Faking the Image

It’s 5:40 on a Saturday evening… and you know what I’m doing? I’m sitting on my couch in my pajamas feeding a toddler while the Backyardigans plays on television. Oh, and I have Selah Janel on the phone with me. We’ve been talking for the last hour about the writing craft and general silliness that abounds when we get together. She’s in her pajamas too, and just finished watching Jumanji.

Oh, how the mighty have fallen.

If anyone ever wanted to know, yes this is the real us. This is what you get when there isn’t a convention or radio show in the works. This is the ultra-glamorous life of the writer. And that’s the beauty of authorship… the majority of our work can be done on the couch in pajamas. For the majority of the year we don’t have to wash our hair or even put on real clothes.

Nope, it’s not glamorous, I know… but it’s comfortable and (for the most part) productive. I get more done on a Saturday night when my husband isn’t home and the kid is in the high chair than I do any other day or night. It’s a rare part of me that most people don’t get to see. The majority of people that “see” me see the con personality.

Remember Fandom Fest? Yeah, that me and that Selah aren’t that far off from what we are now…but we’re clean and we’ve brushed our hair there. At the conventions we’re required to be personable and professional (well, as professional as the pair of us can be when we’re together) and washed and groomed and interesting. We can be plenty interesting outside the events… but it’s a different type of interesting.

I’m very good at putting up a “glamorous” and professional front, even if I don’t feel like it. I’m good at chatting up people and being sweet and entertaining and smart and approachable. Most of that is a show. In real life, I’m an introvert who would much rather be writing than blogging, who would rather edit and do graphics than be the promotional guru an indie author has to be these days. I’m still smart, though… can’t get rid of the smart.

My hair stays tied up in a knot on the back of my head. I don’t wear socks if I can help it. And I’m way too busy chasing a toddler around my house to worry about who might think I’m a slob if I decide to wear my Eeyore pajamas all day. I’m not afraid to admit it, either… I’m a parent and a cleaner and a writer. I haven’t taken my shower yet (I take them at night anyway because I sleep better), I spent half the day cleaning, and I probably look like I just crawled out from under a bridge somewhere.

But you know what? I don’t care. And I’m okay with that.

(For the record, Selah okays me picking on her. She enjoys the abuse because it comes from me.)


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