Risa Green

You would think that writing a bio would be an easy thing for a writer to do, but there’s not much that’s harder than trying to convey a sense of who you are in three lines or less. I’ve always admired those writers who are able to come up with hilarious little vignettes about their pets or their strange obsession with Cheetos, and yet, hard as I try, I just can’t find a way to make myself sound that off-beat and quirky. Because I suppose when it comes down to it, I’m not. At the same time, though, I hate those “official” bios that just list where I grew up and where I went to school, and where I live now, because really, what does that tell anyone about me? Nothing. So because I have the space for it, I’ll just tell my story, which, if you’re interested in knowing anything about me all, will probably fulfill all of your curiosity and then some.

I lived my entire life before college in the same house in a suburb of Philadelphia called Ambler. I loved to read, and whenever I found a book that really spoke to me I would read it over and over and over again, and somehow, I never got tired of it. Most of Judy Blume’s books fell into this category for me (particularly Are You There God, It’s Me Margaret), as did Bridge to Terabithia, a book called The Girl With the Silver Eyes, and my all time favorite YA book, The Westing Game. I was a good student, though better at English and writing than I was at math, and although I like to think of myself as athletic, the truth is that I am not particularly coordinated or fast, and I don’t have what my husband likes to call “heart” when it comes to sports. So after dabbling in field hockey and lacrosse in middle school (more because I thought the uniforms looked cool than because I was good at either of them, which I wasn’t), I became a cheerleader. It was very 1980’s. I also was president of my class for three years, which I enjoyed at the time but I now kind of regret, because twenty years later, it turns out that I am the one responsible for planning our class reunion, which is something I distinctly do not recall being told when I was seventeen.

Until I was ten, I used to spend every summer “down the shore” with my family in Atlantic City (I am dating myself here, but I still remember when the first casino in AC had it’s grand opening), and after that I went to sleep away camp, which, as anyone who knows me will tell you, I am rabidly passionate about. When I got older, I had part-time jobs during the school year at Baskin-Robbins and at a Hallmark store, and I spent a lot of time hanging around in the parking lot of McDonald’s with my friends, because there wasn’t a whole lot else to do in Ambler. I couldn’t wait to get out of there, and I always imaged that I would go to college somewhere far away and experience a different part of the country, but I fell in love with the University of Pennsylvania, which was just forty minutes from my house. When I decided to go there, I made my parents swear that they would treat me like I was in California; no visiting, and I would only come home on official school breaks. Which lasted for about six months, until I discovered that it was actually quite convenient to go home and do my laundry, rather than wait all day for a dryer to open up in my dorm.

At Penn, I double-majored in English with a concentration on 20th century literature, and American Civilization, which is sort of like American History but from a social and cultural perspective. I always enjoyed writing and much preferred research papers to tests, but I never did take a creative writing course during college, probably because I never really imagined that I would ever become a writer. During my senior year at Penn, I met a guy from Los Angeles who eventually became my husband, and after I graduated I went to law school at Georgetown University in Washington, D.C.

I moved to Los Angeles and got marrie