I suppose it’s about time I put up an actual About Me page here, rather than just leaving the default WordPress page. I never know what to say on these things — I do a lot of things, I am a lot of things, I’m becoming lots of things. And who wants to read a novel on someone’s “about me” page?
That’s me, as of the 16th of April, 2010. For anyone who saw this bio before this and is seeing it again now? I DO HAVE EYES. Toldja. The picture was taken in my living room just outside Greensboro, NC. And the mac’s camera, apparently, loves me. (Someday, I aspire to look as good in real life as I do to my mac.)
Technically, I’m Elizabeth. I’ve gone by Eliza for most of the past decade (because most of the rest of the abbreviations for Elizabeth annoy me. I am not now, nor have I ever been, “Liz” or “Lizzie” or any of that nonsense.), and a friend here in North Carolina coined Elli as the shortened nickname, and it has stuck. I’m Elli. Or Elizabeth. Or Eliza. I answer to just about anything short of “HEY YOU.” (And, actually, I’d probably answer to that, too.)
I wasn’t born with that name. So there. My mom still slips and calls me by the name on my birth certificate, but she’s the only one I let get away with it, because I love her.
(And no, it’s not Lillian Hornstuffer, though my best friend and I have decided that’s to be our pen name when we go to write/illustrate torrid harlequinesque love novels. She will be Mabel Pronob. I’m just sayin’.)
At the time of this writing, I’m 38 years old and living in Greensboro, North Carolina. I love it here. I don’t know why I didn’t move here a billion years ago, other than the fact that I didn’t know it existed. I’ve lived in Philadelphia (greater area), Baton Rouge, San Diego, L.A., Portland, and Seattle, too. I thought I’d never find anywhere that was as much *home* as Seattle, but Greensboro…? Stole my soul. I was born to be a Tarheel.
I invent magically ordinary worlds in my head. I always have, from the second grade writing contest that I won with some kind of rhyming poem about monsters having a dinner banquet (no, really…Young Author’s Conference in both second and sixth grades. I don’t remember what the sixth grade story was.), to now, when there’s an entire town full of stories that I’ve been collecting from small town living around the country. (My hometown in Nebraska was full of characters. As much as I hated being in the midwest, it gave me more material than I can ever use.)
I make things that smell good. If you’re here for the 10kH project, you already know that. I’m obsessed with perfume and the way it tells a story without using a single word. Our strongest memories, as humans, are triggered and stored by the way they smell, and a particular scent can generate instant recall. That fascinates me, and I want to make scents that will engender instant feelings of connection with Story. I suppose you could say it’s my passion.
In a previous life, I ran a magazine about alternative arts for five years. I was big on the idea that every single person in the world is creative, and that if you cultivate that creativity, the skill will follow. The expression was the important part, not the drawing-of-the-tree. I still believe that, strongly, even though the only drawing I’ve been getting in lately has been on journal pages and the backs of napkins and notebooks sketching out user interactions on websites. I’m hoping to get back to it sooner rather than later, because creativity is an end unto itself for me. (P.S. I have another issue of the magazine written, and as soon as some of this other stuff is cleaned up a bit, I totally plan on putting it out. It was *beyond* fun to write.)
The way most of you visitors probably know me is that I had a podcast/empire called Lime & Violet. It ended in May, 2010, after some very disturbed individual started sending us death threats. Over a knitting podcast. Yeah, we were kind of surprised, too. So was the FBI. We’ll miss it, and all the people we got to meet through it, but we won’t miss having the FBI on speed dial.
I’m a bluegrass nut. Someday, I totally want a little farm in the mountains where I can have chickens. And I have no idea why people who know me giggle so much when I say this. I can bake a mean pie.
I’m a bad Quaker. My connection with my spirituality is something I don’t talk about a lot, and I’m not doing very well on the whole non-violence thing. (There are times when I would totally kick people in the shins if it was socially appropriate.) But it’s important to me, and I’m a work in progress.
I have a little brother who’s a great big UNC fan, which makes me happier than I want to admit. I also have an adopted sister here in NC, from whom I learn things every day. Teri’s amazing, and I’m proud to know her.
I’ve written two books in my life, neither of which are still available. I’ve also got, like, a billion of them half-done, which means if I’d ever sit down and finish them, I’d have a whole shelf full of books I’d written myself. When I’m old, I want that shelf.
I’m married to the famous Johnny Mayhem, sideshow performer and all-around-daredevil. He breathes fire, walks on broken glass, swallows 24″ of glimmering steel, and runs with scissors. Our life together is never boring. There are days when I could handle more Boring in my life, but it’s just not in the cards with this one. Go figure. (My mom, after being introduced to him for the first time, said, “Huh. Well, then. Looks like you finally found the one person in the world that can keep up with you.” I knew right then and there we’d end up married.)
For varying reasons, I’m very devoted to several causes. Breast cancer research. Folklife documentation for cultural preservation. The idea that people are generally good, even when they act badly. That there’s always an alternative to bombing the living crap out of an entire country full of people. That toilet paper should always roll away from the wall. (Drives me insane, and I’ve been known to change it around at other people’s houses. Sorry about that.)
Anything I’ve missed, feel free to just ask me. I tend to be open to a fault.
Enjoy your stay here.
