Day one of revisions. I have so many post it notes everywhere I can barely see my desk. I have a lot of work ahead of me, but I feel like the hard part is over. Time to make this book come alive!
One of my favorite memories growing up was the family trip to the library. Every other Sunday, we would pile up in our blue Delta ‘78 and head to the world of books. I loved every minute of it. From the way my father parallel parked—watching the steering wheel whip around as he let it slid through his fingers, the way my mother grabbed the back of my neck like a mother lion does her young cubs as we crossed the street, to the way the books smelled as I sniffed them—pure heaven.
For me, books are a precious commodity. I have a Patti LaBelle cookbook my sister gave me, encouraging me to cook as a new wife. That book is priceless to me now that she has passed away. I don’t have anything fancy in my bookshelf, no first editions or rarities, but each book tells a story. If I pick up, oh say my copy of Jennifer Weiner’s Little Earthquakes, it will take me to the time of my life when I was struggling in the complexities of new motherhood. Susan Lori Park’s, Getting Mother’s Body, I first read when I moved back home after a year of being on my own, (Okay, I lived with my three sisters. But I had my own room and I was out of my parent’s house, so there. On my own.) and I thought I would never be married or out on my own again. Yes, my books tell a story and I wouldn’t part with any of them.
Being such a book lover I absolutely, positively, HATE, when someone dog-ears a book. HATE IT! I feel as if someone has just ripped a page out, it is the ultimate disrespect to any book. I am the bookmark queen. Yes, my daughter has snatched many a bookmark out of my books. And yes, it takes me awhile to put it back where I found it, but I rather that than the turned down corner of a page. I like to read my books over and over again and I hate seeing raggedy corners, a constant reminder of where I had to stop reading. You can use ANYTHING as a bookmark, a torn subscription card out of a magazine, (my personal favorite), a paperclip, (my father’s favorite), or you can get fancy as my mother does and use a ribbon adorned with glass beads on the end. Use anything, but please people we have got to stop folding the pages of books. I’m sure librarians everywhere will thank you.
 So on my last post I mentioned that I finished my book. (How many times am I going to mention this you ask? Hmmm, how ‘bout one more—I finished my book! Squeee!) I go over my draft several times before I let a few people in my circle read it. But before I begin revisions, I let the book simmer.
I’m no chef, but I can cook. (What? You haven’t tried my chicken tortilla soup? For shame!) I really love one pot dishes—throw a few ingredients together, put the top on, done. The dish has practically cooked itself. Every writer has their way of going through the revision process, but I promised myself this time around that I wouldn’t rush this book through. So I’m taking some time to let my book simmer in my head for awhile, giving it time to get some flavor. Stepping away from my book gives me perspective and helps me work out any kinks before I delve in, red ink pen in hand.
So how long do I wait? This is the tricky part. Ideally, you want to step away from you’re novel, but you don’t want to stay away so long that you’ve forgotten their voices. I’m giving myself two weeks to not touch it. It’s hard, because I get the itch to write but I make myself slow down and to really think any new plot twists or turns through before adding them. Just like with cooking, you have to taste before you add any additional spices. It might be that you don’t have to add anything at all. (I wish! If this book were a stew it would need salt, pepper—oh who am I kidding, just throw the whole spice rack in.)
Revisions are my favorite part of writing. For me, writing the first draft is killer. I think about all those empty pages in front of me and think, “Oh boy. Time to feel you guys up with words.” But with revision, I see all the words and get excited because I’m just making it better. I’m just adding a dash of salt here, sprinkle of pepper there. But the major work is done.
If you follow me on Facebook, (And why not? I’m wicked funny), then you know that I finally typed THE END to the novel I’m working on. Details about what the novel is about is coming soon, but right now, I’m just enjoying the fact that I’ve done it again. That I finished another book. Beginnings are (for me anyway) the easiest part to write. The characters have been talking in my head for weeks, telling me their story and I’m just trying to catch up to them, writing as fast as I can. But when I reach about page 100, a nagging feeling comes over me. I feel like I’m not going to finish. So to beat that voice out of my head I continue to write, because if it’s one thing I’m good at, it’s finishing something I start.
