A couple quick words from our sponsor (…so, basically me):
1) Now through Monday, July 6th, I’m running a Goodreads giveaway for “The Sky-Child and Other Stories (A Wilderhark Tales Collection)”! Enter here for a chance to win one of three prize paperbacks of the sixth-and-a-half volume of The Wilderhark Tales! (U.S. only, this time around; shipping costs be like whuuut.)
2) For a limited time, the Kindle e-book for “The Stone Kingdom” is on sale for $0.99!
That’s right, because I want to make it easier on everyone to get all caught up on their Wilderhark Tales before Book 6.5 launches on July 7th, Book Two can be on your e-reader for just 99 cents. Run, don’t walk! The deal only carries through Monday, June 8th.
And now onto our regularly scheduled blog post.
Once upon a time, there was a girl who loved her hair. Hanging loose, it surrounded her face like a sculpted cloud. Pulled back in a hairband, it formed a fun, puffy tail. And requiring only the occasional wash and blow-dry, it was the perfect low-maintenance crowning glory for someone who couldn’t be bothered to fuss over her appearance every day.
That is, so long as the girl’s mother was around to do the blow-drying.
Which she wouldn’t be, once the girl moved to Europe.
In preparation for when she’d have to get along with some adult-ish semi-independence, then, the girl tried to learn how to take care of her hair on her own.
Long, frustrating, arm-exhausting story short, the results were less than satisfactory.
With every failed attempt, the girl began to realize she was loving her hair less and less. More than that, she was actually beginning to resent it for causing her this much inconvenience and nigh-perpetual stress.
So at last, the girl came to a decision: Her hair would have to go.
And that girl… *solemn nods* …was me.
Increasingly necessary as it felt, it was still a scary move to make.
I’d never had my hair cut like this before. It hasn’t been this short since I was a happy little baby. The boldest change I’d ever made was to quit getting it relaxed (or “permed”, as it’s known by some) and just let it do its natural thing from my early teens onward. When it comes to haircuts, everyone’s assumption is, “Pfft, it’ll grow back.” But where’s the guarantee that it’ll come back just the way it was?
If I said goodbye to my hair, I might not get another hello.
I came to conclusion that I’m okay with that.
Now I can go out in the rain / humidity / general Austeryn-type weather without fear of my hair shrinking into a pathetic parody of itself. I don’t have to obsessive-compulsively fiddle with my hairband to make sure my ponytail hasn’t gone awry. Washing my hair will take less time, and as far as my head is concerned, the blow-dryer is out of a job.
Of course, I’m gonna need a new author photo eventually, now that my old one looks like a lie. And I anticipate there will be plenty of wistful moments, missing my old hair at its best, before its worst drove me away. I rocked that look. But I rock this one, too. And with a bit more time to get used to it and the writing of this blog post now behind me, I’ll probably give my hair a second thought less and less.
Which is just the way I’ve always wanted it.