African American / Nonfiction
Date Published: 08-30-2025
Interview with Elbert Jones Jr.
How did publishing your first book change your process of writing?
Publishing "Real Men vs. Plastic Men" fundamentally changed my writing process from one of personal reflection to one of public accountability. Before that book came out, I was simply compiling years of observations, sermons, and counseling sessions. It was a deep, spiritual, and intellectual interrogation: What does authentic masculinity look like in the Black community today? I was writing it for my own clarity, for my sons, and for the young men I mentor. But once that book went to press under my imprint KJ Publications, which I founded with my long time friend and c-owner, author Darrell King, I realized I wasn’t writing a memoir or a private essay anymore; I was putting a blueprint for change into the hands of countless people.
Intentionality: It forced me to be hyper-intentional with every single word. When you are writing a nonfiction work about integrity, fatherhood, and purpose—calling men to reject the 'plastic' performance—you have to ensure the message is crystal clear, rooted in truth, and cannot be easily twisted. My process became less about finding the words and more about structuring the argument with the precision of a master builder.
The Community Standard: That book demanded I step up not just as an author, but as a spiritual and community leader. It put me out there. You can’t tell men to rise with integrity if you don’t practice it yourself, and you can't be lax with your process when the message is so critical. It introduced a higher level of due diligence and discipline—checking my scriptural references, refining the case studies, and making sure the tone was always one of challenging love, not condemnation.
In short, publishing that book made me a professional, yes, but more importantly, it made me a more responsible servant of the message. The writing stopped being just mine; it became a piece of the village.
What was an early experience where you learned that language had power?
Ah, now that takes me back. I learned that language had power not in a textbook, not in a classroom, but right in the pulpit of the church I grew up in. must have been about twelve or thirteen. I was sitting in the front pew, watching my pastor—a formidable man named Reverend Hayes—deliver his Sunday sermon. He was talking about accountability in the community, about how we treat our elderly and our children.
He didn't just speak; he commanded. He used words that everyone knew, but he put them together in a way that had a real, visceral impact. The church was always a lively place, but in that moment, when Reverend Hayes was truly in his element, the energy in the room would shift. You could feel the air get heavier. Folks who had been whispering or nodding off suddenly sat bolt upright. He pointed to the back and said, "The words you speak in the street are a reflection of the God you claim to serve in here!"
It wasn't a complex phrase, but the way he delivered it—the resonance, the rhythm, the fierce authority in his voice—it was like a physical jolt. People were moved to tears, they were shouting "Amen!", and you saw men who had been slacking off in the week suddenly look down at their shoes with conviction.
I learned right then and there that words, when deployed with integrity and passion, are the most powerful tool a man can possess. They can build up a soul, they can tear down a lie, and they can absolutely hold a community accountable. It wasn't about big, fancy vocabulary; it was about the power of truth backed by intentional language. That lesson stuck with me and became the foundation for how I approach every page of "Real Men vs. Plastic Men." I treat every word like a stone I'm laying in a foundation.
What one thing would you give up to become a better writer?
That is a question that cuts deep into a man's routine. If I had to pick one thing—and this is something I wrestle with every single day as an entrepreneur and a writer—it would be the illusion of total control over my schedule. As the Chief of Financial Operations of KJ Publications, Inc. and a community leader, I’m constantly juggling phone calls, meetings, administrative work, and mentorship. I treat my business like a full-time ministry. The biggest hindrance to my writing isn't a lack of ideas or passion; it's the constant, fractured attention demanded by my various responsibilities. My desire to be accessible and to handle every single detail often leads to my writing being done in stolen moments—early morning sprints, late-night sessions, or thirty minutes squeezed in between appointments. This results in writing that is often fragmented and lacks the deep, sustained focus that a complex work like Real Men vs. Plastic Men truly needs.
To become a better writer, I would gladly give up the need to be the point person for every single aspect of my enterprise. I would give up the clutching control that keeps me away from sinking into the deep current of thought necessary for true impactful writing.
I need to delegate more fiercely—to hand off the logistical and administrative burden of the publications company to trusted hands. That one sacrifice would buy me not just more time, but more importantly, more stillness. That quiet, sustained focus—that's the fertile ground where profound truth and compelling language are truly found. It’s a necessary sacrifice to elevate the message.
Tell us a little about yourself? Perhaps something not many people know?
What most folks don't know—the ones who only see the author and the publisher—is that my life before this chapter was deeply rooted in two very different worlds: Government Service and Music. For over 33 years, I was a high-grade supervisor right here in the U.S. Department of Agriculture. I spent my professional career navigating the complex halls of the federal government, managing budgets, people, and policy. That experience gave me a profound understanding of structure, detail, and accountability, which honestly, is what helped me systematize the discipline needed to run a publishing house. It was a serious life, demanding precision every day. But back in the late 1970s and early 1980s, I was part of the thriving, electric DMV music scene. I spent my nights and weekends as a songwriter and producer. I had the privilege of helping craft several tracks that went on to become local hits around D.C., Maryland, and Virginia. That was where I first truly learned the power of rhythm, timing, and using language—lyrics—to connect with people's hearts and move their feet.
So, when you read my books, know that they come from a man who has managed a federal bureaucracy, navigated the cutthroat rhythm of the music business, and finally, found his true calling in serving his community with the written word. It’s been a long, blessed road.
If you had to do something differently as a child or teenager to become a better writer as an adult, what would you do?
