Love Letter to My Readers
I want to thank everyone that read, ‘Tattooed Moon’ previously, as well as purchased it for their personal collection in this re-release. I understand that some people, who were not familiar with my work, came across me due to the Scandalous Heroes box set, and I would like to offer my thanks to those individuals who wrote me personally to let me know how much they enjoyed the story, and subsequently went on to peruse, purchase, and read some of my other work. I’d like to take this time now to spread my wings a bit, and explain why I wrote this story and what the characters mean to me.
As stated in the dedication, I lost someone very dear to me right at the time I was writing the ending of this book—my grandmother. It was a surreal moment in time. If we rewind a bit, however, I began writing this book several months before my grandmother (Applesmith) passed away. I have always been a visual person. I began drawing and writing at an early age. Illustrations, paintings, and lovely portraits have captivated me ever since I can remember. When asked as a child if I wanted to go to the park or art museum, I was the little girl who jumped up and down and screamed, “Art museum!” I was also a rather peculiar child. That is something I embrace now, but as a youngster, I did not see it as a blessing in the least (Peer pressure is a mofo, right? lol). With that said, there were certain things that interested me that may not have enticed some of my peers, for I was gravitating towards certain behaviors and ‘fashion trends’ before they were deemed in style. A perfect example are piercings.
Piercings fascinated me early on. So much so, I pierced myself many times while in high school by numbing my ears with ice cubes, lighting the end of a hat pin with a lighter to sterilize it and then jamming that thing in my flesh a few seconds later. My parents forbade me to get them, so without the funds to support my ‘derelict behavior’, I became my own ‘one stop and shop piercing parlor.’ Then came the tattoos…
Now, this was a bit trickier because I discovered that I have some rather odd allergies, and dark ink appeared to be one of them. I discovered this in a rather innocent way and apparently I am willing to throw my pride to the wind and share it with you in ten simple steps:
1. Nude college kid is fresh out of the shower.
2. New black towel and washcloth from JC Penney are going to be used.
3. Nude college kid wraps towel around saturated body.
4. Nude college kid is itching and covered in red, itchy hives thirty minutes later.
5. Nude (lazy) college kid realizes she should have washed the new linens FIRST.
6. Nude college kid washes linens that evening.
7. Nude college kid uses laundered towel and washcloth again after shower the following day.
8. Nude college kid is covered in rash once again, and clawing at her skin while lying in a fetal position begging for mercy…and popping antihistamines.
9. Nude college kid is pissed…
10. Hot date is cancelled. Nude college kid is sulking in bed and cursing up a storm while slathered in itch prevention creams. Nude college kid vows to seek revenge, but that is impossible considering that wash cloths and towels don’t have feelings or concerns…nor give one hot damn about nude college kid’s trials and tribulations.
Okay…so, after making a few calls and doing some ‘home experiments’, it became clear that I just may have an allergy to dark dyes if they seep into my pores. I know, I know, I wonder what tipped me off? Whew! Doesn’t mean I’m never getting a tattoo because my desire to have one supersedes my fears that a simple Benadryl could alleviate and besides, I’ve had other allergies that I’ve actually grown out of and I suspect, based on recent experimentation, that this one qualifies as a yesteryear sort of situation.
So, let’s fast forward back to the present. I love art. I also love the human body and I respect those that wish to adorn themselves with illustrations that bring both of these elements together. That is their personal right, and they owe neither me nor anyone else an explanation, regardless of whether I happen to like it or not. Now, some of the tattoos I’ve seen over the years are nothing short of breathtaking. Seeing them made me wonder about the artist…all that talent inside of one vessel…amazing.
This in turn made me think about the life of a tattoo artist. What type of person is attracted to that sort of field? What type of individual can deal with that sort of pressure – after all, to make a mistake on canvas or, in this case, the human body, is a big, damn deal. And then, my ideas and notions travelled a bit further.
Why do some women (and men) ‘get off’ on being inked? Does the tattoo artist get any pleasure, besides a paycheck, in doing his or her job? All these concepts roamed about within my head, and I began to piece together the hero of the story, Julian Savant. He started as an ink drop, and morphed into a full-grown man that I fell helplessly in love with.
