I write me down—me in a perfume, a take-my-card—paraphrases and filters, puzzled pieces petrified on Twitter bios and resumes, an endless search for your cup of tea without knowing if you even like tea. Me tomorrow, me today, me recycled and gargled and compressed. Speed dating. Skin shedding. Trial. Error.
Adamson Wood is…
I would rather look at the sky than at a screen. I would rather walk than drive. I would rather drive tree-lined roads than highways. I would rather be alone than at a party. I would rather meet someone one-on-one than try to tell in 50 words who I am.
Jennifer L. Freed was recently irritated by a form that asked too many such questions. She mostly writes poems, sometimes writes short fiction, and always wishes she had more time to write anything at all.
The lady at the talent agency handed me a pen. “We need a one-paragraph bio to include with your profile.”
“Just one paragraph?” I said. “Wow. Um… Is there a limit on the number of sentences?”
She looked at me kind of funny. “Are you sure acting is your thing?”
I’m not sure if it’s harder or easier for a writer to put together a single-paragraph bio. I know it’s pretty hard for me!
This story was based on the TypeTrigger prompt “one paragraph.”
Life on the river held steamboats, catfish, bluegrass, and plenty of other Tom Sawyerisms, too. But flash floods, sunburns, and Aunt May’s colon-clogging cornbread made life difficult for Franklin Waters.
He solved the third problem by tossing her into the first, but never got a handle on the second one.