Autobiography: or my life so far.

2003-08-19 9:25 a.m.

About the Author

I was born in 1968 in Seattle, Washington. I nearly died during child birth because the umbilical cord came out first, wrapped around my neck. Luckily mom had a good ob/gyn who shoved me back in and did an emergency c-section. They worried I would have brain damage, luckily I didn�t.

I went to school in Tacoma and I graduated with a 3.0. I could have done better but I was so bored I didn�t bother to show up to much of my senior year classes. However, I did show up for fourth year Spanish where I was teacher�s pet and the advanced creative writing class. The advanced creative writing class had one person in it. Me.

I wrote my first novel at age 12. It was 110 pages long and was called �The Summer of Sweet Revenge.� It included blackmail, rich kids with boats and wacky characters based upon people I knew. My next full length novel which I wrote for the advanced creative writing course was called �The Secret of the Silver Dragon� and was about a shar-pei smuggling ring in Seattle�s Chinatown.

For college I went to the University of Puget Sound and got involved in feminist studies. I went through a period of hating men (although I still dated them). I still consider myself a raging feminist but my views on the sexes have mellowed a bit. I ran out of money (private school near ivy league can do that to you) and attended Evergreen State College for a year. I studied mass media and popular culture and developed a penchant for tequila. I also learned how to tap a keg. However, I missed structured writing programs and scraped together enough money thanks to mum, dad, grandparents to finish up my degree at University of Puget Sound. During this time I started writing science fiction and fantasy. My advisor reluctantly agreed to sponsor me in a senior writing project and I like to think I begrudgingly brought him around to the field of fantasy fiction. I graduated with a BA degree in English lit with an emphasis on creative writing with a 3.3 GPA.

I was briefly enrolled in a masters program for teaching but found it too depressing and dropped it. I tried valiantly to look for a career in my field. I tried libraries, newspapers and colleges but was only offered a part time job at Tower Books for minimum wage. Much to my family�s horror, I accepted the job. I spent my days shelving books and reading at the register between customers. I read everything and anything. A few months later I was accepted at Portland State University for their Master�s degree program in English Literature (Medieval and Victorian were my emphasis) so I packed up my belongings, my cat and moved to Portland to work at the new Tower Books store there and attend grad school.

After grad school (GPA crept higher to 3.7) I got a job at a large insurance company in a glorified receptionist position. Due to my intelligence, ability to bullshit on command and obvious over-qualifications I was rapidly promoted. I jokingly tell people I have managed to claw my way to the middle. I now work in the legal department writing long legally defensibly letters to people who are or think they are disabled. I spend most of my day reading other people�s medical records. This makes me prone to bouts of hypochondria. I work in a cubicle. During winter I do not see the light of day from Monday to Friday.

I still write, prolifically. I have a file cabinet full of finished or half finished manuscripts. I keep paper next to my pillow so I can write down my dreams as many are fodder for plots. Half my files stored on my computer at work are secretly fiction.

I�ve finally come to terms with my innate girliness. I�ve fought it for years, trying to be punk or a hippy or something more severe and less feminine. However, I�m addicted to make up, I adore painted fingernails and toenails, I love drenching myself in expensive perfume and teetering around in high heels. I�m a girl. Not only that, I�m a bad girl.

When I was 32 I decided that I needed to learn kung fu. I wanted to be a female version of Jackie Chan, a super hero in training, a small delicate package with a surprisingly fierce punch, I wanted to defend the helpless and kick the ass of anyone who ever tried to take advantage of me. I love it but I still have problems with it. I feel old, some nights my joints ache so bad I can�t sleep. 800mg ibuprofen is my best friend. I have strange emotional issues with being hit in the face. I also have too much of a nice girl attitude and pull punches back too soon because I don�t want to hurt anyone. I often have upper belts yelling at me �Just hit me! Hit me! You�re not going to hurt me! Hit me!� But it�s still fun; I get to hit people with sticks and wrestle on the floor with sweaty boys.

I�m brave to the point of stupidity. I�ll jump in the middle of a fight if I think it�s the right thing, never mind that I�m putting myself in peril. I�ve fought off vicious dogs to save an elderly cat. I�ve struggled with homeless people who wanted to steal my purse. I�ve stared down would be muggers and said �bring it on.� See what I mean? Stupid.

What do I want for the future? I want to finally be published. I want out of this cubicle with its grey walls and the vaguely reassuring hum of NPR eight hours a day. I want to write on my laptop in a coffee house, on a beach or in a bar. I want to grow up to be Buffy the Vampire Slayer, Dorothy Parker and Michele Yeoh all wrapped up in a small blonde powerful package.

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