A Terrible Attempt at a Bio
Hi, I’m Karen Chance. This page is supposed to be my bio. Only I’ve been staring at this blank screen for a while, before remembering—yeah. I hated doing that the last time I did a web page, didn’t I?
Last time, I was a new writer who assumed that this whole author thing was going to be very short term, and therefore did a not-at-all-serious, kind of shitty bio that was mostly played for laughs. If you want, you can still see it by clicking the button below.
That was back in 2007, however, and I’m still writing. So, I thought that maybe I should do a slightly better job. Only to remember why I avoided it before. I write about all kinds of things, but as it turns out, I hate writing about myself. A slightly neurotic, completely nerdy, fairly odd type (a description that fits a lot of writers, come to think of it) is not a great subject. If I wrote a character like me, I’d throw me right out. So how to manage this?
I came up with three different tactics, and didn’t like any of them. So, I did all of them, allowing you to pick which one you prefer. Or go read the funny one again, because, honestly, it’s looking better all the time.
Serious (Sort Of):
Karen Chance is the author of twenty-three novels, plus novellas and short stories, many of which have appeared on the New York Times and USA Today bestseller lists. Her first novel, Touch the Dark, was published in 2006 and introduced Cassie Palmer, a modern-day Pythia who gets involved with time travel, vampire politics, elder gods, and two insanely hot men. The Dorina Basarab series, debuting two years later in 2008, is concerned with a dhampir—half human, half vampire—who is more than she seems. A bit of a Jekyll and Hyde, Dory struggles with a split personality, a bad-boy vampire lover with a rapier fetish, and a murky past that she’s starting to realize may have been even wilder than she imagined. Both series exist in the same universe and can be read together for a more comprehensive view.
The More About Me, Less About My Books Version:
I don’t know why writers need a bio. Seriously, most of us are less interesting than a garden-variety rock. But people expect some sort of witty personal commentary, don’t they? Although in my case, it would have to be lies.
Fortunately, I am a professional liar.
I would like to tell you about the time I time-traveled back to the First World War, belly danced with Mata Hari for a couple of weeks, stole a jewel with a defecting Nazi, betrayed him and ran off to Oslo. No, seriously, I would love to tell you that, because it would be much more fun than the truth: I went to college to study history. I hung around long enough that they gave me a Ph.D. to get me to go away. I went away. I taught for a few years, got an annoying chronic condition that made me want to die, thought about dying, decided that it sounded like even less fun than what I was already doing, began writing because I like to eat, and here we are.
See what I mean? Mata Hari was so much better.
Random Facts You Probably Don’t Want To Know:
I would like to be a dog person. Dogs are sweet and protective and at least pretend that they love you. Dog people seem like nice people. I would like to be one of them.
I am not a dog person.
I am a cat person, meaning that I don’t know you, but I would like you to go away. I am an introverted weirdo who actually likes being alone, puttering around my house, noticing that certain things need to be cleaned and then not cleaning them. Not until the guilt builds up to an unacceptable degree, that is, or someone is coming over. Then I clean obsessively, because I’m also a perfectionist, but not in a good way. More of an I-need-to-find-an-old-toothbrush-because-I-must-clean-the-kitchen-grout kind of way. It’s . . . annoying.
I led a conga line in Paris once. I helped to open Disneyland Paris back when it was called EuroDisney, and they made me. They were trying to make fetch happen in the form of a nightclub that they’d spent a lot of money on, but that nobody was going to. So, they rounded up a bunch of us employees and made us go. Then they made us dance. I ended up being at the front of the line, only I didn’t know how to lead a conga line having not grown up in, like, the 1920s. So, I kept coiling us ‘round and ‘round like a snake until we were hopelessly tangled up, and then when everybody was falling down and cursing and trying to sort themselves out, I snuck away.
It was not my finest hour.
I don’t garden. I have a house with a yard that I pay other people to tend for me because sunshine is of the devil. When I’m writing, I do so almost exclusively at night, often pulling all-nighters, which resulted in me scaring one of said yard people half to death once when I unexpectedly emerged in daylight. It did not help that my father had told the guy repeatedly that I’m a vampire and allergic to sunlight. He was not the brightest bulb in the box and I was sleepy and confused. It got weird.
Um . . . God, I suck at this! Seriously, go read my books. My books are fun and heart pounding and crazy and sexy and a complete adrenaline rush. Kind of the opposite of this “bio” which I’m fairly sure we’re all sick of. I shall end our torment.