The Bone Cage

Saturday, June 4, 2011

The Unexpected Novel

C. L. Hilbert

"Thousand words," I thought,

And eighty-thousand later,

Still, I am not done

Posted by Cyprith at 5:27 PM

Cyprith: So, I’ve never been able to write a bio. I hate them. I’ve been asked to write several now, and every time, I’m ambushed by the overwhelming urge to chew glass and dance in the middle of Pittsburgh traffic wearing only a large, flowered hat.

I’m not a big fan of sensible things.

I write.

I write in the margins of books, in notebooks, on my cantankerous old laptop. Sometimes I go on adventures. These tend to involve chaos imps, misappropriated museum exhibits and closeted space time continuums. Nothing you need to know about, at any rate.

I’m irreverent and flippant. I creep in the corners. I eavesdrop inappropriately and write about it later. I name people and the names stick. Most things, I dislike as much as I like them. I’m full of hope and irritation and sometimes in the middle of conversations I become an eighty year old woman with a mischievous sense of humor and a bad disposition. I have opinions about my not having opinions, and I am fantastic.

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