I wanted him to be ‘alpha’, but not overly aggressive. I wanted him to be caring, but not a wuss. I wanted him to be intelligent, but not nerdy (though I find nerds incredibly erotic, but I digress). I wanted him to be unusual and different, but not difficult to understand and relate to. I wanted him to be…
S E X Y…
Those were my goals, so as I envisioned what this man looked like from a physical standpoint and married it to a personality that I felt fit the bill, I began to fashion him just so until I had a good handle on the situation. I needed to cultivate this man, layer by layer, and as I did, it became clear to me that this gent was going to be a gamble. Julian Savant was NOT going to appeal to everyone. Unconventional people/characters rarely do. To be included and accepted by all is simply impossible. However, I was fine with that, for I knew, as an author and an artist, that I must step out of my own way and follow the path I wish to travel, regardless of whether someone is co-signing or not.
Like Julian, we can’t live for other people, because if we do, then we’ve died for them, too. The next reason is far simpler. It’s a matter of personal attraction: If I don’t personally find my characters alluring, no one else will, either. I have to be convincing, thus, I must be enamored with the men that run amok all over the pages of my books. And who would I be to always color within the lines? That was never my style, so why start now?
I have been asked many times by readers, especially ladies who didn’t find the art of tattooing and/or tattoo artists particularly appealing until they read this book: why do SOME women seem to lose their minds around these male tattoo professionals? Yes…many have a cult following, groupies if you will. (Evident in the popularity of reality-based TV tattoo parlor shows.) This is my answer:
If a tattoo artist is gifted at what he does, if you connect with him and he understands your goals, then your consultation is, believe it or not, a replica of foreplay. Now, before you dismiss my notion and color me crazy, let me break this down a bit further. Typically when a person, a woman in this case (Milan Parker—the heroine), goes to get a tattoo, she first talks the artist. They meet, discuss things, have a conversation. This conversation can last anywhere from ten minutes to several months, depending on many variables. Regardless, it is a conversation, for no one just walks into a tattoo parlor, flops down in the chair or on the bench and doesn’t share what they want, why they are there, etc.
So, the client is asking the artist to put something on her body – her temple… She is trusting him to do what she asks, to fill in the blanks of what she did not articulate and if he is a skilled artist, he will be able to ask the proper questions and meet her expectations. There is a difference however between good and great. The great tattoo artists surpasses those expectations, thus, his clientele increases and he has dedicated, loyal customers. The client is putting her faith into the hands of another human being to change her flesh, mark it permanently. She has an understanding in advance that it may be an uncomfortable experience, and for some, even downright painful. She recognizes that it is PERMANENT. Thus, this mimics one’s loss of virginity, especially if they are a ‘tattoo virgin’, so to speak. Once that cherry/hymen is popped…it’s a wrap. No one else can duplicate that.
That artist is penetrating that person’s skin, leaving a trace of their craft on that person FOREVER. No other creature on the planet is going to generate the exact same tattoo, the exact same way. You can give two talented tattoo artists identical photos to duplicate. For example, let’s pretend it is a black rose. Like all art, it will be subjective and up to the artist to interpret it. There will be differences in shading, technique, possibly size, too. The artist may very well ‘get off’ knowing they have left something behind that is forever, for their art is in a way like their fingerprint.
The artist becomes timeless, immortal. The artist can perish, pass away, but his or her art is STILL ALIVE on the flesh of their former clients, and even when those clients die as well, they take that art to their grave. Additionally, there will be pictures documenting their body art long after they took their last breath. It will go on and on. These men and women who skin tag for a living ‘live on’ through their ink…
So, you see, when a client allows this to happen to her, she has on some level, had foreplay, and then intercourse, with her artist. He/she has penetrated them and now, they (the client and artist) will always be connected. They have an intimate relationship, whether they interpret it as such or not. So, this is why some women (and men) gravitate towards stories, books, movies, etc. featuring tattoo artists and the art they leave behind. It is one of the reasons that some women become literally addicted to being tattooed as well. The act of getting a tattoo becomes BIGGER than hanging wall art – because it is married to an experience and two people being connected and that virtuosity becomes LIVING ART…
…Because she, the Queen canvas, walks and talks…
She breathes.
She lives
… and she wears his work across her heart like, well, a tattoo…
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