Queen of the yammed

Ass-piring to greatness: For her current book launch, advancing The Sweet Potato Queens’ 1st Big-Ass Novel, Jill Conner Browne was given her own tour bus. Butt of course.

“Inwardly I’m Reba McEntire,” confesses Jill Conner Browne, better known as the Sweet Potato Queen. “For me, my earliest vision was to be 5’2″ with little feet. I never got any of that. I’m 6’1″; I can’t sing. I never got anything I want.”

The author laughs as she says this, but her latest book, The Sweet Potato Queens’ 1st Big-Ass Novel (Stuff we didn’t actually do, but could have, and may yet) (Simon & Schuster, 2007), sets out to show just how the Queens transformed their shortcomings into fabulousness.

The book begins at Peebles High in 1968, when four misfits pulled together to help a new girl after she was ostracized by the popular crowd. It’s well-trod ground (see pretty much every John Hughes movie) — but Browne still thinks high-school woes offer plenty of fodder.

“All of our issues,” she insists, “come from high school.

“Certainly most of our phobias — everything bad.”

Girls rule

Still fabulous after all these years, in her new book Browne reveals the humble beginnings of her consorts.

Fans of Browne’s past books — including The Sweet Potato Queens’ Big-Ass Cookbook (and Financial Planner), The Sweet Potato Queens’ Field Guide to Men: Every Man I Love Is Either Married, Gay, or Dead and The Sweet Potato Queens’ Wedding Planner/Divorce Guide — are already familiar with the author’s mouthy, Southern-belle-gone-wrong elan.

Publisher’s Weekly described Browne as “… show[ing] no sign of wearing out her welcome as the Southern fried guru of belles past 40 but never past their prime.”

Newcomers to Browne’s bawdy views on life, men and full-fat food have the opportunity to get to know the novel’s Sweet Potato Queens from their humble (and, as the author promises, completely fictional) beginnings.

“She was Fast — which, by the litmus test for Whoredom at Peebles, meant she’d made out with more than five boys and not only KNEW what all the bases were, it was rumored that she’d been to some of them,” Browne writes of character Mary Bennett. “Plus, she had pierced ears, and our mamas assured us that ‘only whores had pierced ears.’ We all wanted them, naturally.”

As the book’s title proclaims, this is Browne’s first foray into fiction — a direction her agent suggested. With the help of seasoned novelist Karin Gillespie (creator of the Bottom Dollar Girls series), the head Sweet Potato Queen crafted a “what could’ve been” scenario introducing the aforementioned Mary Bennett, plus Patsy, Gerald and Tammy — whose misspelled name (Yammy) leads to the Sweet Potato moniker.

Novel is Divine Secrets of the Ya-Ya Sisterhood meets Steel Magnolias in an era when kitschy, potty-mouthed heroines with thick drawls regularly scale the bestseller lists in their wobbly stilettos (or sparkly majorette boots, as the case may be).

And as might be expected from a book that had to be structured via a co-author, Novel is hardly in danger of snagging a Pulitzer: Browne’s frequent use of all caps is derivative of her nonfiction work, and remains distracting; her cutesy Southern-ized spellings (“gen’lly,” “hunny,” “joo-ry”) are borderline embarrassing; her plot is predictable.

But she isn’t worried.

“No matter who you are, no matter what you’ve written, somebody somewhere hates it,” she says. “I just hope that they will be in the minority.”

For the good of the world

Sweet Potato Queen enthusiasts (or Wannabes, as Novel‘s Queens refer to their minions) are likely more interested in entertainment than in the great American novel — and on that front, Browne delivers.

“I threw up my hands. ‘It’s such a helluva burden being Boss Queen. Plan the parade. Design the costumes. Write a book. Will it never end?,'” asks the main character (conveniently named Jill, despite Browne’s assertion that her characters are pure fiction). “But while I was ranting, I was also thinking a book wasn’t such a half-bad idea after all. Didn’t the whole world deserve to hear about the Queens?”

Speaking to her experience of writing Novel, Browne muses, “How stupid would I have to be to not do this?”

She adds, “The characters are solid enough that they can have an extended life.” In the tradition of How Stella Got Her Groove Back and other character-driven reads marketed at the over-40 crowd, expect a sequel.

Browne’s right about the potential longevity of her characters: Actress Mary Bennett has a way with one-liners (“‘If lookin’ was eatin’, there wouldn’t be nuthin’ left of MY boyfriend but a greasy spot and some crumbs'”); Patsy bears the well-deserved nickname “Poot” and the book’s men (other than Queen Gerald) are all villains.

And yet, “None of my stuff is man-bashing,” Browne claims. “I love men; always have. And the flip side is, there’s plenty of women who need killing [too].”

Case in point: The Queens’ arch-nemesis, the most popular girl in school who belittles the Queens in their youth but eventually gets hers — a dynamic Browne agrees was cathartic to write. “That was fun, on behalf of everybody,” she laughs.

But Novel‘s bottom line isn’t about revenge — it’s about being fabulous (in a red-wig, sequined-dress sort of way) despite life’s ups and downs.

“‘ … Frankly, you Queens are so fabulous you’d look darling in flour sacks,'” costume designer Clyde says in the book’s conclusion.

Browne’s main character notes, “Besides being a genius with fabric and a Singer, he instinctively knew there was no such thing as too much sucking up.”

Jill Conner Browne reads from The Sweet Potato Queens’ 1st Big-Ass Novel at Malaprop’s Bookstore (55 Haywood St.) on Friday, Jan. 12. 7 p.m. Free. 254-6734.