Political Intrigue and The Blonde

I wrote a novel section last night that dealt with medieval political intrigue. Either I'm too naive to recognize my ineptitude at writing this kind of stuff, or I'm actually quite good at it. Which is it? Maybe both. Maybe neither. The proof will be in the execution, and so far it sounds good to me. We'll see what the Moxie thinks of it; we have a meeting today. It's true that I was raised in a small town and I was once a golden-haired cheerleader, but I'm inclined to think that "blonde" is just a role I play. The novel section revealed a whole new layer of political intrigue involving one of my youngest characters, and it surprised and delighted me. I think it just raised the stakes considerably, and it puts the character into a high level of dance-on-the-knife-edge jeopardy. I may sometimes say things in casual conversation that betray my small-town roots, but then I turn around and have my characters do things that would make Machiavelli proud. Go figure.

Speaking of roots, I looked in the mirror yesterday to judge the progress of my attempt to grow out all the dye in my hair, and the lower half of the hair is blonde. But the roots are...definitely not blonde, unless it's a very, very dark blonde. My real hair is darker than I thought, rather like my personality. But light or dark, it's all me, and that's where stereotypes get pushed aside. I used to be blonde for real, but things just got darker and darker as I grew older. And one day, judging by the grey or completely colorless strands showing through the darker hair, things will get lighter again. Full circle, I guess.