This weekend I was tasked with writing a one paragraph bio for the back cover and online listing of my book. I know I claim to be a writer, but this was one tough assignment. I grabbed dozens of books and read the author bios, and found that they focused on the authors’ previous books, awards, books in progress, etc. In other words, they’re all Real Writers with Interesting Lives.
What am I to say? That one time when I was stuck at home and really bored I had the harebrained idea to write a book? I figured maybe I should just go with gut-wrenching and soul-baring, but realized that I wasn’t really born a poor black child and my dad hadn’t died in The War (always good to be vague about which one) and I didn’t lose my leg in a horrible childhood accident. No orphanage, no foster care, not even a victim of a little bullying. Crap. It’s just my luck to not have anything traumatic to report.
Out of desperation, I started just coming up with random stuff. I am now, I decided, a writer and humorist. Does anyone know what a humorist is, or how you know when you are one? My point exactly. It’s a fine line between class clown and Humorist, but no one knows where it is. So just try to challenge me on that.
I started thinking about all those leadership retreats and soft and fuzzy training (which I actually loved) I received during my career. Describe yourself in one word. Umm, multi-faceted? Where do you fall on the Myers-Briggs (I know I’m dating myself with that one). I would say right at the intersection of hungry and short attention span; an HSAS. I once survived a teambuilding ropes course, outside no less. That’s something, right?
We’re making a little progress! So far I have that I’m a humorist with a “normal” childhood and I once went outside and made my way across a rope by leaning in to some coworker who had tobacco breath and bad teeth. I have four cats but not in a weird way. I like piña coladas and getting caught in the rain. I’m not into yoga and I have half a brain.