Part of my uniform as a writer is a messy hair bun. Everyday. I love my long hair, and it keeps my curls pulled out, and short hair is not a good look for me. The hair bun is essential because it's not distracting, not fussy, and more effective than anything else. If it's effective, why change? Why mess with it? So I sit here listening to Alexa belt out Golden Hour over the neighbor's dog barking, and the occasional siren from an emergency squad visiting the local hospital, with a cute but messy hair bun perched on my head.
It becomes one less thing that will not take my focus away from the page I'm working on. What am I currently working on, you ask? A book that I have temporarily titled Twelve Letters.
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