I’d just gotten a haircut. It’d been a while. I was a single creative writer with very little revenue sources. Sometimes my hair got a little crazy.
I went out with a friend. We ate at Joella’s Hot Chicken. He likes to play with my phone’s camera because mine is better than his. I asked him to take a picture and I pretended it was for an author bio.
It’s almost a good author bio photo, really. Truly. But, you see, there’s this little white speck in my hair on the right side of the photo, my left side. At first I was like, it’s just the lighting. Upon further inspection, it’s totally dandruff. I go back and forth between those a lot.
Normally, I’d just let it go. But it’s just so close, damn it. I’ll never be at Joella’s at that exact moment again, where the spontaneity of the photography allowed for the not-overly-fake-ass-expression on my face, when the lighting is just right mid-afternoon, with my lazy eye at least partially hidden due to an eye shift at the exact right moment. Also, that hoodie is dirty and I dunno when I’ll have the time-budget to wash it. I keep pretty large loads of laundry and have to pick and choose until I make enough money from my writing career to wash all my clothes all willy-silly like that.
So for my author bio photo in my forthcoming book, I’m stuck with the head shot I have in my green hoodie, where I’m about to cross Bardstown Road here in Louisville, with the dark circles under my eyes and the thick eyebrows that make me look like Richard from LOST.
If you like this, consider buying me a coffee.