Writing this book has been a bittersweet experience for me. Bitter because for half the book I felt like I lost my direction and sweet because I found it. Sounds silly, but this book is truly me, the me I want to be as a writer.
When I first started doing hair, I was terrified of doing short hair. It was something I knew that I had to master and so I practiced, practiced, practiced. On one particular Saturday (the busiest day at any hair salon) I styled a client with short hair. Her hair turned into a complete disaster and she didn’t hesitate from telling me so. After getting cursed out I said to myself, “Okay, Trina add more heat on your next client.” My next client was the same thing—short hair. Her hair was a complete disaster too, but instead of cursing me out, she just flat out refused to pay. She just walked out. Now mind you while all this is going on, I have a salon full of experienced stylists around me and I had to listen to them laughing at me, dogging me out because “I couldn’t do hair”. Even their clients got in on the fun. I shrugged it off and said to myself, “Okay Trina, on your next client add more hairspray.”
My next client arrived and you guessed—she had short hair. All eyes were on me as I styled her hair, everyone was ready to slam me. One of the other stylists pulled me aside and asked me did I need help. I shook my head and told her, “I got this.” And something happened. I learned how to do hair. I already had the passion, the desire, the talent. But I still had to learn the craft. After messing up so much, I learned from my mistakes and knew what I was doing with this client. You couldn’t hear a peep in that salon as I wheeled my client to face the mirror. Her hair was gorgeous. And it wasn’t a fluke—that day I continued to style short hair and my work was stunning.
Being a writer, I have the talent. I have the desire, the passion. But it takes awhile to learn the craft. After finishing this book I can proudly say, “I got this.” Don’t get me wrong, I have a mountain of revisions to do, but now? I know what I’m doing.
In case you guys haven’t heard, Chrisette Michele has cut her hair. Again.
When Chrisette first came on the music scene she wore a shoulder-length weave. (Don’t ask me how I know. I just know.)
For her second album she started strutting her stuff in a much shorter ‘do.
I wasn’t very fond of this cut on her. Not that I liked the weave style much either, it just seemed that neither hairstyle matched her style vocally. But now she has done it again. The BIG chop.
I LOVE her hair now. It really fits her, (I keep saying what fits her as if I know her personally. Old hairstylist habits die hard…) and now she stands out in a very crowded market of female performers.
Now, I will always will be a fan of weave. But I do realize that when I’m having an acne breakout, (Like right now. Hello bangs!) or when I don’t feel like wearing make-up, I swing my weave around to draw attention away from what’s really going on. When my hair was shorter I didn’t have that to lean on and I felt vulnerable. There was nothing to hide under, I was putting myself out there. In a lot of ways I grew up when I cut my hair. I learned to lean on me, and not use any physical thing to shield the true me. That experience helped me to realize that hair is just hair. It’s the secret person of the heart that truly matters.
Yes, I love my weave but after taking it out for a year I’m not dependent on it. As a hairstylist I’ve rocked many hairstyles, (blue highlights, spikes, crimped waves—trust me when I say I’ve done it all…) and now I’m growing my hair out and plan to rock a bob this summer.
When you cut your hair you are saying to the world, “This is me, look at me.” It puts the spotlight, not on your hair or your body, but your beautiful face. And with a face like this who wouldn’t want to rock their hair short?
As a hairstylist, your day changes constantly. It’s full of surprises. A typical day could go something like this:
9:00 a.m. My first client called saying she’s running ten minutes late. I chat with co-workers and play with my hair. More hairspray here, straighten side part, turn head side to side—done! Fabulous.
9:15 a.m. My client arrives. Must listen to spiel about traffic. Shampoo her hair while she complains about water temperature.
9:20 a.m. My 9:30 client arrives. I listen as she informs me that her marriage is falling apart. “He won’t talk to me Katrina. He won’t even look at me. What do I do?” I crack my knuckles and put on my marriage counselor hat. She’s here for advice and I’m here to give it.
10:00 a.m. I finally get my 9:30 client under the hair dryer, and begin styling my 9:00 client as she complains that I’m burning her ear when I’m are not even holding the curling iron. My comb is touching her ear. I explain that to her, but she stubbornly says that it’s my curling iron. I curl faster to get her out of my chair.
