How writing is like shopping for a wig


My sis and I went wig shopping this weekend with my mom. It wasn’t our first time in Judi’s Wigs. That was last July when mom received the news she had stage-three ovarian cancer and would need a minimum of six rounds of chemo. (She received twelve but is cancer-free!) Hair loss was not her (or our) biggest worry, but a concern nonetheless. We perused the selection, pointing out wigs that “looked” like my mom. She didn’t want anything too different from her everyday color and style, because she liked her style and was comfortable with it.

Halfway through the first round of treatments, something switched in mom. The warrior unleashed its “barbaric yawp” upon the world and my now-strong, brave mother was born. Let’s just say, she’s a little sassy. And I like it. She tossed her salt-and-pepper wigs to the back of the closet and opted for red with blond highlights. The first time my dad saw her in it, he said people would think he had a new wife. And honestly, he did.

When she’s wearing that wig, my mom is the person she always wanted to be. Before, her eyes danced the waltz. Now, the tango.

This is my waltzing mom.

Sitting in Judi’s Wigs on Saturday, watching mom try on ten different colors and styles, I realized how much the whole experience is like writing.

  1. When we decide we want to write, we tend to try on styles that fit us, and we work within that framework for awhile.
  2. Β The more we write, the brighter our “tyger” burns and breaks through our self-imposed limitations.
  3. We branch out of our comfort zone and try on more daring styles – ones we NEVER thought we’d like.
  4. Then, we see it. That perfect match between style and inner warrior. The match that charges us, changes us, challenges us.
  5. We don the new style with sass, spunk, and charm and our pens dance in new rhythms across the page.
  6. We know, though, that this isn’t it. Because there’s a whole store of styles our there just waiting for us.

This is my sassy mom.


14 thoughts on “How writing is like shopping for a wig

  1. Great list, and I’m so glad you’re Mom is doing better. It’s easier to hide behind mousy shades of procrastination, but we writers all need to take a cue from her, grab that sassy redhead Muse, get out of the comfort zone and go for it. Thanks for the inspiration. πŸ™‚

    • Her zest for life and positive outlook definitely inspires me daily. I stub my toe and want to call EMSA. I’m not sure she ever cried about the cancer. She just treated it like a pebble in the road. I yearn to have that kind of attitude about writer’s block, much less sickness.

      Red hair here I come!

    • So true. Let’s go there sometime. Try on the different styles. It’s crazy to see yourself in something others like and you can’t stand. It’s a testimony to the voice in our heart and head versus the one on our tongue.

  2. Reblogged this on kristin nador writes anywhere and commented:
    For some inspirational thoughts about writing today, please stop by my friend Heather’s blog. It really made me take time to think about living your best life now and opening up that vein where your writing flows. Make sure you say hi to Heather in the comments. Inside Heather’s Head is a great blog to follow. I do, hope you’ll join me there. πŸ™‚

  3. I came here via Kristin Nador’s blog, so the connections are working! This is a wonderful story–I can just feel the energy and victory in the moment your mom went for the sassy wig rather than the sedate one. So glad she’s doing well and sharing her inspiration with you.

    • Thanks so much, Judy, for visiting and commenting. My mom’s attitude throughout her treatments shocked me. She never once believed it would defeat her. To say I’m proud of her is quite the understatement. I’m in awe of her strength. She had TONS of people praying for her and those prayers manifested themselves in the form of an impregnable force field around her. I told her that she’s my Super Hero(ine). Captain America has nothing on my mom! πŸ™‚

      Thanks again for stopping by. Kristin is my blogging guru.

  4. I went through the same thing with my mom. We got a little silly and I made her try on ‘hooker wigs’ (she was almost 80 at the time) while my dad pretended he didn’t know us. She eventually lost her battle with cancer, but was a trooper until the very end.

    • It’s a bittersweet kind of fun, huh? I tried on a few, too, and realized that the mall bangs I donned in the 80s were the last bangs I’d ever wear.

      I’m sorry to hear your mom lost her battle to cancer but seems like she never lost her battle with loving life. Thank you so much, Diana, for commenting and visiting.

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