“A fictional author’s bio?” Hannah repeated with thinly veiled disdain as she studied the briefing folder I’d given her. “Wait, is this one of those things where you’re too lazy to just write something plainly, so you bring me in to make it a conversation instead?”

“That’s the essence of it, yeah,” I said. “I was hoping… What are you doing?”

My alter ego had taken out a showy feather pen and was eagerly scribbling on the script she’d found in the folder. “Just making some alterations. Olivia, I’m sure these lovely people don’t care how many candles are on your writing desk.”

“Fine,” I grumbled, deciding to sneak the fact in as a picture when Hannah wasn’t looking. Why? Because I’m of the opinion that things like candles and tea and painted glass bottles are very important. “What else?”

Hannah flipped through the pages, honoring each one with a flourished “X” and letting them flutter to the floor like autumn leaves. “What are you doing with this?” she demanded. “This is your entire college transcript. Can’t you just tell them you studied at Hollins and leave it at that?”

I allowed myself a dramatic flop into a cushy armchair, wishing I hadn’t spent so much time getting that script ready. “Okay, I get it. I put too many details in.”

Hannah continued perusing, calling out factoids that amused her. “You memorize Pi for fun… Nail painting is a great form of procrastination…” She quirked an eyebrow at me. “You’re a terrible speller. Are you sure you want to tell them that?”

“Well, it’s treu,” I said. (See what I did there?)

Hannah laughed, bopping me on the head with my papers and curling up in the other chair. “You’re going to make people think you don’t know the first thing about writing an author’s bio.”

I grinned at that. “I don’t. I’m never sure what to put in.”

“You’re over thinking it,” she said. “Get the basics out of the way: you’re from Pennsylvania, you write in the fantasy genre, and so on. Explain your blog’s title.”

I blinked. “The title… what about it?”

“Well, that covers the clueless part. As for shoeless…”

“Oh! Right. Shoes are awful. I go without them whenever possible.”

“Good,” Hannah nodded. “And then just get to the important stuff. Say what really matters about you. Say how you feel about writing.”

I didn’t need to think long. “I love writing. If my characters knew how obsessed I was with them, they’d probably all want restraining orders. Writing is exhilarating, and heartbreaking, and I can’t imagine a reality without it. That’s all anyone really needs to know about me.”