Back in the day when I had extremely vague intentions of “one day” writing a book, I was totally ignorant of how much stuff an author is obliged to do–social media, blog posts, signings, etc–to encourage readers to discover her work.
(That’s a nice way of saying “Buy her book.”)
Anyway, early in the game, I realized that I’m as comfortable with self-marketing as Clooney is with saying the words “I do.” Accordingly, I hired a firm, Astral Road Media, and they have taken me in hand.
Item 1: My brand new facebook page: https://www.facebook.com/LeighEvansAuthor Go ahead, check it out. I’ll wait for you here. Don’t forget to “like” the damn thing, or Rich from Astral Road will be annoyed with me.
I had FUN. At last–a captive audience!
Plus, I really think Rich asked great questions for which I gave so-so replies. And Karen made a life-long friend (because she’s smart, and gorgeous, and very funny). As well, let’s not forget RJ, the camera god! That dear man made me feel like a movie star.
There was just one itty bitty problem: it was summer in Toronto, which means heat and humidity.
Now I swear on my stack of Smithsonian magazines that I never used to have frizzy hair. In humid conditions, my tresses used to take the Regency debutant’s approach to something funky–they swooned and fell limp. Now? It’s like each strand has a twisted mind of its own.
We filmed in three locations–a bookstore, a library, and a courtyard. Our morning shoot was hosted by Bakka Phoenix, well-known in Toronto as being the place to pick up your fantasy or science fiction books. Chris and her staff were very generous to us, letting us set up camp for a good two hours, during which I pulled out books and messed up their store. They were absolutely lovely about it.
At that point, I thought my hair was behaving. Kind of like an Afghan hound’s:
It just felt okay when I touched it. And to be honest, I don’t look at myself in the mirror all that much. For me, once it moved from “same old, same old” to “you’re old and getting older”, I totally lost my appreciation for my reflection.
The next location was across town, so we piled into our respective vehicles, and I led the way. A nice, mid-day drive through downtown traffic. With the driver’s window open because I didn’t want to lose my American friends to Toronto’s traffic snarl and it just seemed polite to wave my hand here and there to give them a heads-up when I was planning to change lanes.
Yes. Canadian cars do come with indicator lights. But I was being Dudley-Do-Right, okay?
However, as I waited at each red light, I could feel my hair becoming evil-doers. I don’t know how to explain it, but I could sense each strand corkscrewing up. It’s going be bad, I thought. Real bad.
Once we arrived, I headed for the bathroom mirror.
Oh. My. God.
I brushed it. I coaxed it. I spritzed it, and then I made peace with it. How much worse could it get? Okay, I’d tamed it. And if had another hissy-fit? I could rock a windblown afghan.
Our third and final OUTDOOR shoot was at the University of Toronto’s campus. And to tell you the truth, the location for that segment is so lovely, so Harry Potterish, that the status of my coiffure was low on my list of priorities. I was tired, and happy, and feeling mellow.
Though it was windy. And occasionally, a wiry strand would fly into my face, which was hugely annoying. We fixed that aggravation by forcing my reading glasses to double up as a headband.
I am a windblown Afghan, I consoled myself.
Hah. I should have coated my tresses with so much hairspray that a speeding bullet would have ricocheted off it. I should have worn a hat. A headscarf. A hockey helmet.
Anything would have been better than letting it do what it wanted to do. Because it went THERE. The place no woman wants it to go. Where her hair looks like an Afghan hound’s after it sat four hours in the passenger seat of a convertible.
You think I’m exaggerating, don’t you?
RJ sent Rich a random screen grab. Then Rich sent it to me. Ready?
Yup. My husband looked at it and said, “Bear, you have antenna.”