So…this might have happened.

 I went in for my seasonal haircut yesterday afternoon. It was time. Past time. I have conventions to attend this month. People to meet. Impressions to make.
Nothing says “mature 50-something professional writer” like a radioactive grape-colored buzz-cut. Right? Right?  I sure hope so…Here’s the result on center stage:
Version 2

Guess I need to update my Powerpuff Girl profile pic.

The gory hairstyling details are as follows: #8 guard on the clippers and sideburns shaved, hair process-bleached to yellow, Pravana brand violet for the final color. Visuals on the steps involved included below. for posterity. I might have taken more than my year’s allotment of selfies. Oh, well.

1. The chop.                  2. The villain ‘do.             3. The serious grape.

For the record, I neither cut nor color my own hair. I leave those tasks to trained professionals who have expensive, high-quality tools and all the best chemical toys, and I do not begrudge a single penny of the substantial fees I pay for the services. I find this one weird trick saves me the time and expense of buying products for DIY, screwing up in some dire fashion, and then hiring those trained professionals to fix the mess. Also, I am lazy, and I love having my hair shampooed. True confession.

Scooter is in love with the new ‘do. There’s something about the scent of the hair color that drives him bonkers. He sits behind me on the couch and fawns on my head when I try to watch television. Bonus feature: sleeping on my hair with it’s this short produces a kewpie-doll style with all the hair pointing up in tufts. Looks fab in purple.

You can see my hair in person at these places this month!

Worldcon/MidAmericaCon: August 17-21,  Kansas City. Look for me at the WorldFire Press booth. I’ll sell you some books that aren’t mine (but which I guarantee are incredible, hilarious, jaw-dropping, or otherwise fabulous.)

Dragoncon: Labor Day Weekend, Atlanta. I’ll be hanging around in the Armory, down deep in the basement of one of the con hotels. Surrounded by as many sharp pointy things and unloaded boom-sticks as the rooms will hold.


 PS: I know I seem all cheery and pleased with this (and I am, really, I am, but…)
BUT.
It is a Big and Startling change. That puts a dent in the credit rating of my confidence. I put on a super good front, but it’s a facade. All hollow underneath. Signs  & Stars of Approval go a long way towards making me less self-conscious and squirmy

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