10:30 a.m. Shonda is coming, Shonda is coming, I chant as I twirl my curling iron through my client’s hair. You remember Shonda don’t you? Shonda loves to describe (in vivid detail) her new, *ahem* positions. Sadly, my fingers are not fast enough. She arrives and I learn, among other things, just how far the human leg can bend.
10:50 a.m. My co-worker just turned her client’s hair money green. I explain, (while keeping Incredible Hulk client at shampoo bowl. A screaming client is not a happy client,) how to correct the color.
11:00 a.m. My next client arrives.
12:00 p.m. My bladder is full, my stomach is growling, (in my client’s ear, no less) and my new shoes are pinching my left pinky toe. But I wouldn’t have it any other way.
Now, my days look something like this:
8:00 a.m. Daughter and I eat breakfast.
8:30 a.m. Begin morning lessons with daughter.
9:00 a.m. Let her watch Sesame Street, while I try to get writing done. Do not get any writing done. Spent an hour looking through author blogs, (hmmm…Tayari Jones posted fifteen links? Great, I’ll look through them all…)
9:58 a.m. “Mommy, it’s time to play dollhouse.” Great for imaginative play, bad for writing.
11:30 a.m. Daughter loves to be the Mommy when playing dollhouse. Being Mommy consists of: being on the computer, washing clothes, and saying, “Go to bed”. A lot.
12:15 p.m. Time for lunch.
12:30 p.m. Eat lunch and let her watch one episode of Wow! Wow! Wubbzy! Yes! Thirty minutes of computer time.
12:57 p.m. Play on Facebook. Nod head at Terry McMillan’s writing advice. Meditation and deep breathing before writing? Will do!
1:00 p.m. Nap time. Now, I can write. After I blog, play on Facebook some more, watch yesterday’s episode of Oprah and begin dinner (meatloaf or chicken?), I open up my Word document and see my darling daughter standing next to me. “I’m awake,” she announces.
My days were more exciting as a hairstylist, but I can definitely say that my days are more fulfilling now. I know that these days of being a stay-at-home mom won’t last forever. I cherish the days that I have with her.
I am guilty of either looking behind me, (“I miss the days when…) or looking in front of me, (“I can’t wait until…) that I miss right now. What is going on with me right now? I’m a wife, a mother, a good friend. I’m writing a book. Not only is my plate full, it’s full of things that are good for me. Looking in the past teaches, looking to the future builds hope, but looking at the here and now? That builds memories.
I’m on the part of my novel where I need to push myself past the hum-drum and get to the meat of the story so I can finish this book! I’m very close to the end, but I seem to be wasting time on little scenes, instead of getting to the crux of the story. It’s funny, I can’t wait to finish this book, but seems I’m hesitating to finish. What will I complain about once I’m finished writing it? Oh wait, revisions. Dang, thought I was on easy street…
Looking at Jill Scott at the “Why Did I Get Married Too” premiere she really reflected her hit song, “Golden”. She looked gorgeous.
 Love the braids going down the side of her head and the cascading curls on the other side, (helped out with my best friend, weave of course.) And her body in this dress? Slamming.
 Jill loves to play with different looks where her hair is concerned, but all of the styles are quintessential, Jill.
 
This is something I’ve preached to my clients for years. Find a look that’s uniquely yours, but be willing to update your look from time to time. Jill loves her natural hair, but it’s the fact that the she plays with different textures and colors that keeps her look fresh.
Having a signature look doesn’t have to be boring. After years of playing with different hairstyles I’ve finally found my signature look—long hair. But I change up my hairstyles so much (bangs, sleek and straight, voluminous curls), that it never looks stale.
Trying something new while still keeping your “look” isn’t as hard as it sounds. Little tweaks here and there to your current style is all you need. Have a great weekend everybody!
 So I mentioned to you last week, that my mother told me that I’m not all that. I have a loving mother and the comment sounds harsh, so let me give you some background information.
I was sitting at the kitchen table complaining about my lot in life. You know the whole ungrateful spiel us writers do sometimes:
“Why can’t my book get reviewed by (insert magazine here)?”
“Why can’t my book be published in hardcover?”
