The Book

You know, with these blog posts, I could go on forever—editing them, taking out words, replacing words. Be it the Virgo in me.

A lot of thoughts come before I get started, some during, and some after I hit publish.

Some posts are done quickly, others take more time. Truth be told, I could sit here all day just switching things around, organizing—and if I did that, none of them would ever get posted. So boom—I hit that button, and off it goes.

I’m well aware some are rougher than others. Some errors I catch, some I don’t even notice—I just keep going. As should you.

Like I said at the beginning of all this, that isn’t the point—my writing skills, my punctuation, or spelling errors. It’s all about the message. As much of a perfectionist as I am, I’m far from perfect.

And just like the book—while it was intended to be edited professionally—that became a problem. I’ve been through two so-called “editors” on Fiverr—just like Upwork when I started the blog.

The first person I went with—her name is “Mich.” She received my manuscript on August 3rd. She extended after two weeks for another two weeks—cool, take your time. This isn’t something that can be rushed. I respected that she needed more time. Also, I didn’t know the process of editing a book, so in good faith, I trusted.

She sent her progress at the two-week mark, which was minimal, but my words were replaced with shit like “maddening” and “storm in her head.” This isn’t a fiction novel, and that’s not how I speak. I was like—yea, no! Can’t do that. Change it back.

I made it clear from the very beginning that my words were not to be removed, replaced, or altered in any way. She said, “Ok, no problem.”

Two weeks after the extension—the changes I requested weren’t made, and she was still replacing my words—sentences—fuck, paragraphs, for fuck’s sake! I told her what she had produced for me was totally unacceptable and extremely disappointing.

She didn’t follow instructions at all. It was obvious to me either she was lazy, just not into it, or—she didn’t know what the fuck she was doing!

She asked me to give her three more days to redo it. Huh!?

It was now August 30th. She told me her husband died four days ago. I was like—“Super sorry to hear that—but what does that have to do with my book?” And what happened to the other 27 days? I knew she was full of shit!

I took a deep dive into her reviews—mind you, this is a level two, 5-star editor. I should have gone back further from the get-go. Buried was this: “Freelancer was difficult to communicate with—not much response, the project was delayed. Don’t get me wrong, I have a lot of compassion for a single mother with two kids…” Ughh—I felt fucking sick.

She had me with her response after reading some of my blog, replying with something along the lines of, “Wow, this book comes from the soul. It deserves to be handled properly—yadda yadda.” I felt like she got it.

I sent her my blog before giving her the gig because she had “Christian” on her ad, and I wanted to make sure she was cool with all the profanity. I won’t lie though—that word also played a role in selecting her. Blinded.

Anyway—I told her, “Sure, go ahead, extend it for three more days.” As soon as she sent the request—I denied it. When that happens, it sits in “dispute” mode. She has to sign off on it or we fucking wait for a third party to intervene.

I was in tears.

A whole fucking month wasted. I couldn’t believe this shit happened to me—again! I know the book is important. I couldn’t understand why this would happen again.

I wrote her, “After reading my manuscript, how could you do this to me? After everything I’ve been through—the betrayal, the trauma—how could a Christian woman do this? I trusted you!”

No reply. I was duped.

I then wrote her after the tears dried up: “You know shit like this has a boomerang effect, right? ’Cause what you did to me will be coming back to you tenfold! Hit the button, man—you will not win this dispute, I assure you—do the right thing!”

She did.

I wrote her back: “Evil.” I didn’t even block her—she just let it sit there—no words, no fucks.

Fucking Christian—yea, I bet you are! I was raised as a Christian in a hypocritical Christian home, and I don’t give a fuck what anybody says—some Christians are the biggest hypocrites out there! I don’t speak from the outside—I speak from the inside! So if you’re offended—sorry, not sorry.

I moved on to another offer in my inbox that had been in the running from the start. Read her reviews—I went deep. She was another 5-star editor. I gave her the gig. She wanted to move the conversation to WhatsApp—sure, easier than Fiverr.

I was clear from the beginning what I needed done, and I was on her from the start. A few days in, she sent me progress—three or four chapters. Nothing had changed. I said, “What am I looking at?” Her reply: “What—you don’t like my work?” I said, “I didn’t say that, but I am asking you what changes you made—because I can’t see them.” She said, “I’m not done, I’ll send you mid-way.” “Ok. Just keep in mind—no changing my words.” “Ok, no problem,” she said.

A day or so later, I wanted to see where we were at. She sent me her work. This gig was set to be completed in 7–10 days—we were 7 days in. I took a look and my words, my sentences, were altered.

That automatically happens when my writing is run through AI. 

I started thinking that’s what she and Mich were doing—using ChatGPT. Her name, by the way, is Wonderlina. I’m telling you these names as a fucking warning!

My words—my writing—are a combination of patois, ghetto, gangster, and English all in one. AI doesn’t get it. No matter how many times you tell it not to change the words, it does. So I called it out and said, “You can’t use AI—it doesn’t work for my writing.” She was offended and said, “I am not using any tool!” If AI worked, I would have fucking used it myself.

I explained again about the words and said, “You know what? Just do the punctuation, grammar, spelling, and paragraph formatting. That’s it—no editing.” In my head, I thought that was editing. My bad! Editing is when people write scribbles and the editor makes sense of it and turns it into a story.

I didn’t need that and I didn’t want that. I had my story. Then I started looking up all kinds of shit—shit I should have done first. Like what is editing, what is proofreading, and so on. Holy fuck.

Listen—this is what no help looks like—trial and fucking error.

