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Since 2006, I’ve dyed at least part of my hair pink, usually a few locks near my face. The dye comes in a kit from L’oreal and doesn’t require bleaching beforehand ““ brush it on, wait thirty minutes, and wash it off. Voila, cartoon-bright streaks among the (once-prematurely) graying strands.

The first time I dyed it, I was about to head off to my first Wiscon ““ a large feminist science fiction convention held yearly in Madison, Wisconsin. As I’ve found the case at sf conventions since then, I wasn’t the only person there with an odd hair color; I glimpsed rainbows of pink, blue, and green. And I realized it was becoming. Complete strangers would lean over and whisper, “I like your hair,” including two flight attendants on the way home.

After the con the color faded, softer and softer, until finally, when I went to get a haircut, the hairdresser was cutting away dusty rose tips. I looked in the mirror and saw a middle-aged woman with a short, practical cut.

I bought a new kit on the way home and re-pinked my hair that afternoon.

Since then it’s become a ritual following each haircut. I go in and see it trimmed away until only the faintest hint of color remains. Sometimes I take advantage of this time to do my shopping in sedater department stores like Macy’s or Nordstroms, excursions that I think of as “passing for surburban.” Then I go home and re-dye my hair. I’m always a little self-conscious those first few days of screaming fuchsia, when I have to sleep with a towel over the pillow to keep the pink from leaving traces on the pillowcase. I try to time these days to coincide with a science fiction convention or some similar event.

I use that as an excuse when people ask me why I dye it. “I’m a sci-fi writer and it helps fans identify me at cons,” I say. That’s the partial truth. It’s part of my brand. But it’s also more than that.

Sometimes people interpret it for me. When my mother was recovering from surgery for colon cancer one year, I visited the hospital every day and used the valet parking they provided. “I know why your hair’s pink,” the elderly valet confided to me one day as he took the keys from me. “Are you a survivor or is it a relative?” I realized that he thought I was part of the flood of pink that month against cancer. I couldn’t bear to disillusion him, so I said something to him about my mother, and he went on to tell me about the women in his life who had struggled with cancer.

That’s another reason why I dye it pink. People talk to me. There’s something about the color that draws them to ask about it or say that they like it. The only person I’ve ever found who disapproved outright was a relative’s girlfriend. She didn’t last. My hair color has.

But more than that, the pink forces me to talk to people as well. I’ve habitually toed the line between introvert and extrovert, depending on which Meyer Briggs results you look at, and I like the fact that the pink pushes me outside myself, makes me be socially brave in a way I’ve sometimes retreated from.

The pink’s a favorite with people. I tried purple one year, a vibrant, almost fluorescent purple that required bleaching the hair beforehand, a painful process I will never repeat. Some nuance of the purple made it seem more confrontational, less welcoming than the pink. Fewer people came up to say something about it, although I was startled at one point when a man behind me began stroking it. “I couldn’t resist the color,” he said.

I have been advised to avoid blue. “It ages one,” a friend said, although I’ve admired the turquoise shading of Camille Alexa, a fellow speculative fiction writer, at several cons.

I worry that L’oreal will stop making this particular brand. I’ve got five boxes of it stockpiled under my sink. I figure I’ll commit to the color until the year or two that the boxes represent are past. After all, who knows what advances in hair color may have been made by then?

It took a while for my mother to get used to it. Finally one day, when we were coming out of a store, she chuckled. “Did you see that man?” she said. “He smiled at your hair. I guess anything that makes people smile is okay.”

And I agree. If I’m making people smile, I’m doing something right.

I’m lucky to live in Seattle, where hair is often not its natural shade. I’ve found when I visit the East Coast, particularly in the southern areas, people are not quite as welcoming of the color. They’re more likely to surreptitiously (or so they think) point it out to each other. I haven’t traveled abroad with it yet.

And I’m lucky to work at home as a writer, with no boss to object to the pink. More than once someone has wistfully said, “They would never let me do that at work.” That seems a shame to me, much like seeing the trainers at my gym wearing work-mandated band-aids over tattoos lest they shock the sensibilities of the patrons.

The hair color also lets people spot me in a society where being a middle-aged woman is often a cloak of invisibility. Sometimes that’s unwelcome. I’d rather fade into the crowd, which is much harder to do when pink-topped. That’s why I love sf conventions so much, why they feel like coming home to my spiritual tribe. At Penguicon I rubbed elbows with a woman whose wheelchair was tricked out like a Victorian mechanical contraption, complete with sporadic puffs of steam, a strapping young gentleman costumed as Thor, and a woman whose baby was dressed up as a miniature robot, complete with blinking lights. Indeed, at Norwescon, a local convention that’s particularly costume heavy, I look positively sedate.

It’s strange that I engage in this particular cosmetic practice. I’ve always resisted make-up. I put it on and, despite the best teachings of my mother the former Mary Kay representative, I see a clown-faced stranger in the mirror. The pink hair allows me to feel like I’ve managed some effort to dress up. Combine it with the right shirt, and people assume I’ve carefully color-coordinated outfit and hair.

But I cringe, just a faint recoil, when I look at those shirts in my closet: the crisp peppermint striped or hibiscus and butterfly printed shirts gleaned from the local Talbots outlet. Because here’s a secret: I’m not particularly fond of pink. I was never a Barbie girl. I like deep purples, turquoise, and emeralds.

