I don't like having my picture taken.
I actually hate it.
In childhood, it was because I had a serious overbite from ten years of thumb-sucking and a gap between my two front teeth that you could drive a car through.
And for some reason, my natural smile is wide. Super wide. I smile with reckless abandon. Like I'm really really overjoyed that your camera is in my face.
Even though I'm not.
So when I get a request for a photo to be placed on the contributor's page of a magazine, I panic.
I've always pored over the contributor's page of every magazine I could get my hands on. Everyone always looks so fashionable, so with-it and happening. They all have amazing bios and their photos are always perfect: a family shot with adorable cherubs, a glam shot taken by a professional, a care-free picture that looks like it was taken by a lover.
I'm going to let you in on a little secret. I think all writers stress over submitting these pictures. We take a million of them right at our computer, trying hard to make it look like we didn't take the picture just for the magazine. Here's me right now: