I’m a natural-born tomboy and I always have been. Give me a
pair of jeans, cargo pants, a hippie-looking pull-over, or a tool belt and I’m
right at home. Set me loose in a department store full of accessories and
fashionable clothes and I’m likely to have a retail-induced panic attack. It’s
probably the same way Captain Rogers felt when he walked out into modern day
Manhattan surrounded by strange and alien modern contraptions.
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| Yes, this is me at my best. |
So why am I suddenly obsessing over clothes, nails, jewelry
and hair for next week? The biggest thing that has ever happened to me in my
LIFE is happening next week (I can still say this is the ‘biggest’ because I
haven’t gotten around to popping the question to Steven yet). My first novel
hits the shelves on Tuesday, and on Thursday we’re heading down to Miami for
the book launch at the Miami Book Fair.
What I should be thinking about is honing my pitch, being sure I’m ready to
discuss every aspect with it, having at least 20 quick answers for ‘What’s it about?’ and generally just being professional and prepared.
Instead, I've been digging through my cabinets for make-up
that I haven’t worn in ages and trying to perfect the ‘author look,’ as if there even is such a thing. I’m even going shopping again tonight (albeit at Mountain High
Outfitters) to try to find the perfect shirt of the Prana persuasion. My nails
are perfectly purple, and I even had my hair dyed at a salon for the first time
in about 4 years. Though, I have to admit I’m really enjoying that last part;
not seeing the gray for a change is nice.
I've been thinking about this completely out-of-character recent
behavior of mine and I’m no longer afraid that I’m suddenly turning from a
die-hard tomboy to a prissy prom queen. It was a concern at first, especially
considering I don’t have enough room in my closet to support a shoe habit, but
then the zits started popping up and two things happened. First, I howled like
said prom queen upon finding zits the morning of prom. Not little bitty ones,
either. Big, painful, red welts on my cheek of the sort I haven’t had since
high school. Horrifying timing, of course. Second, I realized that they were
the physical manifestation of the stress I've apparently been channeling into the
‘Gossip Girl’ kind of persona I've been wearing lately. *Note: I hope that’s a good analogy. I've never actually seen an
episode of ‘Gossip Girl,’ but the title and commercial strikes me as the type
of show where shallow reigns and geek stains.*
I’m not prone to stress, so I guess it’s not surprising that
I’d been suppressing the reaction until the cauldron of stress and chocolate
started bubbling over with some odd side effects. And now that I recognize what’s
going on with me, I can at least start getting my head straight. So I’m
nervous. Big deal, right? I SHOULD be nervous, but most of all excited and
satisfied that my years of working on my writing have finally begun to pay off
in the way that I've always dreamed. But on that road I’m going to experience
my first public bad reviews, my first nerve-wracking appearances, and I’m going
to have to learn to be a more social and outgoing person. Normally I like to
hide at the back of a room and sneak out before anyone realizes I’m there. Not
in the creepy Unabomber way; more like the awkward wallflower way.
So yes, there is plenty of reason for me to be nervous and
anxious, but there is plenty of reason for me to be proud and confident as
well. I’m still going to go shopping tonight, but I’m not going to obsess like
I have been. I’m going to relax and have fun. I’m going to make fantastic new
memories and meet incredible new people along the way. I've worked hard to get
where I am and I’m going to continue to work hard and take this new direction
as far as humanly possible.
And it all starts with showing up and being comfortable with
myself next week in Miami, no matter how many pimples I get. Besides... that’s why God invented Photoshop.