She agreed, and we proceeded. I got a message from her on WhatsApp the next evening: “I want to know you better, tell me about yourself, is that ok?” At first, I was like—“huh?” I said, “Sure—you go first!” I got back, “lol.” So I was confused as fuck.

I said, “If you're reading my manuscript, you should know about me—are you reading my manuscript?” She said, “Yea.” I gave her a very curt, raw blurb about me—basically to let her know I ain’t fucking around. Let’s get back to the book.

I started thinking, Is this even a person I'm working with? I searched up the area code as soon as we got on WhatsApp, and it was Nunavut, Canada—cool. But after that weird interaction, my mind was spinning. Are these real people on Fiverr, or fucking AI—and how would I know?

I mean, how could the reviews be fake when you have to have an order completed before you can review? I mean—like Amazon reviews—I guess AI has its ways. I didn’t know what I was into, and I didn’t really care as long as shit got done. I wanted to trust the process.

I went to my friend's house up in the country for a couple days to relax, and the shit was hovering over my head the whole time. When I got back, I messaged Wonderlina and said, “Show me what you got.” No fucking salutations. She said, “I will tomorrow.” She was pissy—like I was working for her! I said, “No, now.”

She said, “I’ll show you tonight.” I went on the Fiverr app and formally requested to see her progress. After I did that, she messaged me on WhatsApp: “Why did you do that?! Don’t you know I get in trouble for that?” I said, “I want to see your work, and I think we should’ve been using the app all along! Show me what you have.”

In came the document. The words weren’t changed—she got that part right, if it even was a she. But there were three paragraphs per page, double-spaced like a children’s book. And the font she used for the title was similar to a Galaga arcade game font.

Holy fuck! My manuscript looked better than that before she touched it. I was done.

I said, “What is this?” She said, “Oh, you don’t like my work? Because if you don't, let’s just end this right here and now!” Feisty little robot!

That’s exactly what I wanted to hear.

I started double-checking the rules for canceling—I didn’t want it to sit in dispute because now this thing—or person—I assumed was gonna give me a hard time. I said, “No, I do not—not at all!”

Boom! I got the notification she canceled. Phew. Instantly, I felt relieved. Buh-bye.

Next, I explained to ChatGPT exactly the work I needed done—minus the editing—and it gave me a perfectly detailed job description to replace the one I had up on Fiverr.

It doesn’t matter who proofreads or edits it—I still need someone to format it for Kindle and paperback, Amazon-ready, and to create the cover with the spine intact. So, at the end of the day, I still need someone—a freelancer.

I had the ad out there. I already knew at this point what to do with what I thought was editing, which was really just proofreading. In the beginning, I didn’t know what exactly I needed—I thought I needed it all. But I didn’t want my words or memoir revised, and a lot of ads say, “Your book, your words, done your way.” Yea—no.

I had a friend in mind before I initially started farming out the work, but I didn’t know all that was involved with self-publishing a book. And even though I did some light research once I completed the manuscript, I really just wanted—hoped—to hand it over and have it come back a polished, published book, just like the ads said.

Well, I know better now, don’t I!

Shit, I know exactly how the entire process works now. I wish I had an inkling at the start of all of this because how I thought it was—is exactly how it’s sold—the self-publishing gig.

After my two experiences with “5-star freelancers,” I’m not sure they even know what the fuck they’re doing on that app. Even I could do a better job than those slack asses on Fiverr!

There are so many components to self-publishing a book, it’s not even funny. And throughout this whole time—once I knew a book was about—I was asking questions left and right to anyone who knew, or possibly anyone who had self-published a book—about the process.

Everybody said the same thing: get a freelancer on Fiverr, Upwork, or Reedsy.

So, I have this friend who is very talented with English, grammar, spelling—proofreading—a perfectionist whether she realizes it or not—she’s got mad skills. So I reached out and asked her if she would do the proofreading and paragraph formatting for me.

I gave her the fonts as well as spacing instructions. She replied, “I mean, if it's just formatting, grammar, and punctuation, I should be ok.” I know she’s more than ok with the task. I was just happy she accepted. More than happy—elated. Instantly, the hovering, the uncertainty, went away.

My soul was calm.

This is how it should’ve went in the first place. Just like the blog—two fumbles in and saved by a friend.

What’s the message here for me? There are a few I’m sure, but there’s a bigger message—and I’m not exactly sure what that is yet.

I do know that it’s been made clear to me that I actually do have friends. Friends that want to help me where they can. Friends that actually want to see me succeed. Friends that care. Maybe that’s the message right there.

Suffice it to say—my book is delayed, and that’s OK. This isn’t something that can be rushed—it’ll be ready when it’s ready.

It’s in the right hands now, and I’m still sussing out a freelancer for the Kindle and paperback format—with a lot more insight and questions than I had at the beginning of all this. It’s down to two—so wish me luck; seems as though I’ll need it.

There’s a lot I didn’t get to put in the book—not because I didn’t want to or because I am ashamed—there’s just a lot. If I continued on with everything I’ve lived through, the memoir would’ve turned into a fucking encyclopedia.

I was trying to keep it within the guidelines of 150K words or less, and I still went over.

There’s a lot more I could’ve written, a lot of things in that book that I could’ve elaborated on—and I’m sure some stuff will come out along the way, just like it did in the Cuba post. Things will be spoken down the road—on the podcast and on various platforms.

I wanted to keep you guys in the loop. This is all new to me. I’m trying to take it as it comes—one day at a time. And that’s not always easy. I rely heavily on my faith.

I’d never written a thing before all of this started last September, so I’d like you to pay more attention to the message than critiquing my words or writing style.

As I prepare to send this book out into the world, I’m not asking for kindness—I’m asking that you hear me.