So my long-suffering agent asked for a bio. This is probably to be expected and any normal person would just dash off a few lines about this and that and be done with it.
But when have I ever been normal?
What should have taken two minutes ended up taking two hours. Part of it is because I’m off my meds and flying so high you could smack my ass like a piñata. The rest is just general neuroses.
I had no idea what to write so I did what I always do when I’m feeling especially ignorant (read: all the time): I Googled it. And Google had lots of answers. I’m just not sure any of it was useful…much less applicable.
Some sites suggested using buzzwords like, “professional.” Except that won’t work. I’m the farthest thing from professional. I once hid a California Roll in a boss’s office in retaliation for being groped. The stench was EPIC. People vomited. To this day, I have no idea if he found it or figured out who did it.
But I really hope he did.
Others suggested I bring up BG and the Canine Contingency, but then I’d have to explain why my dogs make innocent bystanders cry and why I refer to my husband as a boy genius. Partly, I do this because he’s smart, but mostly I do this because every superhero needs a sidekick.
It’s true. There’s a quota. If you don’t have one you have to get one.
So the husband/dog angle won’t work. There’s Tempi, my horse, but Tempi is adorable and has better hair than I do so she’s out too.
As you can see, it’s this sort of thinking that burns two hours, a can of Red Bull, a bag of Doritos, and two Klonopin. In the end, I went with birthplace, college, and current residence. It was simple stuff and really kind of a shame because it left me with no place to work in how I may be part troll and laugh when little kids cuss.
Which, if you think about it, really says all you need to know about me.