Donating Hair!

So I have finally grown my hair out 10 inches and I am ready to donate it!

I’ve donated my hair a few times in the last five years, and I always go through a new organization. This year I’m going with Locks of Love.

They make children’s wigs because kids grow so fast that they need new wigs more often than adults.

(A couple other organizations that turn donated hair into a new opportunity for children and adults facing hair loss are Pantene Pro-V Beautiful Lengths and Wigs for Kids.)

A lot of people don’t know that it takes not one, but six hair donations before one wig can be made. This was the inspiration for my untitled novel I’m working on, which follows the six strangers who unknowingly come together to help create a wig for a seventh character, whom they will never meet. It’s amazing to me how much people touch the lives of others without ever realizing it or even seeing the face of the person whose life they’ve changed.

Anyway, I’m still researching the procedures of the organizations that take wig donations, but stay tuned for more info on my new novel!

 

In the meantime, how about I placate my readers with an excerpt from my written novel? I know you’re hungry for more!

I’ve discovered through my writing that I have kind of an odd fascination with hair. It will come out fully in my untitled novel, but even in Finding ‘Ohana hints can be found.

Before we get to the excerpts though, here’s a reference for what Cinnamin looked like throughout most of high school:

 

The first excerpt below is from Cinnamin’s first day of kindergarten, when she meets Lucas. Then we fast forward to a camping trip during Cinnamin’s senior year of high school.

 

I sat down to join him where he was building a tower out of blocks on the floor. His white-blonde hair was styled in a mushroom-cut, and he was already wearing Coke-bottle glasses, even at such a young age.

After a while, he said, “I’m Lucas. What’s your name?”

“Ethelfleda,” I said.

He scrunched up his face, but kept his gaze on the building blocks.

“You can call me Ethel if you want.” But I did not really like either option.

“Nah. You don’t seem like an Ethel.”

I could not disagree.

He finally looked up from the blocks and smiled. “I like your hair.”

I smiled back. My hair was down for the first day of school, and it already reached almost to my waist. “Thank you,” I said. It got in the way, being so long, but I loved the color. It was the one part of myself that I always thought was beautiful. (Until I met Naali and she helped me see that every part of me was beautiful.)

“It looks like cinnamon,” Lucas had said.

That morning, during recess, Lucas had called me Cinnamin on the playground. It felt more connected to me than Ethelfleda ever did.

A spark had landed in my hair. Lucas had tackled me to the ground before I had even felt the heat from the fire as it quickly spread closer to my face.

But I could not tell my parents that, because they did not know Lucas was on the camping trip. So I returned home, hair suddenly falling only a few inches past my chin (although the longest chunk reached as far down as my shoulder blades). My parents were furious. Especially because we still had to go to church. Mom did her best to tie it back, but I nonetheless earned plenty of pointed looks from the other members of the church. We went to a salon that afternoon so it would not look so ragged, and the stylists told us that it might never grow back. I found myself not being so upset by this information. All that hair was heavy, and it felt good not to have its weight on me anymore.

As the edges were cut away, an actual style began to take shape. I stared at the mirror as my face stopped being one of a pathetic, shy little girl, and turned into the face of a girl with attitude. Even wearing my most modest dress, I looked like a different person. I looked like a movie star.

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