In fact, I resent the way pink’s been mandated for little girls. I worry that I’m doing this to make myself less threatening to men, that I’m saying, “Look! I’m a feminist, but a fluffy pink harmless one.”

But I tell myself to stop over-thinking it. It’s a color, not a lifestyle. I embrace my pink and claim it. Which adds another dimension to it for me: it’s ironic statement as well as fashion one. It says I don’t give a damn about what other people consider age-appropriate. “This is me,” my hair says. And I look damn good in pink, or so I think.

Or maybe that’s just ego talking, an overly healthy one bolstered by all those strangers telling me they like my hair.

I’ve been reveling in a chance to be productive and at home after a summer so full of travel, and have been getting at least 1-2k words in on most days, plus I’ve gotten back to early morning gym runs, so hurray me and boo for the fact that it stays dark later and later every day.

It’s very much fall and drizzling rain here. The raccoons have devoured the last of the grapes from the grapevine, shelf fungi has sprouted at several points on the front porch, and we’re experiencing an invasion of Seattle’s notorious Giant House Spiders, so I feel ready for October. Recent experiences include leading a trivia team in the Clarion West Trivia Night, lots of gaming, and taking Seanan McGuire to the Washington State Fair. Also so many spiders lately. Just so many. We have a detente and when I catch them I let them go under the bookcase downstairs but I have also warned them I will destroy any egg sacs I find in the name of sanity.

With projects and books, here’s what’s going on:

Carpe Glitter comes out in November from Meerkat Press. It’s a present-day fantasy novelette featuring Nazis, hoarding, and female stage magicians. This was fun to write and is in the same story-universe as my various Wizards of West Seattle stories.

The Tor book: Still lacks a title, as you can see, but my current favorite is Spaceship, To Go, which I think is GENIUS but I am always the worst judge as to which of my many ideas actually are genius. Just turned around the first set of edits, which were fun and on the mark, and next comes the line-editing part, so I will be curious to see what that looks like, and am anticipating it. When I get those and go through them, I’ll do my own read-aloud and polish pass. I do think I have a scene to add — I’m just not sure what it is, so I’m waiting to hear what the editor thinks. The sequel’s half-written and on deck to finish the first draft in November.

Middle-grade book: I’m about to pick this up and finish fleshing it out before it goes out to beta-readers by the end of the first week in October. It’s currently 40k words and needs to grow by 15-20k more.

Exiles of Tabat: Currently a completed and incredibly messy and incoherent first draft (as always) sitting on the sidelines. Once the middle-grade book is off, this gets picked up and the plan is to have it also off to beta readers, this time by October 31.

Novella project: Got something here I’m currently outlining, and I’m not going to say anything more about that until it’s written, but it’s got me really excited and lets me pay homage to one of my favorite books.

Got one story finished up and gently cooking on the back burner with the intent of serving it up to Beneath Ceaseless Skies, in part because it should be their kind of story, in part because they’ve published Tabat stories before, and last part because Scott’s such a good editor. Another story is in similar state. It’s a short little near-future SF piece and I think it’s going to be one of the good ones if I’m willing to take some time with it. I’m taking it on a writing retreat with me next week. I’ve got a third near-future, novelette or novella length SF story that’s been itching at me and which feels like I can hit out of the park if I take my time with it and do the topic justice; it’s about a third written, I think.

In the Department of Stories-That-Are-Still-Mostly-In-My-Head: Got one bespoke story half-written, a possible anthology story, and another novella project in the offing that would involve working with someone whose writing I greatly respect, so I hope that last works out. As always, there’s a mass of story ideas in my notebook — the problem is never not enough ideas.

I will be co-hosting a monthly podcast starting in late 2019 and have been recording some episodes for that. Details to come — but that won’t be all, audio/video-wise. Plenty more on that to come.

Patreon supporters have been showered with a varied range of content, including editing sessions like this one, snippets from work in progress, photos of the giant house spiders, special access to Twitch classes, market news, a poem, and a Taco Cat caption contest. Opening up the Discord server and adding more channels has been popular, and thank you to all of you who’ve signed up this month or upped pledges to make this the most successful Patreon month I’ve seen so far!

Travelwise: I’m off to a writing retreat next week and looking forward to it, then Surrey International Writers Conference in Surrey, BC (Mom’s going with me, so that should be fun. She’s been working on a romance, and this is my birthday present to her.) and MultiverseCon in Atlanta. That’s the last of my working travel for the year, and my intent is to not travel at all

I will save most of the Rambo Academy stuff for another time, but will say a couple things!

• Diane Morrison has put together a terrific class on making/finding time for writing called Writing in the Cracks. The live version will be hosted online October 13 and there are still some free scholarships available.
• Writing flash fiction is a good way to build your publication list as well as provide impetus for daily writing. Want a class on it that lets you go at your own pace, repeating things when you want to, in your space? There’s now the on-demand version of Writing Flash Fiction.
• Critclub has been a smashing success and running semi-daily writing sprints in the motivation channel there has been great for my own productivity. If you’re a F&SF writer that has been looking for a good and thoughtful critique group, I hope you’ll check out the Rambo Academy Critclub.

#sfwapro