That is a wonderfully convincing question. If I could whisper some advice into the ear of young Elbert, who was busy trying to be cool and manage his federal forms, it would come down to one thing: Listen better, and write down the messy parts. When I look back, my biggest mistake wasn't avoiding books; it was avoiding certain conversations. As a young man, I was raised to be respectful, to be polite, and to keep quiet when the real, uncomfortable truth was being spoken in the background.
I would have told my younger self to forget the etiquette for a minute and become a feral eavesdropper. I’m talking about the arguments on the bus, the whispered fears in the barbershop, the raw, unfiltered pain and triumph discussed at the kitchen table late at night when the kids were supposed to be asleep.
I was too concerned with the surface performance of life—the "plastic" presentation, if you will—and that cost me years of rich, authentic material. I needed to document the language, the cadence, the real vernacular of the streets and the churches without cleaning it up. If I had a redo, I would carry a small notepad everywhere and treat it like a sacred duty to record the contradictions and the compromises I saw.
I'd capture the exact words that made a grown man cry.
I'd document the specific arguments the "plastic men" used to justify their failures.
I'd record the eloquent, unvarnished wisdom of the neighborhood elders who had no degrees but understood life better than any professor.
You see, my book, Real Men vs. Plastic Men, is built on trying to reclaim that truth. But if I had started gathering that raw, untidy linguistic data as a teenager, the message would have been clearer and sharper much sooner.
I'd tell young Elbert, "Stop being so proper. Write down the cuss words, write down the prayers, and write them down side-by-side. That's the stuff that moves the needle." It would have saved me decades of having to dig back through.
What is the biggest surprise that you experienced after becoming a writer?
The biggest surprise, and it still catches me off guard, is how quickly and how deeply the readers turn into co-owners of the message. When you spend years crafting a book like "Real Men vs. Plastic Men," you believe you've poured all the truth, all the clarity, and all the necessary instructions into those pages. You think, I know exactly what this book is saying and what it's for.
The surprise is that once the book is out there, it stops being solely my truth. It becomes a mirror for everyone who reads it.
I've had conversations with young men who tell me the book isn't about avoiding the "plastic man" persona; it's about giving them the vocabulary to articulate the pain of being raised by one. I've had women approach me and say, "Mr. Jones, this isn't just a book for men. It's the blueprint I needed to recognize my own worth and demand a higher standard."
That was the shock: realizing that the core message of integrity and authenticity transcends the specific framework I built around it. The readers take the foundation, and they build their own house of understanding on it.
It's humbling, and frankly, it’s a little scary, because you quickly learn that the power of the work is no longer yours to control. My job stops at the printing press. The real power begins when a sister in the church or a brother on the block starts living out the changes the book inspired. That profound sense of shared ownership—that's the biggest surprise and the greatest blessing of this calling.
Could you tell us a bit about your most recent book and why it is a must-read?
My most recent and first book, the one that’s taking up all my heart and my time right now, is "Real Men vs. Plastic Men." And let me be clear: this isn't just a book you should read; this is a book that I believe is essential—a true blueprint for change in our community. This book is a deep, unflinching look at what it means to be a man, specifically a Black man, in this confusing, modern world. It is a necessary intervention. We are living in a generation where men, particularly young men, are being drowned in the performance of masculinity—what I call the "Plastic Man" persona. This is the man defined by superficial attraction, ego, fast money, and a refusal to take emotional accountability. He looks good on the surface, but he's hollow inside.
"Real Men vs. Plastic Men" cuts through that illusion. It holds up the true, biblical, and cultural standard of a "Real Man": one defined by integrity, accountability, fatherhood, spiritual maturity, and lasting purpose. We are not just debating philosophy; we are providing the spiritual and practical tools to move from performance to substance. While the book directly challenges men, it is absolutely a must-read for women and community leaders as well.
For Women: It gives them the clarity and vocabulary to spot the difference between the 'plastic' exterior and the 'real' interior. It’s an empowerment tool for demanding authentic relationships and protecting their homes and hearts.
For Mentors and Leaders: It gives them a structured framework to counsel and guide young men. It provides the language to address the emotional deficit and the lack of spiritual foundation that is plaguing our streets and our homes. My writing is grounded in my decades of work in the government, my years mentoring young men, and my own journey as a husband and father. This isn't just high-minded theory; it’s battle-tested wisdom designed for real-world application in our neighborhoods and our homes.
In a time where the definition of manhood is constantly shifting and often corrupted, "Real Men vs. Plastic Men" is a lighthouse. It's a call back to a standard of honor, and that is why, with all the conviction in my soul, I say this book is a must-read. The very soul of the community depends on men reclaiming their purpose. Nancy Allen, I genuinely appreciate the time you and The Avid Reader have taken today to talk about this vital work. It’s a blessing to connect with a platform that clearly values deep conversation and meaningful literature.
You’ve managed to pull out truths about my process—from the old song-writing days in the DMV to the daily struggle of scheduling—that don’t often come up, and I thank you for that sharp eye.
If this conversation encourages even one person to pick up "Real Men vs. Plastic Men" and start that necessary journey toward authentic masculinity, then our time together has been a profound success.
Thank you again for honoring me and KJ Publications, inc. with your platform. May God bless you and all the avid readers who follow your insightful blog. Take care, now.
Mr. Jones is entrepreneur with well over 33 years in the U.S. government and knows how to operate a successful business. He has had experience as well in the entertainment field. During the late 1970s' and much of the early 80s' Mr. Jones affectionately known to his many friends and loved ones as 'June' or 'Jonesie' collaborated on various singles by several local DC area recording artists and has mentored underground rap star "D Young". A phenomenal businessman who loves people and live talk radio Elbert Jones Jr. is a great access to KJ Publications,Inc..
