“Pride,” observed Mary, who piqued herself upon the solidarity of her reflections, “is a very common failing, I believe. By all that I have ever read, I am convinced that it is very common indeed, that human nature is particularly prone to it . . .”Today I got my picture taken for the Golden Heart. I could have used my photo from last year, but, I’m a little sick of it. Besides, romance writing is supposed to be glamorous, right? This was the perfect chance to get my glam on.
–from Pride and Prejudice, by Jane Austen
In anticipation of my appointment, I deprived myself of carbs for two hellish days. Then this morning, I hopped into my car without a lick of makeup and drove 30 miles to the mall, confident the glamour would begin soon.
When I arrived, the makeup artist clucked her tongue and rushed me to the makeup chair. She asked what kind of look I wanted. I told her natural, but since she was very young, tattooed, and pierced, I worried we might not be on the same wavelength.
She went to work–-and I do mean work. She sprayed, brushed, powdered, and dabbed till I barely recognized myself. Mission accomplished! After a liberal application of hairspray, she guided me to my next stop–the photographer.
He was an unshaven guy who looked like he’d just rolled out of bed, and he wore jeans that barely hung on to his hips. Since that's what every self-respecting photographer looks like, I knew I was in good hands. The photo shoot began with this awkward conversation.
Photographer: (Professional.) Give me an idea of what the pictures are for.
Me: (Babbling.) I write romance, and I’m going to use one as sort of a publicity picture. Sort of.
Photographer: (Impressed.) So, you’ve written a book?
Me: (Never sure how to answer this.) I’ve completed a few manuscripts.
Photographer: (Confused.) Are they published?
Me: (Why don’t you just stick a knife in my back?) No. I’m working on it though, and the picture will be used at a national conference of romance writers, and . . . (insert more incoherent rambling here).
He proceeded to take a bajillion pictures, and four of them were pretty good.
While I’d love to be able to show you the photos, I don’t have them just yet. They are going to the lab for some retouching, and, Lord knows, that may take a while.
I was feeling pretty darn good about the trip–especially since I hit a drive through and more than made up my carb deficit–until I got home. One of my darling children said I looked like a vampire (which might have been a compliment), and another said if I wasn’t going to wash my face maybe we should skip going to dinner and get carry out. The third couldn’t pry his eyes away from his text messages long enough to weigh in.
Does it get any more glamorous than this?