“Why can’t I go on a book tour, (sponsored by someone other than me?)”
My lovely, wonderful mother proceeds to provide me with a light bulb moment. “Because Katrina, you ain’t all that.”
“Do you think Oprah was always Oprah? She worked hard to get where she is. Do you think (insert well-known author name here) was always that way? They worked hard to get every reader they’ve got. Your book isn’t getting reviewed by People because you’re not ready for that yet. I put the emphasis on the yet,” she says as she touches my hand. “You did hair for over ten years. Would you expect a girl who has been doing hair for a year to get the same recognition as a veteran? No. Would you expect a hairstylist who had just finished her second client to announce that she is ready to work on celebrities? I don’t think so. Stop looking at everyone’s else’s cards and play the cards you are dealt. A debut author gets a huge advance and book is printed in hardback and gets reviewed in every magazine known to man? Good for them, but it ain’t happening to you. You’re supposed to be learning your craft right now, and you can’t do that by wishing your road was any different. You are a great writer, but don’t act like you know everything. You are still learning.”
Wow, right? Told you I have a great Mama!
I know I have a tendency to rush things. With my writing, I set up these crazy, unattainable goals for myself and get let down when I can’t reach them. Why? All so I can be like this person, or write like this person. What happened to writing like me?
Case in point. I wrote a novel that didn’t sell. While I was writing it, I deemed it my breakout novel. It was supposed to be my BIG book, you know the one all of us authors think will take us to the next level? I put so much effort into this book, and I have to admit was more than surprised when the rejection letters piled in. I focused so much of my efforts on what was supposed to happen that I didn’t look at what was happening—that in all my effort to be this serious writer—that the book didn’t ring true. It wasn’t me, or my voice. It took a full year for me to step away from that novel, and to take the criticisms that were scribbled on the bottom of those rejection letters:
“Great writing, nice flow—wrong story.”
“It’s potential here, but not in this book.”
So I took a deep breath and promised that I would never try to write like anyone else again. That if I was to continue to write, I would not flirt anyone else’s style. That I must write stories that are inherently mine, something that says, “This sounds like Katrina.”
It can be a hard pill to swallow as a writer to see your limitations. To know that there are stories in your head that you are not talented enough to write yet. Was I ready five years ago to write the story I’m writing now? No way. But I am now. So I wrap myself in my mother’s words that I’m not all that.
Yet.
As a new author, do you ever feel lost in the sea of veteran bestselling authors? (I know I do. My mother just told me, “Girl, you are not all that.” More on that next week…) Sometimes it makes me wonder, how can I get people to read my books when they already trust their favorite authors? Well come on over to RAWSISTAZ and check out what helps me stay motivated to keep writing.
Check it out here.
Not doing the whole word-count thing anymore. Remember quality over quantity. Had fun writing delicious dinner table scene. It’s the scene you see in movies sometimes. I call it the-Luke-I-am-your-father-wine-in-the-face-girl-I-know-you-didn’t-scene. Not saying mine will be that good, but I sure had fun writing it!
 Do you remember the feeling of being at the playground when you were little? The simple, classic joy you felt by grabbing someone’s hand you didn’t know and asking, “Hey, wanna play hopscotch?”
Facebook reminds me of an adult playground. A place where you can get a glimpse of someone, and decide on a whim to be “friends”. Your friendship is just like that whimsy on the playground, carefree and light—no talk of what you ate for dinner, or why your mother makes you speak to people when you don’t want to, (a challenge that I had to bring up here as I’m facing this problem with my daughter. What is it with three year olds and their fickle nature of speaking only when they feel like it? Could go on for ages on the musings of pre-schoolers…), you simply are two people with the same desire—the desire to see who can hop their legs in a particular square without touching the lines.
Facebook reminds me of those years, the simple times when you could tap someone on the arm because you like the yellow barrette in their hair and say, “Do you want to be my friend?” You didn’t worry if they said no, they didn’t say no. Their little eyes would light up and they would chime, “Yes," and accept your friend request.
That’s been my experience with Facebook so far. To approach an author whose book or work I admire, (who under normal circumstances I wouldn’t dare), and say in a childlike voice, “Can we be friends?”
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