I was asked by HarperCollins – my fair publishers! – to write a paragraph summarizing myself. This is hard to do. There was a word maximum. I had to be brief. I'll cut and paste it here so I don't have to write it twice, but I should say it just didn't capture my essence. But for what it's worth, it went like this:

"N.E. Bode, unsuspecting creative genius, had a horrible childhood and survived by his wits. A graduate of the prestigious Alton School for the Remarkably Giftless and a near-graduate of Northsouthern Perth Amboy Community College, he has been fired, with only a tiny bit of warrant, from every job he's ever had. He is alone in the world, and having offended the fine tastes of his writing professor – an extremely well-honored writer – he now lives in fear of being chased down and harmed by the crazed man. Bode occasionally works as a side-show age-guesser to earn extra income (you, hmmm, are eighty-two years of age) to support his habit of eating the delicacy Swedish fish, but perhaps this is too personal."

But that didn't describe my humble beginnings. So I'm adding:

"My mother went into labor on the fourth of July 1975 in a lawn chair where, always quite sickly, she was taking the air and watching fireworks. She was then rushed to Experimental Hospital 154, because my parents had no money. It was there that I was named on a form: N.E. Bode. I refuse to tell you what N.E. stands for. It's too embarrassing! This took place on an island off the coast of Delaware that has since been swallowed by the Atlantic Ocean."

But that doesn't include my earlier works, in the world of nonfiction, and so

I list them here:

The Complete History of Prunes and its companion piece, a coffee table edition entitled Famous Prunes in History, and a book of poems Musings on the Word Cheese.

Publisher: Self. Dates Published: 2000, 2001, 2002.

Numbers of Copies Sold: 4 (total, not each!)"

But I haven't mentioned, specifically, my previous places of employment – I should be honest!

Cheese Handler, McMahon's Deli – fired for eating cheese.

Pillow Stuffer, Fleischman's Pillows and Stuff – fired for sleeping on the job.

Dog Walker – unfortunate, unprovoked mauling caused termination (of employment!!)

But this doesn't cover my affiliations of other sorts. So...

I was once president of The Fraternal Order of Sprinkler Head Installers. My presidency ended in disgrace when it was found that I had lied about being a Sprinkler Head Installer. In my defense, however, the club's introductory questionnaire was hazardously tricky. I thought they meant, you know, sprinklers in the yard. Although we were too poor to have a sprinkler to run through, the neighbor children used to let me watch them use theirs, and once when they weren't home, I fiddled with it (which led to a small flood which, in some ways – long story short – further led to the island being swallowed by the Atlantic Ocean.)

But this doesn't include my awards and honors. Allow me that much!

I won the least gifted award at The Alton School for the Remarkably Giftless – quite an honor. The competition is fierce.

One summer I sold 14,269 rubber lemons for charity and won a plaque.

But none of this seems particularly intimate. Once, someone asked me if I had any "avocations, hobbies or enthusiasms." That answer may apply here:

I have no avocations or hobbies, but I do have enthusiasms. They are sudden, however, and inexplicable. Mainly I'm just walking along and I'm filled with something that can only be called an enthusiasm. It's a sort of spasm of enthusiasm that is uncontrollable and marked by hooting and joy.