Since I am a writer, you would think that it would be easy to write a little bit about myself. It’s what I do after all. But it isn’t all that easy. When I write a story it’s about the story, not me. Writing about me makes me feel a little bit… exposed.
I could start in the usual places, where I was born and where I grew up. But like most people, my childhood was rather unremarkable. Like most little girls, I liked horses. Like many of my generation I muddled my way through my parent’s divorce and managed to come out with minimal baggage. Like some, I was geeky and I was teased. I liked to read too much and cared about fashion too little.
I could run down the resume litany of official accomplishments. I finished my Associate of Arts in Liberal Arts degree in 1995, my Bachelor of Arts in English in 1997, and my Master of Science in Professional Writing in 2004. While working on my degrees, I’ve been a waitress, a secretary, a customer service representative, a receptionist, and a cashier. I’ve worked in the information technology sector as a technical writer and editor since 1999, and I have taught Introduction to College Composition at the local community college.
But that really doesn’t scratch the surface of who I really am, does it? It’s just the me that shows up on paper. The real me is a bit of a klutz, assumes the best in people, has an odd mix strength and fragility and absolutely no sense of direction. The real me just wants to tell stories, and laugh with her friends, and hopefully have a few kids somewhere down the road.