffling through the Ma and Pa bookstore, scouring the libraries, online etc. somehow manage by the grace of God, to find Tiana Laveen’s little ol’ books in the sea of others. Out of over the 30 books I’ve written, over half have been Amazon best sellers. I am indie, there is no marketing machine behind me, my sales- though they fluctuate as a given, are not horrific so how is this happening?

Word of mouth. The passion I put in my books. The topics I write about.

I don’t attend book events that often. I do have an online community but it is tightly regulated and policed. I do have an online presence and though I enjoy engaging with readers – I keep my private life fairly much out of the limelight. But… if you read between the lines, literally, the reader will always find bits and pieces of myself in each work presented. I often greatly disagree with my characters actions, behaviors, ideologies etc… but that’s not what I’m talking about. Perhaps the way I described that spoiled fruit is how I see my childhood… or maybe that thunderstorm in the South Bronx, circa too long ago to mention, was the moment I believe I was reincarnated. Who truly knows? But as someone who is so passionate about my work, you best believe there is a tear drop, a speckle of blood and a muttered death wish on these pages that you read of mine. Writers are crazy – but only a few of us seem to be brave enough to admit it. Our pain has turned us inside out, because quite honestly, we are sensitive as Hell – that is how we draw you in. We make you feel! Now how we show that sensitivity varies from author to author, but it is there, nevertheless. A bad breakup from 15 years ago has stained a sentence or two that possibly hit too close to home and drudged up bad memories and re-opened old wounds.
Wounds… proof that the pain was there. Mutilations are evidence that you went through something, had a trial and it bit you, left an everlasting mark. Readers are running their fingers over our scars, our lacerations and they are witnessing our healing, too as they turn page to page. Sometimes when our skin is not so thick, that wound will be re-opened, punctured by an unkind soul who didn’t feel the love in our delivery, or whatever the reason(s) that they are dismayed with a body of art and expression. But that’s okay, because what we fail to understand ‘while caught licking our wounds’, is that we didn’t get that scar because of them, we won’t heal because of them, we didn’t share our work with the world because of them – but we still do what we do, INSPITE of THEM.
Let what was designed to burn you to the ground, lift you up to the heavens. What hurts us also drives us, what keeps us moving, slows us down. What grates our nerves makes us fall in love all over again. I am many things: complicated yet easy to understand at any given time. I love to laugh yet can at times fall into a cycle of cynicism. I am sensitive – but can be cold an uncaring once I’ve completely wiped my hands of someone. I don’t relate to the color gray… my world seems much like the color of the pages and the words that race across them in my books – black and white. I can see the hues, the spectrum in everyone else, but when it comes to me deep within, apparently, I am completely colorblind. I’m opinionated, but caring. Moody and stubborn… it works miracles for my writing, but makes for a person who doesn’t always play well with others…

I am extremely self-aware, and that aids me greatly in my writing career. I am passionate, intense, loyal, sarcastic, at times judgmental, have thoughts of revenge when my heart is broken or I believe someone has crossed the line, the point of no return. I am empathic to others, I love to entertain, I am an introvert who pretends to be okay in the spotlight. I am a big ball of wax and it has to get very hot to see what I am truly made of. So… I write. I write when I hurt, when I’m happy, when I’m found in love and lost in hate.

It’s my medicine, I take it on the regular and one of the best decisions I ever made was jumping in with both feet and saying, “I’m going to do this.” It’s not for everyone, and it is a hell of a lot of hard work. It appears it is one of those jobs that everyone think they can do, until they try to do it… You can’t please everyone – and you shouldn’t even try. But what I can say, beloved, is that this continuous purge in the tales that I tell, does my heart some good, and if I can entertain and help someone else along the way at the same time, then all I can say is – I have no regrets. I’m thankful, blessed beyond measure. I am able to do what I love, have a dedicated fan base and a continuous drive to set my soul free via the pen. It’s my essence, the words are the ink of my soul.

Thank you for allowing me to drip all over you… one page at a time.

– Tiana Laveen