October 22, 2024

Last night, I had a dream I was writing a new biographical statement for myself that did not include any references to writing experiences, publishing credits, or any kind of professional achievements. What’s more, the bio was entirely fictional; it didn’t contain anything about my life that was true, only borrowed elements of things I’d experienced. In the dream, I’d actually written the first lines of this bio. Sadly, I failed to make a note of any of it when I woke up, so I’m going to do my best to recreate it here.

in another life

She grew up in the animal chaos of the traveling circus, disembarking 
the train with terrified elephants at small midwestern cities and sneaking into dusty bars with the trapeze artists after the evening show. By her early teens, she showed promise in the gymnastic arts, but away from the lights of the big top, she devoured books on cryptozoology and Greek myths. There was a distant aunt, her father’s eldest sister, who’d achieved some renown at the helm of London’s Cryptid Museum, but a paralyzing fear of transatlantic travel prevented their meeting. The family, in the winter months, sequestered themselves in western Montana, where she snowshoed to school every morning and devoted weekends to breadmaking and basketry. After a brief period as a ventriloquist’s apprentice, she discovered an aptitude for speed-reading, and now currently divides her time between Viroqua, Wisconsin and the Umbrian
countryside, where she translates DIY assembly manuals and supermarket inserts and tends heirloom apple trees.