Writer Tresses to DIE for

Unruly. Longwinded. Twisted. Gnarled. Short. Blunt. Straight. Kinky. Cropped. Flowing. Untamed.

Are these words that describe my current WIP? Probably. But I’m referring to my love / hate relationship with…my hair. I grow it. Colour it. Perm it (okay – only once and NEVER again). Curl it. Straighten it. Crimp it. Pin it. Updo it and let it all hang down. I’ve even propped it up with pencils and decorated it with little hair bling jewellery things.

But my biggest offence is that I cut my hair myself. Yup, I do. With dull kitchen scissors that saw jagged chunks instead of clean lines, I somehow manage to pull off the shaggy bob style I’ve had for years (in various lengths depending on how much I let it grow out before grabbing those scissors again).

I liken my self-induced hair cutting adventures to writing a first draft of a novel. Sure some pieces may stick out funny, there might be gaps, sections may be longer than they should be, but if you look at the overall beast from a distance – it almost works.

This is where your critique partners and eventually a good editor come in – like a salon stylist brandishing their sharpy sharp, Edward Scissorhands high – saving the day (and the do) with keen eyes and mad reading skills. In no time they’ll hack and slash your unruly writer’s locks into tresses to die for.

Why the hair analogy? Well, yesterday was one of those times where I had to slink off to the salon for a back-to-school fixerupper. I love the finished product. I’m quite put together. But I know I’ll get a creative spark and reach for the kitchen shears in the future, just as I have many more stories to tell. Thank goodness I have my crit partners, a stoic editor and of course, a salon on speed dial.