As any writer worth their salt knows, an author’s literary chops are directly proportional to the amount of facial hair he or she has. (Ain’t that right, Fifthwinders?!) The only reason I even managed to write a completed first draft of a novel is because I was unemployed for most of that time and so had had the freedom to maintain a decent level of beardliness!
As this period is rapidly coming to a close however, I’m sadly forced to start doing things like -gasp- getting haircuts and, as of tomorrow, shaving regularly to get into the swing of things for when I actually have to present myself as a professional individual and all that. Plus, the other day I was ordering a pint in a bar and as the barmaid was handing me the glass, it cracked and the top half of it exploded! Maybe the concentrated aura of writing power around the beard is building to critical mass… (In all seriousness, it was quite odd!)
So fair warning – if the quality of my writing begins to slide quicker than oiled-up jelly on an ice rink, you know why 😉