In an ideal world, here's what my biography would say:
Girl sailor, prt-time escape artist who once funded her love of burlesque costumes by using up all her inheritance money from her late grandmother's Butterfly Rehabilitation Sanctuary in Madagascar. In her spare time, she ditches her square workmates (who make her listen to the Pussycat Dolls) to hang out with her hip band of vagabonds who know a man called Shirley who supplies them with a magic potion that allows them to travel to other planets and converse with the likes of Baba Yagu and the Hoodoo trancists.
But alas, reality is much more dull:
I graduated from university this summer with a degree in English. I took a creative writing module and loved it so much because I got encouragement from my lovely tutor who writes like Frank O'Hara and from classmates who are the epitome of cool.
I'm now working as a receptionist for Social Services because I don't know what I want to do in life, other than write... I wish I never had to work, meh, but money makes the world go round at the end of the day.
